He was through the door before anyone could stop him.
The living room was chaos. A lamp overturned. Coffee table shoved aside. And in the middle of it, Tessa on the floor with Carla on top of her, hands around her throat.
Brian didn't think. He grabbed Carla by the back of her jacket and hauled her off, throwing her sideways. She hit the wall hard and came up swinging, something metallic flashing in her hand.
Knife.
She slashed at him. He dodged, felt the blade catch his forearm, a line of fire. Didn't matter. He grabbed her wrist and twisted, heard her cry out, felt the knife clatter to the floor.
Then Colby was there, and Hank, and the officers from next door. Carla went down under the weight of four men, screaming, thrashing, fighting even as they pinned her arms behind her back.
"You ruined everything!" she screamed at Tessa. "Everything! He's gone because of you! My life is gone because of you!"
Brian ignored her. He was on his knees beside Tessa, hands shaking as he helped her sit up. There were red marks on her throat. She was coughing, gasping, but her eyes were open and focused.
"I'm okay," she rasped. "I'm okay."
"You're not okay. She was choking you."
"And then you threw her into a wall." Tessa's hand came up to touch his face. "You're bleeding."
He looked at his arm. The sleeve was wet, dark. The knife had gone deeper than he'd realized. "It's nothing."
"It's not nothing. Let me see."
"Tessa. You just got strangled."
"And you just got stabbed. So we're even." She was already pushing up his sleeve, examining the wound with clinical focus. "It's not deep. You'll need stitches, but it missed the major vessels."
Behind them, Carla was still screaming as the officers hauled her to her feet. Diaz appeared in the doorway, face tight.
"Ambulance is two minutes out," she said. "Both of you, stay put."
"Get her out of here," Brian said, not looking at Carla. "Now."
Diaz nodded and jerked her head at the officers. They dragged Carla toward the front door, her screams fading as they took her outside.
The cottage went quiet.
Brian pulled Tessa against his chest, careful of her throat, careful of his arm. He could feel her heart pounding, could feel his own matching it.
"It's over," he said.
"It's over." Her voice was rough, damaged. "She's gone."
Hank appeared beside them, his face drawn. "Paramedics are here."
Brian didn't want to let go. Didn't want to stop touching her, stop confirming she was real and alive and breathing. But the paramedics needed access, and Tessa needed to be checked out, and his arm was starting to throb in a way that suggested the adrenaline was wearing off.
He let them work. Sat on the couch while someone bandaged his arm, shone a light in his eyes, and asked him questions he answered on autopilot. He watched Tessa on the other side of the room, a paramedic examining her throat, fitting her with an oxygen mask.
She caught his eye and held up her hand, thumb and forefinger forming an "okay" sign.
He almost laughed. Almost cried. Settled for nodding back.
Colby dropped onto the couch beside him. "Hell of a night."
"Yeah."
