As I reach the bottom of the stairs, there’s movement on the far side of the open-plan bottom floor. I flick on the light.
“Police,” I say, and they face me. He’s dressed in dark clothing, a fabric mask covering his face. “I will shoot if you don’t follow my instructions. On your knees, hands behind your head.”
He doesn’t raise a weapon, speak, or move. That’s never good. He’s considering his options as if he has any, which means this is about to turn nasty.
“I am the chief of SFPD. Believe me when I say if you’re considering rushing me, it won’t end well for you. If you’re going to run, go for the door, otherwise I will shoot you.” I’d rather be looking for a prowler than have a dead body in my living room. “Choose. Wisely.”
He doesn’t.
There’s a rush of footsteps as he goes for me, and the distinct flash of a knife.
I stand my ground and fire once into his shoulder. The bang is loud, but my practiced ears mean I don’t flinch.
The fool pauses but then roars and keeps coming for me.
I fire again.
He goes down, and as I lower the weapon, blinding pain hits me from behind. The crack against my skull sounds similar to the gunshots, but my size and frame mean the most it does is piss me the fuck off.
The second intruder gapes up at me, Ella’s old baseball bat in his hand, clearly having expected me to go down. “What the fuck?”
I seize the bat and growl, “You broke into the wrong fucking house and pissed off the wrong fucking man.”
I chuck the weapon on the floor, the wood rattling against the flooring, and seize the intruder’s neck. I toss him aside and he rolls over the coffee table, hitting the ground hard.
And then the fucker pepper-sprays me.
He fuckingpepper-sprays me.
“Jesus fucking—” I shout, and through the blur of the spray, he goes for me. His shoulder meets my stomach and we both tumble, my back hitting the ground. He’s on top of me and lands a weak-ass punch before I seize his fist.
“Need a hand, Chief?” Monty’s sweet voice comes from the direction of the stairs.
I grunt, trying to blink through the stinging in my eyes. “I told you to wait in my room!”
“With all this commotion, I had to come take a look.” She sounds bored, almost amused as I wrestle with this fucker.
“Pass …” I grunt, and he punches me again. “Monty, pass me the?—”
“The what, Chief?” she asks.
“The fucking handcuffs!”
“Oh, so I’m allowed to move now?”
I manage to rub my eyes with the back of my forearm. “Yes, now get me the—” A gunshot rings out, and the struggling intruder goes limp above me. Silence falls, and I pant. “What did you do?”
“I shot an intruder, Chief.”
“No fucking shit!” I shove his body off me and sit up. “I told you to get the handcuffs!”
The blurred Monty shrugs, examining the weapon inher hand. “My life felt threatened, and I was protecting my boyfriend.”
My fucking God.
Somehow, I find my way to the refrigerator and take out the milk. Leaning over the sink, I pour it into my eyes to try and neutralize the stinging.
“Check the other guy,” I say. “He might be—” Another gunshot. I stand up straight. “Monty, stop fucking shooting people!”
