AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You can call me Fletch,” the second reasons gently, watching her like she’s a little doll to be kept safe. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I don’t want to be talked about.” She stands tall. Strong. Her hair is matted and messy, but still manages to sit in an askew ponytail. “The guy that was in my home…” Nervously, she licks her lips and casts a fast glance toward me, “Um… the one who grabbed me and was gonna shoot. He said his name was Detective Archer Malone.”
Rage zings in my blood as I shoot a look at the cop. Though, I know he wasn’t the one who hurt her. I know he didn’t toss her to the floor or hold a gun to her head.
“He told me his name and badge number.”
“Is that how he got inside?” Gently, like he knows she’s apt to run, Archer starts moving closer to her. But he’s slow. Unobtrusive. Unthreatening. “You thought he was me, so you let him in?”
She flicks her thumbs against her pointer fingers, like a nervous twitch she can’t help. “I’ve seen you on the news, Detective. And I’ve seen your wife.”
I glance back at him and raise a brow.He’s married?
“The man who hurt me, he was shouting at me to open the door. He said his badge number was something like…” she closes her eyes for a beat and shakes her head. “I don’t know. Five, four, something.” Opening them again, she swallows nervously. “He called me sweetheart in this really icky… sickly sweet way. So I knew…”
“You knew he wasn’t me.”
She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head again. “I know you and your wife are tight, and that you don’t really have a reputation for being overly sweet.”
Fletch chuckles, so his chest and shoulders bounce. “He lacks bedside manners, Ms. Swanson. It’s his biggest flaw.”
“Rory,” she draws a deep breath and sighs. “You can call me Rory. And well…” she lifts her shoulders in a shrug. “I dunno. I didn’t know your real badge number. But I feel like it starts with a seven. I don’t know how or why I know that. Maybe I heard it on the news or something. But I’m just really sure it doesn’t start with a five.”
“You’re right.” Archer takes another step forward and works to smile in a way that would imply kindness. “Badge number 743622. No fives to be found anywhere in there.”
“And you wouldn’t call me sweetheart, either.” She chews on the inside of her lip and leans a little to the right to look at Fletch. “Youpossibly would. Miranda London likes to talk about you both on the news a lot. So I guess I kinda figured that one of you is gentler than the other. But that man at my house… he…” She tries to finish her thought, but her chest heaves and cuts her off.
So Fletch offers, “Bad guy screwed up with that ‘sweetheart’ comment. It wasn’t in character for Arch.”
“I didn’t let them in,” she whimpers, losing her stance of strength and dropping her fidgeting hand to massage her aching thigh. “I swear, I didn’t let them in. I grabbed a knife. But they kicked my door anyway, and then he grabbed me and—”
“You did great.” I finally speak up and show her a gentle smile. Soft and comforting. Because maybe Detective Fletcher is known for being the sweeter partner of the two. Maybe he’s known for putting a witness at ease and making them comfortable. But fuck, so am I. “I don’t know if you remember me, Rory, but I—”
“You were at the hospital.” Tears well up in her eyes and spill over when she nods. She’s not a noisy, sobbing crier. But rather like someone I think is at the end of their rope. She’s tired. She’s emotionally wrung out. And she’s now on a contract killer’s list somewhere. “When that douchebag hit my car,” she rasps, “you came into the hospital after Lieutenant Smiles-A-Lot had to leave.”
“Smiles-A-Lot,” I grin, thinking of the eternally angry firefighter who pulled her out of her wreck a few months ago. “Ruiz. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him smile. But sure… I know who you mean.”
Her brows wrinkle and seem to collapse in the middle. “Why are you here?”
“In Copeland?”
“Yes,” she exhales. “In Copeland. In my home. In this room.” She lifts a hand and looks around. “Whatever this room is. I saw you in a different town, in a whole other lifetime when I was in distress. And now here I am, distressed again, and here you are, a dozen states away from the first. I don’t…” Dismayed, she shakes her head. “I just don’t understand the connection or how you could possibly be here in the same place and at the same time as me. Again.”
“You saw something I’m guessing some bad guys think you shouldn’t have.” Remembering I hold her phone in my hand, I tighten my grip and come around the couch, so it no longer separates us. So I’m closer, should theMalonein Malone jump out and reveal he’s working for Vallejo.
Call me a fucking cynic, but I struggle to trust folks in the mob world.
“Whoever shot that man the other night… they know you saw. I’m thinking they don’t want you to tell anyone else about it.”
“I haven’t told anyone yet.” Her eyes shoot to the detectives and water. “I saw a man get shot, but I didn’t report it. That’s illegal.”
“Well…” Archer starts, “Yes. It is. But—”
“But you willnotget in trouble for it,” I bite out. Wandering closer, placing myself between the woman who stands somewhere around five-five, maybe five-six, and the cops who are hunters just as determined as the men in her home tonight, I look down and wait for Rory’s brave eyes to meet mine. “You saw something horrible, Aurora. You were alone. You were scared. You will not get into trouble for choosing yourself first.”
“I googled Gregory Vallejo.” She drops her gaze, only to lock on to my hand, so I lift it between us and offer her the dead phone. It’s a peace offering, I guess. My gesture in hopes it somehow makes her trust me. “I was googling him just before those other guys knocked on my door.”
“Why?” I block the detectives’ view of their witness. I protect her from their probing stares. And when she remains quiet, I ask again, “Why, Aurora? Why’d you google him?”
