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“Where’s your car?”
The hallway light flicks on, shining through the sliver of space under the door. “I live next door in the gray house to your right. Dispatch sent me to check it out before sending anyone else.”
“Did you see the man downstairs who broke into my home? He needs to be arrested.”
“Yes, ma’am. I saw him. You gave him a pretty nice bump on his head.” His tone hints at amusement. “You said this is your home. Can I please see your ID?”
I snatch my purse off the floor and fish around for my wallet. “I’ll slip it under the door.”
After a moment of silence, he says, “Miss Bridges, the address listed on it does not match this one. Would you please explain why you think this is your house?”
Shit.“My name is on the mortgage, and the deed. But I just moved in today and haven’t had a chance to change my license.”
“Why don’t you open up so we can talk?” Then he adds, “My badge won’t fit under the door.”
“Is the intruder in handcuffs?”
“No, Miss Bridges. He—”
“I’m not coming out until he’s cuffed.”
He chuckles under his breath. “All right.”
A deep voice says, “You can’t be fucking serious.”
“You heard the lady. Place your hands behind your back.” Metal clanks together, followed by Officer Russo’s voice. “Okay, he’s cuffed.”
I crack open the door and peer into the hallway. An older man in uniform stands beside the younger intruder.
The man in handcuffs grunts. “This is ridiculous.”
And that snaps my last thread of patience. “What’s ridiculous isyoubreaking intomyhouse and trying to attack me.”
“I didn’t attack you.” He glares down at me. “You’re the one who assaultedme.”
“No, I defended myself after you started chasing after me.” I gesture at the egg-sized mound on his forehead. “You got what you deserved.”
The police officer frowns, and his forehead creases. “This place has been vacant since we moved next door. Figured it belonged to the bank.”
The man in cuffs lowers his voice as if I’m not standing right in front of him. “How do we know the house is hers? Maybe she’s lying.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I am not lying. I have the paperwork to prove it. And whether the house is mine or not doesn’t justify the fact that you broke in, so you don’t have a leg to stand on.”
Officer Russo claps him on the shoulder. “She’s got a point, kid. Care to explain whatyouwere doing here?”
His jaw clenches. “Not now, Dad.”
My head jerks back as my eyes bounce between them. “Dad?”
“I’m Jim Russo.” He gestures to himself, and then to the asshole beside him. “And this is my son, James Russo.”
I almost laugh. The cop’s son is a criminal? “You’re kidding.”
“I’m sorry about my son’s behavior. If you can believe it, he had good intentions when he came into your house tonight.”
Good intentions for breaking into my house, and scaring the life out of me?I arch an eyebrow as my gaze roams over the cop’s son.
He towers over me. With a square jaw and dark features, he bears a strong resemblance to his father—except for his thick brown hair, which is unfortunate for him because he won’t be keeping much of it judging by his father’s bare scalp. He’s dressed in a white T-shirt with gray sweatpants—every woman’s dream, if they’re not also worn with the pair of handcuffs he’s sporting—and he’s as broad as his muscles are thick.
