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“MaryAnn. She’s our receptionist. Please don’t hurt her.”
“Your receptionist?” Out of the entire bizarre scenario, that detail seemed to shock the hardened detective the most. “Jesus. All right, MaryAnn. I want you to stay right there, with your hands on your head. Got it?”
“Y-yes, Officer.”
“Detective.” With one hand still holding her gun trained on MaryAnn, Rogers reached for her phone and dialed. “Yeah, I got them. We have backup yet? Send ‘em in.”
Moments later, the house filled with cops in tactical gear shouting orders. MaryAnn was handcuffed despite Olivia’s shouted protests. Rogers gently removed the ropes from Olivia’s wrists, but kept her pinned to the chair when she started to rise.
“EMTs are on their way to check you out. You’ve got a nasty bruise there, Mrs. Monroe.”
At the reminder, her cheek began to throb. “It hurts like a mother. Fucking asshole.”
“Probably a good thing we’ve got your husband in cuffs,” Rogers said with a chuckle. “I’m not sure we’d be able to keep him from killing the bastard otherwise.”
“You arrested James? Why?”
“He’s not under arrest. We had to keep him from getting himself killed. When that gun went off, he made a run for it. For you.”
A pair of paramedics joined the officers in the house. A tall brunette with pink streaks in her hair offered an overly enthusiastic smile. “Hey, there. Olivia, right?”
“Yes. I think I need to go to the hospital.”
“You sure do. Can you look straight ahead for me? I hate to do it, but I gotta shine this light in your eyes real quick, okay?”
“Okay.”
Staring ahead as she’d been told, Olivia tried not to flinch when the light flashed into her eyes.
“Pupils are equal and reactive. Let’s get you up on this stretcher and into the ambulance.”
“I can walk, really,” Olivia insisted, pushing up from the chair.
But pink hair wrapped a surprisingly strong hand around her arm. “Sorry, ma’am. Protocol, ya know? Up you go!”
Rolling her eyes would be torture, so she settled for pouting as they helped her up onto the stretcher. Her stomach rolled at the waves of pain, so she closed her eyes and focused on not puking on anyone.
“Livvy! What the hell happened to her?”
Opening her eyes again, she squinted up at James. His face was even whiter than MaryAnn’s had been. “I’m okay. Just a bruise.”
“You’re covered in blood, Livvy. Where are you hurt?” Lifting his head, he bared his teeth at Detective Rogers as she came jogging up. “What the fuck did he do to my wife?”
“The blood isn’t hers, Mr. Monroe. Just a little splatter from where your receptionist shot her boyfriend.”
“What?” James’s voice rose with a fury that sent a chill down Olivia’s spine. She’d never heard him so angry. “What the fuck happened in there?”
“He hit me,” Olivia offered, swallowing hard. “Hurts.”
Fury took a backseat to concern, though she could still see it burning in his eyes. “I know, baby. I’ll be right behind you.” He started to lift his arm, but the movement was cut short. Growling, he glared at Detective Michaelson. “Do you mind?”
Olivia couldn’t help it. The sight of her daddy in handcuffs sent her over the edge and she began laughing hysterically.
“What’s wrong with her?” Bryant demanded.
James leaned over the stretcher, panic clear in his crystal blue eyes. “Livvy? Baby, what’s wrong?”
“I-I’m supposed to be the one in handcuffs!” she managed between breathless fits of laughter.
