“I wouldn’t,” I say.
And this time, there’s nothing in my voice but certainty.
He sees it. Finally. His hands lift slowly.
“Stay on your knees,” I repeat. “Or you’re going to end up in the hospital.”
My lungs burn because I’m holding my breath. I don’t notice until now. I don’t let it show as I inhale quietly.
The sirens get louder and closer. And then, lights flash across the walls. Blue. Red.
Relief hits, and I finally start breathing again, no longer holding my breath. But I don’t lower the gun. Not yet.
The front door bursts open. “Sheriff’s department!”
The next moments are a cacophony of unfamiliar noises. Boots, the rustle of fabric, the click of handcuffs.
Then, Sheriff McLeod steps into view, taking in the scene in one glance. “Well,” he says, calm as ever. “Looks like you’ve got things handled.”
Something in me almost gives. But I hold it together. “Not yet,” I say. But the gun tips down, and I set it on the coffee table by the couch. My hands don’t shake until it’s over.
He nods going about his work with his deputies, taking control. He searches quickly, done in under an hour. Everything’s professional, efficient, and by the books.
But only when Felix is pulled to his feet and turned away do I finally start to breathe and shake.
McLeod looks at me. “You alright?” he asks.
“I think so,” I answer. And for the first time in too long to remember, it’s not a lie.
His gaze flicks to the gun in my hands.
“That Donovan’s?”
I nod. “He left it for me.”
He studies me for a long moment. “Smart call.”
One of the deputies steps forward, careful as he takes the weapon, clearing it with practiced ease.
“Run it,” McLeod says.
While we wait, he takes my report. My body shakes now as I recall the details. Some of it feels murky, far away like when he tried to fight back. But other parts, like his breath, his smell will stay with me until my dying day.
A beat passes. A radio crackles. “Registered to Donovan Lane. Clean.”
McLeod nods once, already turning back to me. “Given the circumstances, and Donovan’s present location,” he says, voice steady, “I’d keep it close.”
The deputy hesitates, then hands it back. The weight settles into my palm again before I set it carefully on the table.
Out of the blue, the blond sheriff grins, adding, “You look familiar.”
“Do I?” I ask breathlessly, heart racing again at the words I’ve dreaded for twelve months.
“You won Phoenix at the auction.”
I nod once.
“And you’re here, at his house, defending it against intruders?”
