Chapter 9

9

D inner was leisurely, and once Sasha’s brother texted with an offer to bring the kids home, it became even more leisurely. By the time they left the restaurant, the sun was setting a pale gold in the gray sky.

“Let’s the go through the alley instead of taking Ellsworth Street,” Sasha suggested.

Connelly smiled knowingly. “You want to see if that maple tree’s turning red yet, don’t you?”

“Nailed it.”

The massive tree at the entrance to the long narrow alley that ran behind their street was one of her favorite touchstones of autumn. Its leaves turned a dramatic scarlet shade each autumn. The effect was striking against the drab sky and even more beautiful when the fiery maple leaves floated to earth to carpet the ground.

They crossed the street and headed toward the alley that would lead them to their backyard. To her disappointment, the tree’s leaves remained solidly green.

“Boo,” she joked.

“It won’t be long now,” he told her.

“It’s something to look forward to,” she agreed.

He stopped and turned toward her, pulling her in close. “You really need that, don’t you?”

“Need what?”

“Something to look forward to.”

She gave a little laugh. “You know my mom always says to have your next vacation planned. I never really understood her reasoning until recently.”

“What’s going on with you?”

His voice was gentle but probing. She swallowed hard, then said, “I think I’m burning out. I’ve been fantasizing about quitting.”

“Quitting … your practice?”

“Maybe. I’ve had enough.”

“Of what?”

She thought. “Of fighting. In courtrooms, and boardrooms, and dark alleys. Of blood and guts, and angry clients, and legal citation format. Of charity balls, and billable hours, and death threats.”

“So, everything?”

“I don’t know, Leo,” she sighed. “I’m forty-seven years old, a business owner, the mother of twins, and the freaking library volunteer at their school. The things I’ve spent my adult life striving for and fighting against are exhausting. There has to be more than this. Doesn’t there?”

He was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he said, “I don’t know.”

“I’m thinking I might take a sabbatical. Did you know we have a sabbatical program?”

He chuckled. “No. You do?”

“Yeah. Prescott & Talbot has one. When Will joined me, it was one of the few things we wanted to replicate. Of course, no one has ever used it.”

He gave a knowing nod. “They’re waiting for you to do it. You’re the leader.”

“Maybe.”

“Then, do it. You’ve certainly?—”

Whatever he was going to say was lost in the night, when two men stepped out of the shadows of the Vanderkamps’ garage.

“Sasha McCandless-Connelly? Leo Connelly?” The shorter and stockier of the two men spoke. Beside him, the taller guy rested a hand on his hip.

Gun? Sasha wondered instantly.

“Who’s asking?” Connelly demanded.

“We’d like you to come with us,” the guy responded.

“Yeah, no,” Sasha told him as she planted her feet firmly, hip-distance apart.

The two men exchanged an unhappy look. Sasha and Connelly kept their attention directed to the men, but she could feel him getting ready to fight if need be. They didn’t need to look at each other to read one another’s energy.

The tall man darted forward and wrapped his hand around her right wrist.

Game on. She covered his hand with her left and pulled him closer. Then she brought her foot down hard on his.

He wrenched his hand free and bounced back on his heels, ready to fight. He drove a sharp elbow into her ribs. She winced at the impact before recovering and throwing a jab to back him off.

She flicked her eyes toward Leo and the stockier man. Her opponent took advantage of her distraction to backhand her across her left cheek, hard. She jerked her head back, her face stinging from the impact and raised her fists up by her face.

“Ma’am, please stop. We want to?—”

She cut off whatever he was about to say with a fast palm heel strike to the bridge of his nose, recoiling in disgust as hot blood spurted over her left hand. She wiped it on her dress, hooked her foot around his ankle, and knocked him to the ground.

He kicked out at her, catching her right knee, and she bobbled back. He rose to his feet, unsteady but furious, lowered his head, and charged her like a bull. She darted to the side, and he ran past her. She took the opportunity to risk a glance over her shoulder at Connelly.

Her husband had the other man pinned against the brick side wall of the garage. The guy’s shirt was fisted in Connelly’s hand as Connelly lifted him nearly off his feet. Incongruously, she noticed the silver streaking Connelly’s dark, spiky hair before she spotted the open cut on his cheek.

Anger rose like a wave in her belly as the man lurched forward and head-butted the love of her life. Connelly growled, kneed the man in the groin, and then kneed him a second time in the face as he crumpled to the ground.

The Vanderkamps’ porch light clicked on with a burst of illumination, and Mrs. Vanderkamp stared out into the dark night.

“You damn kids get away from my garage!” she shouted, her raspy smoker’s voice shaking with rage. “I already called the cops.”

As if to prove her point, the distant wail of a siren filled the air. The tall guy yanked his buddy up to his feet and pulled him toward the street. Vindicated, Mrs. Vanderkamp shook a fist at their backs as they vanished into the night.

Connelly led Sasha toward the Vanderkamps’ backyard and tipped her chin up to examine her face in the dim light.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she told him, brushing his hand away. “But your cheek is bleeding.” She glanced down. “And your knuckles.”

“He had a hard face.”

She managed a laugh, as Mrs. Vanderkamp stumped through her yard. “Sasha? Leo? ‘Zat you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Connelly called back.

“What the devil? I thought you were those blasted McNally kids messing around again. You know they stole a case of hard seltzer from the Jacksons last week?”

“I didn’t know that,” Connelly said somberly, but Sasha caught the undertone of amusement in his voice.

“You two look like hell,” their neighbor informed them, peering over her chain-link fence at them.

Sasha smiled weakly. “You should see the other guys.”

Mrs. Vanderkamp snorted. “You okay?”

“We will be. Thanks for calling the police. Will you send them to our house when they get here.”

“Pshaw, I didn’t call the cops. I just said that.”

“But there was a siren.”

“Honey, are you new here? There’s always a siren.” She grunted and turned back toward her house, laughing to herself at Sasha’s perceived naivety.

“Good night,” Connelly called after her. She lifted a hand over her head and gave them a wave without turning around.

As Sasha limped along beside him on her swollen knee, she wondered aloud, “Do you have any idea what her first name is?”

“Not a clue. Why?”

“We should send her a thank you note or something.”

They reached the end of their backyard and the flood lights mounted on the back of the house switched on.

“I don’t think Hallmark makes a ‘we’re grateful you broke up our street fight’ card.”

“Well, they should.”

He chuckled as he lifted the latch on their back gate and ushered her into the backyard.

As she turned her key in the lock and pushed open the kitchen door, she suggested, “Let’s text Riley and Ryan and ask if the kids can sleep over?” she said. “I don’t want them to see us like this. And if we decide to call the police and they come to the house for a statement, I’d rather they not be here.”

“Step ahead of you,” he told her, holding up his phone. “Riley already responded. She said they’re more than welcome and she’ll take them to school in the morning.”

Sasha flipped on the kitchen lights while he locked the door. He fed the dog and cat dinner and filled their shared water bowl while she got down the first aid kit and took two bags of frozen vegetables from the freezer. She tossed him one for his knuckles and kept the other for her knee. After they’d cleaned and dressed their various wounds, they took their frozen peas and corn into the living room and collapsed on the couch.

“Some date,” she observed.

“Hey, you can’t say it wasn’t memorable.”

“True.” After a moment, she added. “I don’t think those guys picked that up after one weekend of Krav Maga training.”

“No,” he agreed. “They fought like professionals.”

“You don’t think it’s CEO?”

“It seems unlikely.”

She nodded. “So. Are we calling the police?”

He made a low humming sound then clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I’m not sure what the right call is.”

“Depends on who it was.”

“Right. And whoever it was knew both our names.”