CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Her phone was ringing before she could make it inside of her house. She dropped her bag and keys on the foyer table, pulled out her phone, saw that it was her son and answered quickly. "What's up, Doc?"

"Hello Mother."

"What are you doing?"

"Watching television."

"You okay?"

"Yes ma'am."

She hesitated, but was curious herself. "Dad home?"

"Un-un."

She wanted to say why am I not surprised, but she didn't go there. She made it her business to never say anything derogatory about that man around their son. "You need anything?"

"I'm good. He called though."

"Dad called?"

"Uh-hun."

"Uh-hun and un-un are not answers, JoJo. You said your father called you?"

"Yes ma'am."

"What did he want?"

"He was returning my call. I asked if I could spend the week with Uncle Trevor before I head back to school." Trevor Reese was Hammer's younger brother and albeit reluctant best field operative. He also owned a top consulting firm in Boston for A-list Hollywood types and superstar athletes.

Amelia began taking off her heels. "Did he grant his permission?"

"He said I can go. But he said I need to ask you too."

That was new. Hammer usually made decisions for JoJo's visits and travels without even consulting her, and then he'd mention it to her long after, as if she had no say in the matter. She complained about it all the time, reminding Hammer that she was not one of his subordinates and did not wish to be treated as if she was. But he kept on doing it anyway.

"He also told me I need to call you more," JoJo said.

Another oddity. "You call me all the time. Why would he say you need to call me more?"

She could visualize her son hunching his shoulders the way he always did. "Don't know."

But she waited. Hannibal, whom some called JoJo or Joey, his middle name, and some called Hanni, was thoughtful. And just as she suspected, he came back with a more thoughtful response. "Maybe all that divorce stuff is getting to him."

"Yeah, well. Anyway." Now it was Amelia's time to give a non-answer.

"He said there was another delay."

Thanks to him, she wanted to say. "For two more months, yes," she said instead.

"Ma don't do it."

Amelia closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Stay out of it, Joey."

"Dad will back down if you back down."

"And then what? We continue like we've been doing? No thank you. Now just . . . stay out of it. Everything will be okay."

"You promise?"

Amelia exhaled. I promise."

"You never lie to me, so I believe you."

Amelia smiled. "Why thank you for believing your own mother."

JoJo laughed. "But can I go?"

"To spend a week with Trevor and Carly? Of course you can!"

"Thanks, Ma. Bye Ma."

"Bye boy. Love you."

"Love you too."

And they ended the call.

Amelia shook her head. At least she still had JoJo.

And then, with phone and heels in hand, she made her way upstairs, tossed the phone on her nightstand, threw her heels in a corner, undressed quickly - leaving her clothes where she took them off, and hopped in the shower. She switched on music, playing the song that was her shower anthem because she made it the only song in the loop: Lady Gaga singing Million Reasons:

"I bow down to pray:

I try to make the worst seem better.

Lord, show me the way,

to cut through all his worn-out leather.

I got a hundred million reasons to walk away.

But baby I just need one good one to stay."

The guitar was loud and Amelia was singing along. It was her stress reliever. Could never replace how Hammer used to relieve her though. But it was a damn good second.

That was why she didn't hear a sound when a man in a ski mask and gloves walked into her bedroom. She didn't hear a peep when he strolled into her walk-in closet, smelled her clothes, and then took off all of his, with only his mask and gloves still on his untanned white body. She was still singing her heart out when he grabbed the cord and ripped it from the iron that sat on the ironing board in her massive closet, and then walked out of that closet and stood to the side of the bathroom door.

And when the water stopped running and she had gotten out and dried herself off, she still didn't hear a thing as she began walking, like she'd done a million times, out of her ensuite bathroom and back into her bedroom.

But she stopped in her tracks when she caught a glimpse, through her bedroom mirror, of that masked man now coming up behind her.

Although fear gripped her, she knew she couldn't buckle. She was always quick on her feet, and she tried to run out of that bedroom as fast as she could, but it was already too late. From behind, he slung that iron cord around her neck just as she was putting both hands to shield her neck. It softened the sting of his strangulation, but he was still strangling her.

But she fought for her life.

She flung herself to the floor, causing him to flip down with her, and he struggled to regain his grip on her as she struggled to get away from him. He was fighting to kill her, and she was fighting to live. They rolled and fought around that bedroom as if it was a wrestling ring. She was kicking and screaming and knocking over whatever she could kick and knock to keep disrupting him. She had to dislodge his hands. She had to do everything in her power to stop him from tightening his grip because she knew he would then commence a final coup de grace on her neck. Her hands were bleeding but they were the only weapons that stood between life and death for her. She held on for all her life as they fought and rolled.

But she had another weapon. A .357 Magnum in her nightstand drawer. And that was why she kept trying to roll him against the bed. She had to get to that stand!

And when they finally rolled and slammed against the bed, she knew she had to remove her hand to get her gun. But she also knew, as soon as she removed her hand, he could strangle her within seconds.

But there was no other choice. He was bigger than her, and he was gaining more of a grip on that cord with every passing moment. She couldn't hold on much longer anyway.

So she did it. She removed her bleeding hand from beneath that cord, opened that nightstand drawer as fast as she could and quickly grabbed her gun just as he was tightening his grip on her neck so decisively that she almost passed out as soon as she removed her hand.

But she had too much fight in her.

She took that Magnum, put it against his side, and fired shot after shot after shot after shot after shot. "Strangle that, motherfucker!" she was screaming as she fired. Her adrenalin wouldn't let her stop firing. "Strangle that!"

He was already incapacitated after shot number one. Dead after shot number two. But Amelia always overdid it when her life was at stake.

When there was no grip whatsoever on her neck, she found the strength to move away from him, backing back quickly on her butt. Breathing heavily as she held her neck and tried to calm herself back down. She was nearly hysterical, but she was angry too.

And she was still too curious to know who was this genius that thought he could break into her house and come for her. On her knees, she hurried back to him and snatched off his ski mask. And when she did, she was as dumbstruck as she was staggered. "What the fuck?" She fell back down onto her ass, unable to even wrap her brains around who was lying naked in her bedroom right in front of her.

It threw her so badly that she could hardly think straight.

Then she stopped trying to think, grabbed her phone off of her nightstand, and called the only man she knew who could help her out of this one: her big brother Mick.