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I keep my back turned, asking Gillian if she’s okay, but she seems to have fallen asleep thanks to that thing I do. Lucky for her. It could have been a bit traumatic otherwise.
“Why won’t you just die,” the voice snarls, a sniveling, overwrought, and very disturbed sounding woman.
Finally, there are flashlights and calls for her to drop the gun.
Psycho Barbie melts, collapsing, sobbing to the ground while Sargent Eames moves closer, his gun pointed at her the whole time, ordering her to lay flat on the ground until he can cuff her.
Hank Stanton comes stumbling out of some bracken, demanding to know if anyone’s hurt.
“Hiya Hank,” I call out into the darkness. “Just in the nick of time,” I add, filled with sarcasm because he’s earned it.
“It’s Lucy Brennon alright,” Eames confirms, lifting her cuffed and wobbling on her feet. A heel having finally snapping in the woodland floor.
“I dare say we might link more than one crime to this gun, too,” Hank adds, carefully picking the weapon up by the grip, dropping it into an evidence bag.
“How’d you know she’d be here, Xander?” he asks.
“I didn’t, just a hunch. But when I saw we’d been followed, that’s when I texted you. I thought it might be her, but didn’t see that coming?” I remark eyeing the gun with a shiver.
“Yeah, I woulda thought she’d be more the stabbing type,” Eames grunts, leading her away.
“How’s the girl?” Hank asks, peering over with his flashlight.
“Fainted,” I lie. “I’d best get her home.”
“Fifteen shots and not a scratch on either of ya,” Hank says, whistling through his teeth. “That’s divine intervention,” he says, crossing himself.
“Or really bad aim,” I quip.
“Look, uh. Thanks again, Hank.” I add seriously. “Appreciate the help. Just make sure she gets the help she needs and stays away from me, ya know maintain that restraining order?” I add.
And my Gillian.
“Will do Xander, Ms. Brennon’s going away for a long time I think,” Hank says stoically, tipping his hat and making after his junior officer. “We’ll need a formal statement though, but that can wait until morning,” he replies, holding his hand up in final farewell.
By the time we’re almost back at the car Gillian’s eyes flutter open.
“Xander? What just happened?” she asks sleepily.
“Mama Palazzo’s,” I tell her, kissing her forehead and easing her into the passenger side of the car.
“Happens the first few times, those Cannoli are like sleeping pills.”
Still groggy, she dreamily rests her head against the window, giving me time to pause at the trunk and pop it open.
My gym bag’s there, and I quickly change my shirt, I count the holes in the old one before stowing it away.
Fifteen at 50 yards in the dark. That’s some shooting and not bad grouping.
It’s about halfway to the Patterson place when Gillian comes around.
“Morning,” I joke. “Just in time to tell me how to get there,” I remark casually.
“We never found Orion,” she pouts before stifling a yawn.
“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” I assure her, eager to get us both someplace warm that hopefully has a big enough bed for us both.
Chapter Fifteen
Gillian
Why do I get the feeling like something’s happened? Like I was there for something but wasn’t there?
Like the first night, when Xander brushed my hair back casually, putting his hand on my temple, I was out like a light.
Tonight, one minute we’re whispering that someone’s following us, he tells me to hang on tight no matter what, and the next minute, I’m in his car feeling fine but full of Italian food.
I’m not too much of a stickler for details, but losing an hour or more of my life with no memory makes me uneasy. If it was with anyone else, I’d be worried.
But Xander’s so casually dismissive, only asking for directions to the Patterson’s house.
I might normally make a snide comment about him already knowing where it is, but I’m too interested to see if the house is actually to a standard that could pass the Patterson test.
Xander’s excitement shows, but he looks more relieved than anything else. Maybe he’s feeling the pressure of getting the house ready in time too.
That must be it.
Pulling up to the house, I can see one of the neighbors already waiting by their front door.
A bad sign.
“Mrs. Carter, how are you?” I greet her, hardly out of the car myself when she sets upon us both, suddenly taking a step back once Xander gets out and fully stands up.
“There were men,” she says, clutching her nightgown over her chest, unable to take her wide eyes off Xander.
Like I said, he has that effect.
“Men?” he asks her sounding serious. “What kind of men?”
The middle-aged spinster swallows hard, trembling as she gathers her thoughts.
“Workmen. All this afternoon. I couldn’t see you, Gillian, and wasn’t sure if I should call Mr. and Mrs. Patterson?”
