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“What the hell are you doing?” I snap.
“Dialing 911,” the AI repeats.
“911 what’s your emergency?” a voice asks through the line.
“My wife is about to shoot me! Hurry!” He rattles off the address.
“No, I’m not,” I say, lowering the gun and realizing how stupid it was to pull it out.
“We’re sending officers to your location. Stay on the line, please,” the 911 operator says.
“No, please, it’s fine. I’m putting the gun away,” I plead.
Garrett uses the distraction to lunge at me. He tries to tackle me and grab the gun, but it goes off, blasting a hole in the wall.
“Sir, Sir? Was that a gunshot?” the 911 operator asks.
“Yes!” he screams. “She tried to shoot me!”
“No, I didn’t!” I defend, panicking now.
“Is anyone hurt?” she asks.
Neither one of us answers, and suddenly, there’s a knock at the door.
“Officers have arrived at your location. Please let them in,” the operator says. “Do you need an ambulance?”
“No!” we both yell in unison.
“Denver, PD. Mr. and Mrs. Lee, let us in!”
Leaving the gun on the floor, I run to the front door, determined to get my story in first. Garrett races me there, but I open it first.
The officers have pistols pointed at us. We both put our hands up.
“We heard a gunshot,” one of the officers says.
Garrett and I both start talking fast. The officer re-holsters his weapon and makes us both sit on the sofa and oversized chair. Two more officers come in behind him. We tell our story and one of the officers looks in the bedroom and confirms the only thing shot was the wall.
“You’re both under arrest for domestic violence, and you, young lady, are under arrest for illegal discharge of a firearm. That’s a class five felony, Mrs. Lee.”
I wake with a start, sweating and tears rolling down my face.
I wipe my face with the sleeve of my Fleetwood Mac long-sleeve tee. I’m so sick and tired of having that dream. I wish it would stop. I don’t need constant reminders of that horrible day. The cops had been there at least twice before when we’d fought. He punched me once and gave me a black eye, another time he almost broke my arm when I was trying to lock the bathroom door as I’d run from him. He was drunk and used his might to force the door open. I was thrown against the shower curtain and into the bathtub, almost breaking my elbow. I was surprised they’d arrested me this time, but grabbing that gun was a mistake—one I’ll be paying for the rest of my life since I’m now technically a convicted felon.
I pick up the book from the floor, dreading having to find the spot I left off since the bookmark is lying next to it, and set it on the sofa. I go into the kitchen to make some calming tea. I need to calm down.
While I wait for the teakettle to boil, I think about work yesterday. I remember the look on Lincoln’s face when he caught me listening to that filthy audiobook. I was so mortified, but his heated look made me wonder if I shouldn’t be so embarrassed. But he’s so gorgeous and mysterious, I find myself wishing I could get some alone time with him that isn’t work-related. Maybe a nice casual dinner. I’d like to see him in something other than the stiff suits he wears—not that he doesn’t wear them very, very nicely. I wonder if he works out. What are his hobbies? What kind of women does he like? Does he even like women?
“As if someone like that would ever want someone so damaged,” I mutter to myself, ripping open the tea packet and putting it into the cup. I pour the hot water in as I continue to think about Lincoln Silverstone.
Is he a cat person or a dog person? I bet he doesn’t have any animals. He works too much. Speaking of… I really want to get a pet. Garrett never wanted them, and as much as I love dogs, I don’t want to leave one alone all day while I’m working. But a couple of cats might be nice. I should check the humane society’s website and see what they have.
Ten
Lincoln
Roman and I stand in Nathan’s office while he sits behind his desk.
