CHAPTER 4 #2
But guys like Randall don't give up. I've known men like that. Obsessive. Possessive. The kind who'd rather destroy something than let someone else have it.
"I have to get back to work," she says.
"What time do you get off?"
"Two."
"I'll be outside."
She looks at me for a long moment, and I see the conflict in her eyes. She wants to tell me to leave. Wants to push me away.
"Fine," she says finally. "But I'm not going to change my mind about last night."
"We'll see."
I finish my coffee and leave a fifty on the counter.
“I’m keeping the change,” she says to my back.
I just wave.
Outside, I get back in my truck and wait.
***
AFTER HER SHIFT, CARLA comes out the front door, pulling her hair out of a ponytail. She looks tired. Worn down.
She's halfway to her car when a dark blue Chevy Tahoe pulls into the lot.
I'm out of my truck before the driver's door opens. Carla sees him. Freezes. Her whole body goes rigid, and I know. This is him.
The driver gets out, and he's looking at Carla like he owns her.
Carla casually slips a hand into her purse. I wonder if the Glock is in there.
"Hey, babe," the guy says. His voice is smooth. Easy. Like they're old friends catching up. "Long time."
"What are you doing here, Randall?" Her voice is steady.
Knew it.
"I came to see you," he says. "We need to talk."
"We don't have anything to talk about."
"I think we do." He takes a step closer. She takes a step back and point her purse at him.
He checks the movement and puts his hands wide. "I've been looking for you for eight months. You can't just disappear like that. Not after everything we had."
"I left. It's over. You need to leave me alone."
"Baby, come on." He holds up his hands like he's harmless. Like he's not six-three and built like a tank. Like he didn't just hunt her across state lines. "I messed up. But we can fix this. We can go back to how things were. I've changed. I'm getting help. Anger management and everything."
"I don't want to go back."
"You don't mean that."
"Yes, I do."
"Carla." His voice shifts. Gets harder. "You're not thinking straight. You're confused. You always get like this when you're under stress. Just come home with me. We'll talk it out. Figure this out together like we always do."
Gaslighting. I've seen it before. Making her doubt herself. Making her think she's the problem.
"I'm not confused," she says. "And I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Yes, you are." He reaches for her.
The purse comes up.
That's when I step between them.
She curses. I don’t want her to shoot this asshole, even if he does deserve it. I don’t want to see her get arrested.
"She said no," I say.
Randall looks at me, and frowns. He's trying to place me. Trying to figure out if I'm a threat. "This is a private conversation."
"Not anymore."
"Carla and I need to talk. Alone."
"She doesn't want to talk to you. She made that clear. So you need to fuck off."
He smiles, but it's the kind of smile that has nothing to do with humor. "You don't know what you're doing, man. You don't know what she's like. She gets these ideas in her head. She runs away when things get hard. But she always comes back."
"She's not coming back this time."
"That's not your decision."
"It's hers. And she already made it."
We're standing less than three feet apart now. Close enough that I can see the muscle ticking in his jaw. Close enough that I can see the calculation in his eyes. He's wondering if he can take me. Wondering if it's worth it to try.
Part of me hopes he does. I want a reason to punch his lights out. But he has to take the first shot. I’m not going down for assault either.
"You really want to do this?" he asks.
"I'm not doing anything. I'm standing here. Are you going to fuck off or what?"
"Carla," he says, not taking his eyes off me. "You're really going to hide behind this guy? You're really going to let some random asshole speak for you?"
"I'm not hiding," Carla says. Her voice is stronger now. "And he's not speaking for me. I'm telling you myself. Leave me alone, Randall. I'm not coming back. Not now. Not ever."
"You think you're safe with him?" Randall's voice is sharp now. Angry. The mask is slipping. "You think he's going to protect you? He doesn't know you like I do. He doesn't know what you need. What you want. You're mine, Carla. You've always been mine."
"I was never yours," she says. "I was your punching bag. Your property. But I'm not that anymore."
Randall's face goes hard. "Careful, babe. You're saying things you're going to regret."
"The only thing I regret is staying with you as long as I did."
For a second, I think he's going to snap. I can see the rage building behind his eyes. The urge to lash out, to hurt her for daring to defy him.
I shift my weight, ready.
But then he takes a breath and steps back, hands up. "You know what? Fine. You want to play it this way? We'll play it this way. But this isn't over. You know that, right?"
"It is over."
"No. It's not." He looks at me. "And you. You have no idea what you're dealing with. I've got friends. Resources. I can make your life very difficult, very quickly."
"I've got friends and resources too," I say. "So bring it, bitch."
He stares at me for another few seconds, then gets back in the Tahoe. He doesn't peel out. Doesn't slam the door. He just leaves. Calm. Controlled.
Which is worse.
Because it means he's not done. He's just regrouping.
I turn to Carla. Her face is pale, her hand is still inside her purse.
"You okay?" I ask.
She nods, but she's lying. She's barely holding it together.
"That was him," I say. "Randall. The guy you've been running from."
"Yes."
"He's not going to stop. He's going to come back. Tonight. Tomorrow. Whenever he thinks he has an opening." I step closer. "And he's not going to try talking next time."
"I'm not stupid."
"I didn't say you were."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I'm saying you can't stay in your apartment alone tonight."
"Yes, I can."
"Carla."
"I have a gun. I have training. I can handle myself."
She's a Marine. Two tours in combat. She's tough as hell. But tough doesn't mean invincible. "But he's not going to come alone. He's going to bring Adam and Gordon. Maybe others. And you're going to be outnumbered."
"So what? You think I should just run again? Pack up and disappear? Start over somewhere else?"
"No. I think you should let me help."
"How? By playing bodyguard? By hovering over me like I'm some damsel in distress?"
"By being there. So you're not alone when he makes his next move."
She shakes her head. "I'm not your responsibility."
"Maybe not. But you're my neighbor. And I'm not letting that asshole hurt you."
"You don't even know me."
"I know enough."
"You don't know anything." Her voice cracks. "You don't know what he's capable of. What he did to me. What he'll do if he finds out you're involved."
"Tell me."
"No."
"Carla."
"I said no." She finally takes her hand out of her purse. "I appreciate what you're trying to do. I do. But I'm not dragging you into this. It's my problem. My mess. And I'm going to deal with it."
"How?"
"I don't know yet. But I'll figure it out."
"You can't fight him alone."
"I've been doing it for eight months."
"And look where that's gotten you. You're terrified. You're isolated. You're barely sleeping." I take another step closer. "You shouldn’t be alone.”
"So what? You want me to just move in with you? Let you take care of me? Play house while Randall circles?"
"I want you to be smart. I want you to stop pretending you've got this under control when we both know you don't."
"I'm handling it the best way I know how."
"Your best way isn't working."
She flinches like I slapped her.
Damn it. That came out harsher than I meant. But it's true, and she needs to hear it.
"Look," I say, softening my tone. "I'm not trying to insult you.
I'm trying to keep you alive. Randall knows where you live.
He knows where you work. He's been watching you for days, maybe weeks.
And now he knows I'm involved. Which means his next move is going to be more aggressive.
More dangerous. And you standing in your apartment with a Glock and good intentions isn't going to stop him if he decides to kick down your door. "
"It might."
“Can you pull the trigger on him? On all three of them.”
A muscle works in her jaw. “Yes,” she said finally.
"What if you don’t have to do that? Stay with me. Tonight. Tomorrow. However long it takes to figure out a real plan."
"A real plan."
"Yeah. Like calling the cops. Getting a restraining order. Hell, calling his commanding officer at Fort Bragg and reporting him for harassment. Something that isn't just hoping he goes away."
"Been there, done that," she says. "It didn't work. He has friends in the MPs. Friends in legal. They made it go away. Made it look like I was the one causing problems."
Of course they did.
"And calling his CO won't help either," she continues. "Randall is decorated. Respected. Everyone loves him. No one's going to believe he's the kind of guy who..." She trails off.
"Who what?"
She looks away. "It doesn't matter."
It does matter. But I'm not going to push. Not now.
"Okay," I say. "So the official channels are out. That's fine. We'll figure out another way."
"We?"
"Yeah. We."
"Timothy, I'm not your problem."
"You keep saying that. But I'm still here. So maybe you should stop trying to convince me and just accept it."
She stares at me, and for a second, I think she's going to tell me to go to hell.
But then she lets out a long breath.
"One night," she says. "And to be clear, I'm not some damsel in distress."
"You're a Marine who can probably kick my ass."
"Probably?"
"Definitely. But I'm bigger and you're tired. So tonight, I win."
Her lips twitch. "Tomorrow I kick your ass."
"Looking forward to it." We both know it's a lie. But I'll take it.
"I need to go back to my apartment and get some things," she says.
We get in our separate vehicles and drive back to the apartment complex. I stay three cars back, scanning for the Tahoe or the F-250 or any other vehicle that doesn't belong.
Nothing.
But that doesn't mean he's not watching. When I’m satisfied Randall and his friends aren’t here, I go upstairs too. When she knocks on my door, she's carrying a duffel and her purse.
"You can take the bed," I say. "I'll sleep on the couch."
"Thank you. For earlier. For stepping in."
"You don't need to thank me."
"Yeah, I do." She looks at me, and her expression is softer now. Vulnerable. "I spent eight months telling myself I could handle this alone. And maybe I could have. But it's easier knowing I don't have to."
"You don't have to. Not anymore."
She nods, and for a moment, we just stand there.
Then she picks up her bag and heads toward the bedroom.
"Carla," I say.
She turns.
"He's not getting to you. Not while I'm here. You understand?"
She nods again, and this time, I think she believes me.
After she closes the bedroom door, I check the locks. Then I pull out my phone and text Vincent.
Might need that backup after all.
When and where?
I'll let you know.
I set the phone down and settle onto the couch.
Randall Shelly just declared war.
And he has no idea who he's dealing with.