Coffee cools in front of me in a paper cup, untouched. I drum my fingers on the desk before asking myself if that’s something a guilty person would do. But I don’t know what someone who’s innocent would do, either, because I’m not feeling completely innocent. My heart rate seems to climb with every minute. This is the one place the men from last night told me not to go to, yet here I am. The officers placed me in this drab, yellowing office ten minutes ago, with nothing to do but look around and fuel my anxiety. Despite all my frantic contemplating, all the motives and suspects I come up with in my head don’t make any sense. There’s nobody I know who’d want to break into a dental office and no reason to justify it.

When the door opens behind me, my head automatically snaps around. The two officers pass through, giving me the same painfully-polite smiles before taking their seats across from me.

“Good morning, Ms. Sutter. I’m Officer Crowley, and this is my partner, Officer Gentry. I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re in here instead of gettin’ to work,” the black-haired one says, gesturing to himself and the redhead. He is thankfully more relaxed than his comrade. Tomato-face is regarding me with the same caution one might give a plague victim.

“Yes, of course. You mentioned there was a break-in?” We were standing right outside the main doors just half an hour ago, and I didn’t see any broken glass.

“There was. My partner here tells me you believe you’ve misplaced your keys. Is that correct?”

“Yes. I had to call a locksmith just this morning to get all my keys remade.” I swallow, flushing when it makes a gulping sound. “Oh, I actually have the receipt.” I root the paper out of my purse and hand it over.

Crowley glances over it before placing it on his desk. “And at what time did you notice your keys were missing, Ms. Sutter?” He tilts his head, awaiting my answer.

Last night. Shit. I can’t mention anything about last night, or it may raise more questions about timelines and explanations. Things I’m not supposed to talk about unless I want another visit from Trey’s boys. “This morning,” I say. That seems reasonable.

“Did you notify anyone that you’d lost your keys?” Officer Gentry speaks up.

“No. When I called, nobody was in the office yet. I left a message for the office manager.”

Officer Crowley takes the reins again. “Any idea when you may have lost them, or where they might be?”

“I had them when I left the office yesterday—I needed them for my car, obviously, and I couldn’t find them when I woke up this morning.”

“It’s not a detachable keyring? No way for your office key to fall off somewhere along the way?”

“No.” I lay my hands on my pants and subtly wipe my sweaty palms on them.

Redhead leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “There was no sign of forcible entry. It seems the suspects used a key. Was anyone else in your house last night who could’ve taken them?” I shake my head. “And you were there the entire night?”

If I say no, Dane would testify that I didn’t leave his side. But I don’t want to drag him into this. “Yes. I watched some TV and turned in early.”

“The supply closet was raided. Doctor Caldwell made note of the items that were stolen.” Crowley says, crossing his legs. “Among them, a few canisters of nitrous oxide. Can you think of anyone you know who might’ve wanted those canisters for any reason?”

Anyone who wants a quick high, which is a lot of people these days. “No, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Crowley smiles slightly and spreads his palms. “All part of the process. No patients mentioned a nitrous habit at any time, did they?” He chuckles, but I shake my head. “I didn’t think so. Is there anyone who can verify your whereabouts last night between one and two a.m.?”

Again, I shake my head no. “I was alone.”

“Nobody you spoke on the phone with between those hours?”

“No. Oh, yes, actually. Around midnight, I think.”

“And who did you speak to?”

Well, there’s no lying about this one. There are records to prove it. “A friend. Dane Cross”

Crowley makes a note on a pad of paper, and Gentry gives him a loaded glance. “Cross. All right. We’ll verify that with him. Anything else you can think of that might be helpful?”

“No, not at all.” I’m just as confused as they are. My keys were stolen last night, and the office happened to be broken into by multiple suspects, who had a key, shortly afterward. They had to know there would be an investigation and the questioning would involve me, someone they didn’t want to be around the police. But this can’t all be random. I just can’t figure out the reasoning behind it.

“If you think of anything, please let us know. Here’s my contact information.” Crowley takes a business card from his drawer and slides it to me. “You’re free to go.”

I look back and forth at them, rising on shaky legs. I’m just about to turn and leave the grim little office when Crowley speaks up again. “And Ms. Sutter? It would be best if you stayed in town. At least until we get this situation sorted out.”

 

 

When I return to the office, Doctor Caldwell informs me that I can go ahead and take the day off. It sounds foreboding, and under normal circumstances wouldn’t have happened, but I’m a little relieved. With my nerves as shot as they are, I would’ve been surprised if I made it through the day without accidentally stabbing someone in the mouth with my tools. I’m still shaky from the interrogation, and still, nothing makes sense. I’m about to call Dane when I remember my next issue: no cellphone. So I stop in to get a replacement on the way home, pay an ungodly amount since I wasn’t eligible for an upgrade, and wave off the associate’s efforts to show me all the latest new features.

I deflate with relief when I climb back into my car and begin the drive home. Already, the day feels unbearably long. Dane and I made plans to meet back at my house, so that’s where I go, accompanied by nothing but quiet radio and frazzled nerves. I can’t help but check my rearview mirror every minute or so to make sure nobody’s following me. I’m not sure what I expect to see, or what I would do if I did see someone there, but it makes me feel better.

Dane’s truck isn’t in my driveway, but I trust that he’s here. I know he doesn’t want to broadcast his presence in the wake of the warning we were given. Still, it feels like eyes are on me as I park and gather my things, trotting to the house so I’m not outside alone for too long. I squeeze inside, then gasp and back straight into the door when Dane comes striding from the living area upon hearing my entrance.

“Hey, it’s just me.” He slips my purse from my shoulder and sets it down, tugging me closer to him by the waist. I sink into his arms, placing my forehead on his chest and breathing him in. I don’t think I’ve ever fully appreciated how good he smells. That characteristic cedar-and-laundry fragrance. His mouth moves in my hair, kissing the top of my head.

“I expected you to be here. I don’t know why I freaked out like that.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

With those five words, my tensed muscles relax, one by one. Until I remember my time at the police station.

“Hey, did you hear about the break-in?” I ask, pulling back enough so I can look him in the eye.

Concern floods his features. “What break-in?”

“At my office. I showed up today and the cops were waiting. Apparently, there was a break-in last night. Multiple suspects. Used a key to get in. They took some things from the supply closet, some canisters of nitrous oxide, but that’s all I know. I was questioned at the police station.”

Dane’s brows knit together. “What did you tell them?”

“As much as I could,” I admit, releasing him. “I told them I’d only discovered my keys were missing this morning, and that I was alone the whole night, so there’s no one to verify my whereabouts. There’s just the phone call I made to you. They told me to stick around town just in case.”

He nods slowly to himself. “That’s good. Your car was out front the entire night, so if anyone asks around, Marissa might be able to tell them that.”

“What would they want with nitrous gas?”

Dane crosses his arms, gazes unseeingly in the direction of the front door. “It might be less about the gas and more about the message.”

I run my hands angrily through my hair. “Fuck, Dane. My job? They have to mess with my job?”

“I know. Trust me, I do. But there’s almost no way they can implicate you in this. I’m guessing your office has security cameras?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean anything if the suspects were masked.”

“They can tell enough from the footage to estimate height and weight. And besides that, you had no motive to help them. No—the point was not to make it so you looked guilty. The point was to send a message. Show us what they’re prepared to do. Probably doesn’t hurt that they knew you’d be told to stay in town until you were cleared. Plant your mistrust in the cops. They want you here.”

Cold slips over me. They attacked me in my house, the one place I felt remotely safe, then they broke into my job. If their mission was to make me feel helpless, they succeeded. What can’t they do?

I place a hand on the wall behind me to steady myself, shaking my head in dismay. “What am I supposed to do, Dane?”

“Shh,” he says, pulling me closer by the shoulders and using my chin to tilt my head up. “I’ll go to my grave to make sure nothing happens to you.”

I wince, squeezing my eyes shut. “That’s what I’m worried about. I wasn’t going to leave here, knowing what you would do.”

“You already had your mind made up this morning, didn’t you?” His tone is teasing. I crack an eye open.

“Yep.”

“I should’ve known,” he shakes his head admonishingly. “In that case, go get out of your work clothes. There’s something we need to do.”

“And that something involves getting me naked?”

That comment draws the corner of his mouth up into a wolfish grin. “Well, first, yes. But just to change into something you don’t mind getting dirty.”

I frown, pretending to be disappointed. After all, what is there to look forward to these days, besides him and me? “Oh my god, hiking?”

“Somewhat. Now go change.”

We do hike, back in the woods behind the house he’s working on, but only until we reach a clearing where there are three round-bales of hay set up. In front of them, metal objects are staked into the ground at random increments. Dane had grabbed a bag from the basement before we set off on foot, but I didn’t know what was in it until now. He pulls out three different pistols, setting them carefully on the stump of a tree.

“Have you ever shot a gun before?” he asks, and I drag my gaze from the weapons to meet his.

“No.” My palms get clammy.

“Really?” he asks in disbelief.

I give him a look. “Yes, really. I’m a girl from the suburbs of Indiana, remember? When would I have shot a gun?”

“I didn’t know if, with the position your ex-husband was in, he’d taught you to use a gun or not. It would make sense to me.”

I shake my head vigorously. Jenson? With a gun? I can’t picture it. It kind of makes me wonder, though, why he didn’t take more precautions. In this world we’re currently living in, you don’t know what to expect when your life is as exposed as ours was. There was one incident where a girl found out where we lived and hung around outside in her car, following him every time he left the house. Took him weeks to notice. When he did, he made sure to give her some autographed merchandise before notifying the police. That’s just the kind of thing Jenson did. Seemed like it sent the wrong message, in my opinion.

“Well, anyway, you’re going to learn now. I want you to be comfortable using these. There’s no harm in being knowledgeable about how to use them safely.” At my look of concern, he places his hands on my shoulders and bends to level his gaze with mine. “We’ll start out small, all right? This one’s a .22 pistol.” He gestures to the first gun, picking up the body and the magazine. He’s all instructional now. “It’s lower power than the others, but obviously it can do some damage. Easy to handle, no kick involved. Before we load it, let’s get your stance and your grip right.”

I swallow hard and nod, taking it from him. The metal is cold in my hands, despite the heat of the day.

“Loaded or not, make sure the barrel is pointed downrange, away from everyone and toward the ground. Good. Now, you’re right handed?” When I nod, Dane secures my right hand around the grip. “When you aren’t pulling it, you don’t want your finger on the trigger. Just rest it here, on the trigger guard. No finger on the trigger, all right?”

As he walks me through checking the chamber, then adjusting my grip and stance, I become all action with little thought. I just follow instructions and commit them to memory, like some pre-programmed robot. I don’t think about the fact that I’m holding an instrument that has the capability to end someone’s life. If I do that, I’ll freeze. I’ve never been strongly anti or pro-gun, I’ve just never used them, and they’re intimidating as hell.

Once I’ve got my stance down and we’ve walked through loading the magazine, Dane fastens some paper targets to the hay bales and waves me closer. He positions me about twenty feet away from the bales, and I resume my stance, planting my feet shoulder-width apart with my weight leaned slightly forward, on my left foot. He gives me a rundown of aligning the front and rear sights and where to aim at the target. It’s a little worrisome that he knows so much about this, but I’m also reassured that he’s so well-informed. When he finally deems me ready to shoot, I flush with nerves.

“All right, check your sights. Take a slow breath in, hold it briefly, and squeeze the trigger.”

I pull back. And back. And back. It seems to take forever for the trigger to reach the firing point, and by that time, my eyes shut from the anticipation, and I jump when it fires. I let out a slow breath, examining the target for a hole.

“Not even close. Do you know what you did wrong?” I look at him. He’s not angry, but he’s all business.

“Everything?”

“Basically.” Dane chuckles but transitions smoothly back into instructor mode. “First, you closed your eyes. Never close your eyes. And you squeezed with your whole hand, which affected your aim.”

I nod, my heart racing. I just shot a gun. It’s a little shocking and, surprisingly, a little exhilarating.

“Let’s try again. Stay controlled. Squeeze steadily, but not excessively slow. Weight slightly on that front foot again.”

I bite my lip in concentration, starting back at the beginning with my grip and my stance. Then I raise the gun, align the sights, and squeeze. I’m careful to keep my eyes open, and this time, I expect the noise. A hole appears in one of the outer rings of the target.

“Look!” I exclaim.

“Better! Gun pointed downrange, all right, sharpshooter?”

I correct my aim, flushing with embarrassment. Right. It would not be ideal to shoot Dane. We go through one magazine, then another, lengthening the distance and working with different targets until Dane asks if I’m ready to go a step up.

“This one’s a .38 Special. More powerful, but still doesn’t have a huge kick. It’s a revolver, so the loading process will be a little different.”

We go into the specifics of releasing the chamber and loading the revolver, then Dane sets me to work again, firing at the different targets. The .38 is a lot louder, but I quickly grow accustomed to the noise and the stronger kick. I even land a bullet about an inch from the bullseye, earning a slow clap from Dane. Then, it’s on to the next: a 9mm.

“The nine is more powerful than the others, so there’s more recoil involved. Make sure you’re holding it firmly, but not in a way that detracts from your aim. The .22 can deter someone who wants to harm you, and it’s usually more comfortable to shoot for beginners, but this one is a common favorite for personal defense. I want you to try it, at least for a few rounds.”

I accept the gun cautiously, licking my lips. Even the weight of it feels different. Like coiled, latent power. Dane reminds me how to load the magazine, and I click it into place and walk to my position. “Remember—don’t let it get out of hand. This one will be a lot louder than the others too.”

I try not to overthink it. I lift the gun, click off the safety, take my deep breath, and shoot.

God. Damn.

The noise reverberates in my ears and echoes through the trees, and when Dane said it had more kick, he wasn’t lying. My hand stings from the movement, and I could feel it all the way to my gritted teeth. I missed the target, though. I need to be steadier.

“Not the worst I’ve seen. Try again.”

I swallow my fear. I shot it once—it’s not like it could get any worse. I fill my lungs with air, pause, and squeeze. Suspense hangs, but only for a second. There’s a dark hole in the center of a target. Bullseye.

“Well done. You up for a few more?”

I click on the safety and shake my head. “No way. That damn thing is too loud.”

Dane chuckles, accepting the gun from me and ejecting the magazine, then emptying the chamber. “You ended on a good note, at least. I’m impressed. Which one were you the most comfortable with?”

I walk with him back to our setup and gesture to the smallest. “The .22 was the easiest, of course.” He makes a face like he didn’t expect anything different. “But the .38 was all right.”

“Okay. It’s yours.” Dane says it casually, all while he’s checking chambers and loading the ammo back into the bag.

I shift in place, suddenly queasy. “Dane, I really don’t think—”

He cuts me off. “You don’t think, because you don’t know. These people, Raven—they won’t hesitate to shoot you if this blows up. Or worse. Do not forget that. I won’t leave you alone unless you’re in the position to protect yourself, okay? That’s all this is for.”

My shoulders drop, and all the warnings and precautions swarm in my head like bees. “I just know that, if I take this, it’s more than just for target practice. It makes all of this real.”

Dane tucks the last handgun into its case and turns to me, taking my hands in his. “It is real. Just as real as these finger marks on your wrists and the rest of the bruises on your body.” To prove his point, he grazes the tender bite mark on my shoulder. “And those were only a message. The next move will be action. I mean to avoid all that before it starts, but I won’t leave you unprotected. We can practice again, every day if you want. I don’t want you to ever again feel defenseless.”

Though delivered in a firm, matter-of-fact tone, his words ease some of my apprehension. I don’t have to think long to remember how it felt being pinned to that wall, helpless, with no way out. There’s no telling if a gun would’ve helped in that situation, but, knowing what I do now, having one close by might help me sleep easier.

Seeing that I’ve reached some sort of acceptance, Dane swings the bag onto his shoulder and takes my hand, and we begin our journey back to the house. Once we reach the driveway, he stores everything in his truck except for the .38. He hands that one to me, zipped away in its case.

“Keep this with you from now on. All right?”

I murmur my assent, following him into the unfinished kitchen. “So what do we do next? Just wait and see what happens?” Target practice might’ve distracted me for an hour or so, but a rising sense of panic clouds my thoughts when I remember why we even had to do it in the first place. Knowing as little as I do about whom we’re up against, it feels as though we’re fighting some invisible foe, already at a disadvantage. I try to remind myself that Dane knows Trey better than anyone. He is not as in the dark as I feel.

“No. Whatever this is, it ends here. This is it,” he announces with finality, leaning on the counter.

This is a Dane I never imagined seeing. No-nonsense. Cold. Calculative. More like the rumors. I never thought I’d say this, but I have faith in this Dane.

“When I leave here, and I will, whatever bad blood between Trey and I will be gone. I won’t be carrying anything from this life into the next.”

I trace my toe through the dust, mulling over those heavy words. I hope with everything I have that his next life doesn’t involve pearly gates and a choir of angels. I hope it involves somewhere safe. Somewhere with me.

Dane rubs his thumb over my furrowed brows and frowns back at me. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. Do you have so little faith in me?”

“No. I have all the faith in the world in you.” I just hope it’s not the impulsive, reckless kind of faith.

“Good. You know I’m not alone, right? I have a few people on my side, too.”

“You do?”

“Yes. You don’t go through the things I did and not form some alliances. Someone still owes me a favor, and there’s no better time to cash in on it.”