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Blinking rapidly, I worked up some tears. “Thank God!” I rushed toward the first two cops, waving my hands around and explaining what had happened.
“Sir, I need you to take a step back,” the officer called out to Tommy.
“I’m giving him CPR,” Tommy calmly said. Sure enough, when I turned around, Tommy was compressing away.
“I appreciate that, but we’ll take it from here.”
An ambulance skidded to a halt behind the police cruisers, and a couple of EMTs rushed to Jones’s side.
“Mrs. Moretti?” I knew that voice. It was the King Douchebag himself, Detective Bennington.
I wiped away the lone tear on my cheek. If he was here, my tears wouldn’t do shit. “Mitchell-Moretti.”
“Apologies.” He smiled as he shooed the officer away. “Can I ask you a few questions?”
I crossed my arms and cocked my hip, ready to tell him he could talk to my lawyer when Lara ran out. She rushed me, nearly knocking me over as she wrapped her arms around my waist. “Thank goodness you’re here. He came out of nowhere and aimed a gun at Sasha! I saw it on the CCTV.”
“Lara. Why don’t you go back inside and set up the conference room for us?”
She nodded but didn’t budge. “Thank God you’re okay.”
I patted her back and gently slid from her grasp. “Can you find Scott, Axel, and Miranda and tell them what’s going on?”
“Absolutely.” Lara ran back into the office, and I turned back to Bennington. “Any more questions?”
“Who shot him?” His cocky smile made my hand itch. I wanted to give him a little taste of what I gave Jones.
“I did. I have a conceal and carry.”
“Probably for the best when you marry a murderer.”
“Let’s go with that.” I checked over my shoulder and made eye contact with Tommy. “You have my contact information. Let me know if you have any more questions.”
The EMTs pushed a stretcher with Jones strapped to it by, rushing him to the ambulance. Tommy joined me, and the two of us walked back into the building as Bennington tried to get in a parting shot but was drowned out by the ambulance's sirens.
The glass doors closed, muffling the noise in the parking lot.
“They’re going to want to talk to you,” Tommy muttered as we passed a frantic Lara on the phone.
“I’m sure. I need to call Nicki.”
Tommy lifted an eyebrow but silently followed me to my office.
I flopped in my chair and hit Nicki’s contact. The phone rang twice, and she answered, “Ricci.”
“Hey, it’s Sasha. I need you to come to my office. We have a situation.”
“I’m not a criminal attorney.” She sounded skeptical.
“No, but I trust you to come down here until I can get a hold of the big guns.”
“You trust me?”
Did I? Weirdly, yeah. Nicki had proven herself time and time again, with the added bonus of not being her creepy-ass father. “I do. Are you coming?”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
“Thanks.”
