He’sso close.
And all my speculations and gut feelings are worth nothing if he realizes what I’m doing and shoots Hollis as punishment. Orif he does something before the police arrive, and my 911 call is for nothing.
No. I need to take care of this now.
Pitching my voice so it’s low and non combative, I say, “Hey, man. We’re not trying to cause any trouble here. Just tell us what you want, and we’ll help you get it.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Hollis nods in agreement. She adds quietly, “I can give you my tip money. It’s about a hundred in cash. Just?—”
He cuts her off with a harsh laugh, gravel grating on sandpaper. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll take your money. I’ll take everyone’s money before I leave.” A beat later, he adds in an ominous tone, “Before I finish what I came here to do.”
From across the restaurant, the waitress bursts into tears.
The asshole flicks a quick glance in her direction, and as he turns his head, his hood slips.
Not completely. But enough.
My heart drops to the floor.
Hollis blinks. Then she lets out the tiniest exhale.
Relief.
It’s not the man who hit her outside Maxwell’s. She didn’t inadvertently bring him here.
I did.
Shit.
What are the odds?
The first time I’m in Utica in six years, a city with a population of over sixty-thousand, and I have to run into one of the only people who have a reason to hate me.
Brad Simmons.
I arrested him on assault charges only a few months before I quit, after his neighbor called to report a domestic violence claim. Simmons liked to beat his girlfriend, and that time, it escalated to the point where all the neighbors could hear him. Bythe time Darren and I got there, the girlfriend had a broken arm and concussion, and if we’d taken much longer, I think there’s a good chance he might have killed her.
His girlfriend—Ellen, I still remember her name—wasn’t going to file charges until I convinced her.
As a result of her testimony, Simmons was sentenced to a minimum of five years in prison. Which wasn’t enough, in my opinion, but it was better than nothing. Five years gave Ellen long enough to relocate to Buffalo, to lose herself in another city where he hopefully wouldn’t find her.
But apparently, he’s out. Still living in Utica. And most likely, carrying an enormous grudge against me.
In the moment it takes for me to recognize him, Simmons realizes he’s given himself away. He hisses out a low curse, then turns the gun on me. His shadowed eyes narrow. “So you figured it out, huh?”
“This is a bad idea,” I tell him calmly, trying to ignore the jumping nerves in my stomach.
A random attacker was one thing. But one who has a vendetta against me is different. More dangerous. And if he thinks Hollis is my date, that she’s important to me… in his screwed up mind, he might think that hurting her—killing her—might settle the score.
Shit.
There’s no time to wait.
“Hah!” he chortles. “Kind of ironic, isn’t it? You send me to jail for disciplining my girlfriend, and now I see you’ve done the same? Realized smacking your woman around is the only way to control her, huh?” He takes another step closer, his gun still pointed at Hollis. “Little late now, isn’t it? Considering you already fucked with my life.”
Hollis sucks in a sharp breath. Her skin pales. But she holds herself still.
Shit. I need to get the gun on me. I can’t risk it going off when it’s still aimed at her.
