Chapter 11
Imaneuvered us so we have the bedspread wrapped over us like an omelet.
There was no chance to get under it in the night.
She’s sleeping so soundly, and from what she said, I doubt she gets this kind of sleep when I’m not around.
I wouldn’t wake Stella for the world. Her little snores are the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
I don’t even mind the drool puddling between my pecs.
Her hair sticks in every direction. Part of it is still in a puff from the ponytail, and I know it’s going to be a matted mess in the morning.
I’d pull the hair tie out, but I’m afraid I’d wake her. Probably just best to let her be.
I wish everyone else thought that way about Stella.
She doesn’t deserve this life. I mean, no one does, but especially not her.
She’s been through so much already, losing her parents as a child.
No one should have to go through that. But I’m glad she has a family she likes.
I just wish she didn’t stay in contact with them right now.
I sigh at her recklessness, and my long exhale seems to relax her even more.
She makes a contented hum, then cuddles harder.
I doze off, dreaming about the woman next to me.
Just as I’ve got her moaning in my dirty dream, a strange sound wakes me.
It’s subtle, but the lack of the electric hum from the surveillance equipment is distinct.
The power is out. No big surprise—the power is always dodgy when it snows this hard.
With no heat, it’s bound to get cold in here fast. I wonder where she keeps the extra blankets.
I lift her carefully from my chest, so I don’t wake her. Then I head to her closet.
The dogs bark downstairs. I fight the urge to shoosh them, in case she slept through it. I don’t want to wake her with shooshing.
More barks. This isn’t a drill.
“What’s going on?” Stella yawns.
“You have any guns up here?”
“Yeah, Hanson’s shotguns are in the closet, what’s wrong?”
There are five inside. I grab two of the five, hand her one, and demand, “Get in the closet and stay there until I come for you.”
“WHAT?”
“Stella, now! Go!”
She scrambles to her feet and hides in the closet. One thing off my mind.
I charge downstairs, my mind on high alert. I sneak to the bottom of the stairs. I hate being quiet and stealthy. It takes time. But I can’t give away any advantage.
With no lights, it’s hard to make out what’s happening in the living room. Two men in all black. Two dogs. Max bites one of the men, before the man tosses him onto the couch. Sugar turns her attention to that man and bites him in the groin. The other man raises his handgun at her.
I shoot first. I walk quickly straight at them, gun on my target. Sugar releases her target and runs from the loud sound of the gun shot. The man I shot cradles his abdomen with his left arm. I’m out of cartridges, but they don’t know that. My gun is aimed at them, and I shout, “GUNS DOWN!”
The man I shot tosses his handgun, before he grunts to his compatriot, “Come on!”
He stumbles backward into the Christmas tree, which teeters but doesn’t fall.
They jump for the window they broke into, dog bite guy goes first. I grab the gun on the floor, and as the second guy gets out the window, I shoot him in the ass.
He yowls in pain but makes it out. I follow and shoot the other man in the back.
They get into their black Range Rover, and I shoot out the back window, but I can’t make out where their heads are in the dark. I give them each a few shots, just in case I get lucky. But the vehicle drives away.
Damn.
I run back into the house and wedge my way through the window, since I know the door is locked. A gunshot rings out. I’m not hit, but I look for the shooter. Then, I see naked Stella, shotgun in hand. She screams and drops it, then shouts, “Oh my god, are you alright?”
“I’m okay, they’re gone,” I nod. “Max? Sugar?” The pair are hiding under the dining room table, safe but scared. I crouch next to them and they come out. Sugar runs to check on her mama, who finally takes a breath and holds onto her girl. “We’re all okay,” I murmur to Max, who licks my face.
“You’re not okay, Jordan. Your feet,” she says and points down.
I follow her finger and see the shards of glass in them. “I’ll be damned. I don’t even feel it.”
“Not yet. We have to get it out,” her voice shakes. Her eyes are wide, and I can tell she’s about to break.
Need to give her a job to do. Something to focus on. “Gotta first aid kit?”
She shakes her head. “Sorry, I’ve got some alcohol—"
“Can you run out to my truck and get the kit from there?”
“Of course,” she starts for the door.
“Stella, you’re naked. Put a coat on. And your boots.”
“Right, right.” She does, then grabs my keys, and goes to the truck.
She’s out. No time like the present for something unpleasant. I yank the biggest piece first and scream in a closed mouth, so I don’t scare her and make her rush back inside. Now, onto the smaller pieces.
***
While I work on cleaning up my feet, she sets candles out everywhere at my request. Then, she lights the fireplace. Stella has fetched me a robe, and she’s dressed, so she’s run out of things to do. “What else can I do?”
“Call Wes.”
She nods. “Is there anything else I can do for you first?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Your feet are not good.”
“This is nothing,” I lie. I’ve kept my flashlight off my feet when she’s around. I don’t want her to see the extent of the damage. She’ll freak out. “Just make sure to get Wes out here, tell him about the power, too, so he brings whatever we need for that.”
“Okay.” she makes the call, pacing while she dials.
Telling her what to do seems to calm her down, and I’m glad for the victim assessment courses I’ve taken over the years. In an emergency, most people want to be told what to do. It gives them a place for all the energy they get from the adrenaline of the emergency.
“Max, don’t worry, you’re a good boy,” I tell him. He is worried about all the blood. I pet him and turn my attention to his guardian. “Sugar, you’re such a good girl, going after that mean man like that. You protected Max like a champ.”
She nuzzles my thigh.
“But you both have to let me finish up here, okay? Why don’t you go lay down?”
They won’t leave my side, though, so I have to figure out how to wrap my feet with two dogs trying to snuggle me back to health. I smile at them, as I weave the bandages. There are worse problems to have.
Like, we could all be dead right now.
I’m not sure if they were here to kidnap Stella or kill her.
They weren’t particularly trigger happy, so I have to imagine the order was to kill anyone with her, then to take her.
Breaking in via window was sloppy. They must have thought she’d be alone.
Is Riker bringing in cheap contractors for the job, or does he hire untrained guys?
Unclear. And I’m not asking Stella anything about him right now.
She nods on the phone, then hangs up. Her voice is stronger now, “They’ll be here in a half an hour. Do you need anything?”
I need to get her talking about anything aside from what just happened. “I could use some of that eggnog, if you think it’s still good from sitting out all night.”
“It has enough alcohol to keep it fresh forever, but I’ll get you some from the fridge.”
“Made a big batch?” I finish the wrap job on my feet and stand to give them a test. Not too bad. Got all the glass out.
She grabs some coffee mugs and pours eggnog from a milk jug. “The recipe makes a party batch. I have another gallon in there.”
“Why not scale the recipe down? Make a half batch.”
She laughs, “You’ve tasted my eggnog, Jordan. Would you want only half?”
I laugh, too, “No. I’d be pretty disappointed not to have more. I could drink it every day and not get tired of it.” I realize I’m not talking about her eggnog, and I wonder if she knows it.
I see it in her eyes. She knows it.
Stella smiles, then drinks her mug down. But then she frowns. “Oh, hell, we never did have the pot roast.” Two oven mitts later, she pulls the casserole dish out and lifts the lid. Steam pours up. “Well, it’s definitely cooked.”
I take a look at the carnage. “Doesn’t look too bad.”
“Yeah, let me try it.” She gets a fork and has a stab at it.
Then, she spits the bite out into the sink.
“Overcooked and dry. But I bet the dogs will love it, and they deserve a treat for keeping us safe.” She makes them each a bowl of pot roast and vegetables, and it isn’t two seconds before they dive into their treats.
“Guess it’ll have to be more eggnog for our,” I look at the clock and sigh, “two a.m. snack.”
“I have crackers and cheese for us.” She set it all up, and when we sit at the table, she looks at her home. “They really did a number in here, didn’t they?”
“I’m afraid so. I’m sorry. I tried—"
Her warm hand strokes the back of mine. “You are my hero. Thank you. Don’t ever apologize for what you did.”
I blush. “You’re welcome, but I don’t—"
“Stop. Seriously. I’m just sorry I almost shot you,” she says firmly.
I laugh. “Don’t worry about it.”
“No, I mean it, I just panicked, and I could have killed you. I’m so sorry! I feel terrible for it.”
“Stella, I promise, you couldn’t have killed me.”
“You’re not bulletproof, Jordan—"
“And you shoot like a storm trooper.”
She frowns, “What?”
“Your aim is terrible, hon. I was in no danger from you, you weren’t going to kill me. I promise.”
“Oh. I guess that’s a relief.” She does not look relieved.
“What is it?”
“Hanson left all those guns in the closet, and I’ve always felt safer with them around, but obviously, I don’t know how to use them.”
I shake my head, “That’s no big deal—"
“If I’m going to keep them around, then I should know how to use them, right? Otherwise, someone could use them against me, or I could shoot someone I care about. Would you teach me?”
I nod, “I’d be happy to.” Flashing lights blink in the front windows. Wes is here. “I’m going to go get dressed before they come in. You’ll be alright alone to answer the door?”
She smiles, “Don’t want your Marine Corps brother to see you in my flowery robe?”
“Not particularly.”