Ashley dropped to the floor.
Get down… do it now…
She had total faith that Jim knew exactly where both she and Greg were, thanks to that security camera.
She heard the door crash open, heard Jim’s voice: “Drop the weapon, drop the gun, drop it drop itdrop it!”
She heard a clatter—no gunshot, thank God—heard a crash that had to be Jim tackling Greg onto her coffee table, shattering it and smashing it flat, and then Jim shouted, “Ash, you okay?”
“I am,” she called. “Are you?”
“I’m fine,” she heard him say. “Do me a favor and secure this motherfucker’s weapon. I kicked it into the kitchen.”
She crawled out from beneath her dining room table to see that Jim, indeed, had Greg Ramsey pinned on top of her former coffee table, his arm around Greg’s throat, his legs locked around Greg’s waist as Greg struggled to get free.
“Definesecure,” she said.
Jim actually laughed. “Start by locating it,” he said, in the same almost-gentle, conversational tone he’d used with Kenneth, during the paintball fiasco. “And then, just kinda stand near it. Or, you know, put it in the vegetable drawer in your fridge. Chief Taylor’s on his way, FYI, with Skelly and Becker close behind him. Oh, and if you can find your phone after you secure the weapon, it’d probably be good to call 9-1-1.”
Her front door was hanging from just one of its hinges. The amount of force Jim had delivered to kick it open… “You need me to get you some ice as long as I’m stashing the gun in the fridge?” she called to him as yes, the gun was right there, on the kitchen floor. She picked it up with her thumb and one finger. Opened the fridge door.
“Nah, I’m… good. Curious, like, who the fuckisthis since I’ve already confirmed that he’s not Brad.”
“His name is Greg Ramsey,” she called as she stashed the gun, closed the refrigerator door, and then went looking for her phone. “His wife—ex-wife—is one of my clients. He says he’s already killed his lawyer…” And just like that, her matter-of-fact delivery crumbled and her voice broke.
“Ashley, are you okay?” Bobby Taylor was standing just outside her ruined front door. He started to laugh as he took it all in, then came to envelope her in a hug. “I’m guessing Lieutenant Slade decided not to wait.”
***
Jim needed ice—for his shoulder.
He’d hit the floor, hard, when he’d tackled Greg Ramsey.
Kicking in the door was easy enough if you knew how to do it. And yeah, his knees weren’t exactly happy with him right now, but they never were.
And it was worth it, entirely, to know that Ashley was safe.
The police had come and taken custody of Ramsey, his refrigerated Glock, and the arsenal in his car. Jim’s teammates—Taylor and Skelly and Becker and Lee—had all shown up, ready to assist, and were kind of pissed that he hadn’t waited for them.
And yet, they all took one look at the way Jim knew he was looking at Ashley as Colleen kept her arms wrapped tightly around her, and they completely understood.
Waiting had not been an option.
The police finally left, and most of Jim’s teammates, too, finally called it a night, and then it was just Bobby Taylor and his wife Colleen, still sitting on the sofa next to Ashley as Jim hovered nearby.
Bobby was ready to board up Ashley’s door—using a hammer and nails to secure her condo until the morning, when they could get the door replaced. The plan was for Ash to spend the night at their apartment.
Which was a good idea, but…
“It’s late, we should go,” Colleen told Ashley. “Do you want to bring your suitcase from Florida, since it’s already packed and it’s just until tomorrow…?”
It was then that Ashley glanced over at Jim. “Yeah, that’s a good idea, but… Will you just give me a minute, to, um…”
“Yes,” Colleen said. “Why don’t you walk Jim out to his truck. I’ll grab your stuff while Bobby boards up the door.”
And then, there they were, walking down the steps to the parking lot.
“Thank you,” Ashley said. “I knew when I sent that text…”
