The door to my office opened, and Francis adjusted his stance, commanding, “Get the hell down, sir,” but I only stepped back.
Seconds later, a redhead who bore a striking resemblance to Andrea stepped into the doorway. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and she was holding something behind her back.
“Miss…” Francis hissed. “This building is currently on lockdown, and you’re trespassing. I suggest that you move to the side and shut the door. Now.”
“I didn’t come all the way up here to talk to you.” She rolled her eyes before setting her gaze on me.
“The suspect is wearing a dark green hoodie, jeans, and black tennis shoes.” The voice listed the woman’s outfit, and she didn’t pale at all.
“About five foot six, one hundred and fifty pounds,” the voice continued, “and armed with a crowbar.”
The woman dropped the metal pole to the floor, and Francis raised his gun.
“I came here to let you—Mr. Harrison I-Think-I-Own-Manhattan Cross—know that you’re done making Andrea work within an inch of her life,” she said. “If it continues past today, I will fuck you up with my bare hands.”
So, this is definitely her sister…I smiled.
Francis groaned.
“Suspect has been found,” he spoke into his two-way. “Potentially psychotic, but non-threatening.”
“Iama threat,” she said. “And I’m warning you, Mr. Cross, that if I get one more miserable phone call from my sister, I will stick my foot so far up your ass, you’ll be spitting out leather every time you speak.”
“Threatening Mr. Cross’s life is a crime, Miss,” Francis said. “The police will be here within the next three minutes, so try not to make things worse for yourself.”
“They don’t need to come.” I looked at Francis. “Tell them it’s okay.”
“But, sir. She’s obviously?—”
“I’m not repeating myself.”
“Yes, sir.” He shot her a pointed look and pulled out his phone.
“Your name is Everly, correct?” I asked her.
“It’s Miss Stone to you.”
“Very well,” I said, leaning on the edge of my desk. “Miss Stone, you should know that I don’t take too kindly to threats.”
“Then think of it as aguarantee, Mr. Cross.”
I hesitated, noting the wayward look in her eyes—the fact that she actually brought a weapon up here.
As if Francis could read my mind, he walked over to where it had fallen and picked it up.
“It’s a spray-painted toy of some type, sir.” He sighed. “Hard plastic.”
“Interesting,” I said. “Miss Stone, I’m not sure what your sister has told you, but things have shifted a bit recently…”
“So, you’re calling her a liar?”
“I’m saying it’s obvious you care about her, and I find that quite endearing.”
“Don’t flatter me.” She narrowed her eyes. “I know everything about you and everything you’ve done. And my sister may be dick-matized by this ‘recent shift,’ but I’m not, and I can say what needs to be said.”
“Your sister and I have not had sex.”
Yet.
