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“I have my GPS linked to my voicemail,” I started.
“That’s right because if—”
“If my phone shuts down, my voicemail will automatically give my location.”
“What else?”
“I have a panic button in my car that goes to the nearest police station.”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “And what else?”
“I have pepper spray on my keychain, a taser gun hidden in the back, and my gun is in its case in my trunk.”
“And?”
I recited the rest, which was a reminder that I wasn’t out of control. I knew ways to defend myself. I had more control than anyone might think. I knew self-defense. I knew how to shoot a gun. I knew how to wield a knife. I wasn’t weak. I wasn’t helpless. I wasn’t defenseless.
I could protect myself.
And the best weapon I had? I was a woman, and he would underestimate me. Everyone did.
“Good. Good. How are you feeling?” Howard asked when I was done.
I was breathing evenly again. My pulse had steadied. “I’m better. Thank you.”
“I’m not wanting to stir up anything more here, but we got a call earlier today from the Kings.”
Stir up anything more? “Brett’s team?”
“I guess those kids who were hassling you and Brett on the street are trying to say he was aggressive with you. They doctored a clip to show that, but the team got their hands on it.”
“They’re what?” I barked out.
“I figured you wouldn’t be happy about that, but I gotta ask, because I love you and see you as my daughter… He didn’t grab you in any way that made you uncomfortable, did he?”
My heart sank. For Brett to even be questioned about that? “No. Those kids were the assholes.”
“Good to hear. Not that I expected otherwise, but I needed to ask. Anyway, they sent over some legal papers they want you to sign, just saying Broudou wasn’t aggressive with you. You feel comfortable signing them?”
“Of course I will.”
“I’ll let Vick know. She’s got them printed and ready for you here. She’ll fax them back in. Are you going to finish Vicky’s errands? My offer still stands.”
I was already shaking my head before he finished. “No. I’ll do it. I’ll be back within an hour or two.”
“Travis’ precinct isn’t far from you. You could give him a call?”
“I’m good.”
“Text when you’re heading back. Alright?”
“I will,” I noted softly before ending the call. I looked over to the parking lot across the street, automatically scanning it, because it was a habit—or it used to be. I’d gone soft over the last few years, getting comfortable, feeling familiar, not remembering what else was out there.
I couldn’t forget.
After scanning that one, I scanned the one behind it. To the side. To the next side.
I scanned all the parking lots, mentally cataloging as much as I could about all of the different vehicles—makes and models and the letters of the license plates. We’d figured out a trick when I was younger to remember them, and I began chanting the vehicles into a song in my head.
