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"I hid and called Noah." His number was the first one that came up on my phone. At least, that's what I'm telling myself. I don't have the mental energy to expend having a crisis over why I chose to call him out of everyone in my contacts. "Somehow, I knocked a coffee canister off the counter when I was trying to shift positions so I could try to at least get a look at whoever was in the shop if they came close to me."
Noah grunts beside me. He's made the same exact sound every single time we've gone over this. He's really not happy that I tried to see the guys in the office. I thought it was the smart thing to do, though.
Spoiler alert: It was a stupid thing to do!
As soon as the coffee canister hit the floor, my life flashed before my eyes. It flashed again when the two men burst out of the office, and I saw the gun. And again when the shot exploded the window beside my head.
Everything after that is a little bit of a blur. I remember feeling immensely relieved when I saw Noah. And I remember the feel of his lips on mine, searing me to my soul. But the rest of it? It's a little jumbled up and chaotic, as if the world fell out of focus for a while there and is only now beginning to right itself.
"Do you remember anything about what they look like?" Dillon asks.
I glance up at him. "I remember what they look like." That part isn't jumbled or chaotic. Their faces are seared into my brain. "The one with the gun was a few inches taller than me. He had red hair. I couldn't tell his eye color, but I'm pretty sure he had freckles. He seemed young, mid-twenties, maybe. I didn't see the other one very well, but he was about your height and lean, with short, dark-colored hair."
Dillon jots the entire time I talk and then looks at me. "Did you recognize either of them?"
"Possibly?" I shrug, uncertain. "The tall one seemed familiar, but I see a lot of people through here every day. It's possible he's been in here before, but not often enough for me to immediately recognize him in the dark. It was more just that he seemed familiar. Does that make sense?"
Dillon nods and then glances at Jack. "Do either of them sound familiar to you?"
"Possibly," he says, a troubled look on his face. "Before Aspen started, I had an employee here for a brief time, Glenda Brennan. Her son, Silar, has red hair and freckles. He was the reason I ended up having to let her go. He caused some trouble around here and she kept letting him come back."
"Shit," Dillon growls.
"You're familiar with him," Noah says. It's not a question.
Dillon nods reluctantly. "His name just crossed my desk last month on a list of new parolees from TDJC."
"He was in prison?" Noah growls.
"For a home invasion."
"Jesus fucking Christ."
"Would you recognize him if you saw him again?" Dillon asks me, his tone grim. His expression matches. I think his bad mood is getting worse.
"Yes."
"I'll scrounge up a photo and run it by for you to take a look at. If he's our guy, we'll start rattling cages until we shake him loose. I doubt he's gone far."
"She'll be staying with me," Noah says.
"Uh, no, she won't," I say.
"Yeah, you will. You aren't staying alone after what just happened. If they saw you, they may very well try to finish the job," Noah says, his expression implacable. "So you're either staying at my place, or I'm staying at yours. Either way, you aren't staying alone."
I glance to Jack for help.
"Don't look at me," my traitor of a boss says. "Your brother will have a shit fit if I let you stay with me, and that's drama I don't need right now."
Crap. Nash. He's going to lose his mind when he finds out about this, and there's no way he isn't going to find out. Even if I manage to convince Noah not to tell him, it'll get back to him eventually. I don't know how, but he always seems to know when something bad happens. It's like his freaking superpower or something.
"I'll stay with you on one condition," I tell Noah, hoping to forestall the inevitable for as long as humanly possible.
Noah's expression is rife with suspicion as he eyes me. "What's your condition, Dimples?"
"You can't tell my brother about what happened until after the sheriff finds and arrests his suspects." It won't keep Nash from finding out for long, but hopefully, long enough for the dust to settle. By the time I have to tell him the truth, the worst will be over, and there will be no reason for him to come swooping in to try to convince me to move back to Seattle.
I'll be able to buy half of the coffee shop, and then deal with him.
