Salters sank down beside her, wrapping a protective arm around her back and probing around the wound with the other. “Shh… it’s gonna be okay. It’s only a flesh wound. Got any gauze? Tape?”
Lucky’s brain caught up. Salters. Charlotte. Charlotte’s “craft club” events she dressed to the nines for. Salters hadn’t asked about her lately.
Hadn’t needed to.
Charlotte pulled away, scrubbing at her face with her hands, and darted down the hall to the bathroom. She returned with an old towel and the supplies Salters requested.
Oh, right. Nurse. He’d know what to do.
In the background, Bo called for an ambulance, then pocketed his phone.
Charlotte ran her hands over the motionless dog while Salters put his nurse’s training to use. “Oh, Moose, baby, I’m so sorry.”
“He had a knife?” Salters asked. “Where?”
She pointed. A bloody knife lay on the floor, nearly hidden by the couch.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” Salters set about examining her.
“No. Just Moose.” She held up blood-stained hands. “This is all Moose’s blood.” She narrowed her eyes at the man Lucky’d cuffed and yanked off the floor. “And the asshole’s.” A whine brought her attention back to the dog. “Poor baby Moose,” she crooned. “Cat Lucky got in a few licks too.”
Rett Johnson charged through the door, gun first. She focused first on Lucky and the struggling motherfucker who’d soon regret getting up this morning. Then on to Bo and asshole number two. Then to Charlotte. Her eyes widened a bit when her gaze landed on Salters, but she quickly schooled her face into agent-neutral.
“Where’s Ty?” Bo shouted.
“I took him to the Smiths. What can I do?” The man without sense enough to leave Charlotte alone paled while taking in Loretta Johnson, in all her six-foot-plus tattooed glory.
Sirens ripped through the conversation. Two cars pulled up out front. The sirens died. ‘Bout time.
“Loretta,” Salters barked, “get Charlotte to urgent care. Make sure she and the baby are all right.”
Charlotte waved him off. “I’m fine—”
“Please go. I’ll worry more if you don’t.” Salters brushed a strand of her hair from her face and planted a kiss on her forehead.
“What about Moose?” She stroked Moose’s side.
“I could stitch him, but I think I need to take him to the vet, just to be on the safe side.”
More sirens, and paramedics joined the fray, one heading for the unconscious man wearing Bo’s cuffs and the other, at Lucky’s pointing, rushed to Charlotte.
Atlanta’s finest spilled through the door. Lucky handed the thug over and raced to his sister. “Charlotte, girl, you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She gave a watery laugh. “But you should see the other guy.”
To Salters, he murmured, “We are so gonna talk later.”
Pandemonium followed. Questions, statements, Charlotte, leaving with Rett.
Lucky wrapped towels around the bleeding dog and helped get him into Salters’ car.
At last, the cops left with one future prison resident, the paramedics with the other, since they couldn’t talk Charlotte into going to the hospital in an ambulance. Two officers checked out the van.
Bo and Lucky stood in their shambles of a living room. Front door kicked in. Blood on the rugs.
Andro’s rocking chair lay overturned. Lucky hoped it tripped one of the bastards. The coffee table lay in broken pieces on the floor, as did the small table by the door where everyone in the house put their keys.
A rip in the back of the couch looked to be made by a knife, which explained Cat Lucky’s involvement. How dare they attack the cat’s favorite perch? The reclining chair lay on its side, springs and wood on display, as well as exposed cat and dog toys, an ink pen, and one of Charlotte’s hair scrunchies.
As one Bo and Lucky sank onto the couch.
Forget cleaning up. Lucky’s adrenaline crash left him exhausted and numb.
Bo grasped Lucky’s hand. It had finally happened, Lucky’s worst nightmare. The shit of his life slopped over onto his family.
The two men who’d broken in were no more than paid brutes, doing another’s bidding for money. No, they didn’t know what the man paying them looked like. No, they didn’t know how to reach him.
While cleaning up the mess, Lucky found a cell phone under the couch, with a recent text:“Are you scared yet? You should be.”
