Chapter Twenty

Brody

"You let him go?"

I stared at the splotch of dried blood on the carpet, then at Lindsey as she sat on the couch with wine at her fingertips. Her Glock lay on the coffee table while a crime scene tech bagged Austin's gun. Another dabbed at the blood with a cotton swab. Two uniformed cops stood on guard near the front door.

"She had no choice," Skinner replied, seated in the recliner. "Had she shot him while he lay on the carpet, we can't call that self-defense."

Outraged, I snapped, "He came here to kill her. If she hadn't gotten the drop on him like she did, she'd be dead now."

"It doesn't matter," Lindsey said, listless. "I couldn't shoot him like that. He got up off the floor and walked away. It's done, Brody."

Unable to keep still, I paced, my fears and my fury rushing rampant through me. I could have lost her. I almost lost her. Had she been less smart and Rivers quicker, she'd be lying there. Dead. Gone.

"This is bullshit," I muttered. "Plain bullshit. He came here to kill her."

"Probably," Skinner agreed. "But me, I'm glad she didn't kill him. I don't want anyone's blood on Lindsey's hands. Or yours, for that matter. The DA would have grounds to charge Lindsey with murder. Taking a life isn't what you see in the movies."

It fucking well should be. Kill the bad guy, save the lady. Simple western justice. "The law sucks."

"Sometimes it does," Skinner agreed. "But that's not your decision. Nor mine. Lindsey kept her head, and for that she has my respect."

Lindsey only shook her head, her face lowered to her glass. "I did what Austin and circumstances called for me to do. Had he gotten up, charged at me, I'd have shot him. He didn't. I defeated him and it was enough."

"Not for me," I snarled. "Now he's out there, plotting to kill you. To kill me. Walking the streets, obtaining another gun, ready to come back for another go."

"If that happens," Skinner said quietly, "then you'll do only what you must to stay alive. Be smart, Brody. I don't want either of you hurt, nor do I want to slap the cuffs on you because you weren't smart. Be cool, dammit. Stay cool no matter what happens."

"Go blow it out your ass."

Skinner sighed heavily. Standing, he said, "I'm done here. Lindsey, call if you need me."

He stalked from the house, taking the uniformed cops with him. The techs soon wrapped up their work and departed without speaking. Lindsey continued to sit, occasionally sipping her wine, all without looking at me. I leaned my shoulder against the wall, staring out the window and into the street. The neighbors, unsurprisingly, stood on porches and driveways, watching the drama unfold.

"I'm sorry," I said at last. "I shouldn't have blown up. I'm just scared."

"I know."

"I almost lost you."

"I know that, too."

Sighing, I ran my hand through my hair. "Time for a long vacation?"

"Can't afford it."

"A Rottweiler?"

"We don't have time to train one."

"Then we leave our lives behind and start over." I turned to face her. "Fly across the Atlantic, go to Italy or Spain, live like humble peasants and raise our kids."

A tiny smile curved her cheeks. "Our parents will kill us."

"Once Rivers is gone and Byrd gives up, we can come back for a visit. Come on, let's fly away, just you and me."

"I ran once," Lindsey said slowly. "She still found me. I stayed because I'm done running. I chose this place as my home. Neither Austin nor Bethany will chase me from it."

With a groan, I dropped to the sofa beside her. "I can't speak either Spanish or Italian. Shit. It was a great thought while it lasted."

Her hand crept into mine. "It was," she murmured. "And it's easy enough to do. Let them suffer the pain of not getting their revenge. But I won't run, Brody. I'll finish this."

"And so will I."

In loving harmony, hand in hand, we sat together as the late morning waned into afternoon. While I needed to get back to work, I couldn't be bothered. If I lose my job, I'll find another. Lindsey is more important. Nor did she seem to worry about her unfinished work. I yawned, scratched an itch on my chest, and rested my head on her shoulder.

"We should talk baby names."

Lindsey snorted. "You don't know that I'm pregnant."

"I know you are."

I caressed her flat belly. "Inside here is our little one. Our firstborn. A boy or a girl?"

"I'm not pregnant. It wasn't my time of the month."

"We'll start a college savings account," I mused. "Once we get stable jobs again. Set aside a little every week, make sure our kids get a good education. Like we did."

"I'm not ready to have a kid, dude."

I settled my head against her more comfortably and sighed. "If you work from home, you can look after the kid. Once I get off work, I'll do my part. Right? We may have to get help from our folks, ask them to babysit once in a while. I know mine will want to be involved."

"Did you hurt yourself?" Lindsey inquired. "Jumping to the conclusion that I'm with child?"

"No jumping involved, baby. You're preggers. Just relax and let Papa take care of you."

"You're delusional."

"I'm right. Big difference."

Lindsey sucked in a deep breath. "It's too soon."

I craned my neck to meet her eyes. "Do you love me?"

"You know I do."

"And I love you. So it's not too soon."

***

A couple of days later, the doorbell rang as Lindsey and I shared cooking and kitchen duties. Lindsey instantly seized a gun from a drawer, then slid the bolt back. We exchanged a long look before I commented, "I doubt it's a bad guy. I don't think they'd ring the bell."

"Wouldn't that be an easy way to pop a cap in our heads?" she inquired. "We innocently open the door, then bam?"

"And if it's the Girl Scouts selling cookies I want some."

With Lindsey and her gun at my back, I reached the door to peer through the lens just as the bell rang again. And gaped.

"There's some itty bitty woman out there," I said, unlocking the door, glancing at Lindsey over my shoulder.

"Oh, crap." She hastily tucked the gun in her waist band and covered it with her shirt. "Shirley Gibbons. Does she have a cake?"

I swung open the door. "Hi."

Shirley, every inch of five foot with a wizened face and sharp beady eyes, appraised me just as I appraised her. She took in my sutures I hadn't yet gotten pulled, and no doubt reassessed the notion that I'm a drug dealer and murderer. "You must be Brody."

"Uh, yeah. Want to come in?"

I barely got the words out when she marched under my arm and into the house. Lindsey pasted a welcoming smile on her face, yet her concern at the home invasion stood out clearly. I absently recalled her inflammatory words to Lindsey about me, half-thinking I should retract my invitation to enter. Too late.

"It's nice to see you again, Shirley. We're in the middle of dinner, however. This isn't a good time."

"I won't trouble you for long."

Shirley passed her by as though she owned the house, striding down the hall and into the kitchen. I shrugged as Lindsey rolled her eyes, then followed. The elderly neighbor inspected the yet unpacked boxes, perhaps judging within her mind that Lindsey should have had her house in order by now.

She stood in the kitchen, facing us, her arms crossed over her almost nonexistent bosom. Her gaze lingered on my partially healed scars, then roved to Lindsey's still red wrists she didn't bother to conceal. "There's no way to say this except be direct. You two are nothing but trouble."

I blinked. "What?"

"Who are you to march into my house and be rude?" Lindsey exclaimed. "There's no call to say something like that."

"Since you came here," Shirley continued, undeterred, "we've had the police, ambulances, fires, and what all in the neighborhood. We live here, and we want peace. There won't be as long as you two are around."

I laughed. "You think we're just going to up and move because you say so? Not gonna happen."

Shirley glared. "If we must, we'll file a lawsuit," she declared. "The judge will force you to leave."

"You think so?" Lindsey asked, her brow lifted. "Sorry to disappoint you, but you and these others haven't been harmed by us living here."

"Our peace has been disturbed." Shirley lifted her chin. "We have the right to enjoy our homes."

"As do we," Lindsey snapped.

I rubbed my forehead, trying to not laugh at the image of a court case in which Shirley and the neighbors are informed they haven't the right to evict us from our homes. The judge says, why am I bothered with this shit?

"I want to be polite here, Shirley," I said, unable to stop grinning, "but you're an idiot."

"And you're a drug dealer," she screeched. "A murderer. We don't want you here."

"Get out." Lindsey's voice hardened into steel. "Leave my house. If you keep saying such shit about Brody, we'll sue you for slander. Got it?"

"We can prove it."

"Good luck with that," I said, gesturing for Shirley to leave the kitchen. "I'd like to see you try."

"We'll hire lawyers." Shirley's chin went up.

Lindsey paced forward. Whatever Shirley saw in her expression must have alarmed her, for her defiance sagged from her face.

"You're accusing him of terrible things," Lindsey said, her voice deadly soft. "That's not neighborly. Leave my house or not, Shirley. Stay, and we'll ask the cops to drag you out. Your choice."

"This man is evil," Shirley hissed. "You'll find out the hard way, Lindsey. You should listen to me."

Her chin high again, the old lady stalked past us and out of the kitchen. Lindsey covered her face with her hands. I gripped her shoulder briefly before following Shirley to make sure she left, and to lock the door behind her. She marched briskly down the walk under the interested stares of several folks crowded on the driveway opposite Lindsey's house.

I flipped them the bird, then shut the door.

"How about that," I commented, returning to Lindsey. "Our neighbors don't like us."

"They can kiss my backside."

I enfolded her in my arms, pressing her face into my shoulder. "It's funny. Then suddenly, it isn't funny anymore."

***

Hours later, I drowsed on the sofa in front of some movie I barely had an interest in while Lindsey typed on her laptop in her office. We'd both blown off Shirley's threats, yet the uneasiness her visit brought didn't depart quite so easily. I'd lived here peacefully for years without knowing a soul, and suddenly we're neighborhood pariahs.

I dropped more deeply into sleep, my head cradled on my arm, the movie's soundtrack lulling me into strange dreams. I saw shadow figures like phantoms, heard a sound akin to a click. The shapes moved with a rustling sound, dry, like reptilian scales rubbing together. Behind the black figures, music played, voices spoke in garbled voices.

A shadow stepped between me and the light of the TV.

I woke, blinking, in time to see blonde hair, teeth bared in a grimace before Bethany Byrd clocked me with something hard and shut down my lights.