His name was Stan Wicket, and he was not amused. He was the detective who caught my alarm call. Detective Wicket seemed to not like the idea of guns in the hands of private citizens.
“Tell me again why you fired the first shot?” He prompted, pencil in hand.
“She already answered that,” Jimmy said from the window. “Someone broke into her office while wielding a crowbar. She fired in self defense.”
“I was afraid for my life,” I repeated, quoting my shooting instructor. “I was trying to stop the attack.”
“Yah,” Detective Wicket intoned. “I made sure to write that down.”
“I just want to make sure you understand what happened.” I tried to look innocent.
“I understand you fired four times at someone you didn’t actually see,” Detective Wicket said evenly. “Mr. Corbeau didn’t see him, either.”
I hadn’t, in fact, told him that the fourth bullet was just a trigger finger twitch, and not actually aimed at anyone. Jimmy looked at me from the window. He turned back around before he answered Detective Wicket. “I was busy ducking.”
“Should I have let him hit me a couple of times with the crowbar before I started shooting?” I regretted saying it when Jimmy winced.
Detective Wicket rolled his eyes, handed me the report to sign, and then stood to leave. “You can keep your firearm for now, but I need to copy down some information from your gun permit, and take the video tape from the security camera in the hall. I’ll send a guy out on Monday to take pictures of the bullet holes in your wall.”
“Monday?”
“You didn’t hit anyone. So I wouldn’t be justified calling a guy in on the weekend.”
“I’ll aim better next time.”
Wicket raised an eyebrow. He snapped his leather notepad shut. I guess the justice portion of the evening was over.
After Wicket left, I stared at Jimmy’s back for a couple of seconds, and then went to find the vacuum. I rooted around in the supply closet and was amazed at the amount of pens Salem felt the need to keep on hand. I finally gave up on the vacuum and grabbed the broom. The dustpan was wedged, impossibly, underneath a box of printer paper and I yanked at it angrily. It wouldn’t budge, and I just got more and more angry until finally I was yelling, and kicking at it, and crying.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the phone call and the flowers?” Jimmy appeared in the doorway with concern and utter exasperation on his face.
I froze.
He reached out and tucked hair behind my ear.
“I…should have. I just didn’t want you to worry.”
“You didn’t want me to worry?”
I heard the change in his voice. I looked up at his gray eyes and saw the anger flare behind them.
“Then why, after that kind of warning, did you come here alone, Rain? What were you thinking?”
He was angry at me?
“What was I thinking? I was thinking that maybe it should be safe for me to come to my own place of business! What were you thinking? Why were you creeping around outside this time of night? You could have been shot!”
“I nearly was, thanks to you, Annie Oakley!”
“How do you even know about the phone call and flowers, anyway?”
“Salem called me this morning. He thinks you’re being reckless. I tend to agree. What are you doing, Rain? This isn’t a game!”
“Oh, so this is my fault? I should have what? Run over to Salem’s for protection?” I waved my arms in the air, growing furious with Jimmy.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. But maybe, when someone threatens you, you go to a hotel for the night.” He stepped toward me, his voice almost a growl.
“I’m not going to turn tail and run at the first sign of a threat,” I shot back. “I’m not going to cower in the corner, Jimmy. I’m not—” I stopped when my brain caught up to my mouth.
“What, Rain?” Jimmy shouted. “You’re not Summer?”
He stalked away from the doorway, walked to my desk, and grabbed his coat.
“That’s not what I was going to say,” I lied, following him.
He headed for the door, muttering to himself like he always did when we fought. “Why is everything so one way or the other with you?” He asked suddenly. He turned to face me, and I could tell he was exasperated.
“What?”
“You’re in danger, so you either ignore it and go about your business, or run headlong toward someone trying to kill you?”
My face burned, as did my stomach. Why was he reacting this way? Suddenly defending myself was a character flaw? “This is my place, Jimmy,” I shouted, pointing to the floor. “I have every right to be here!”
“You’re so stubborn! You could have been killed.”
“What would you have me do, then Jimmy? What?”
“Stop and think!” he shouted angrily. “Stop acting like you’re alone in this world, and start behaving like some of us love you! I wouldn’t survive losing you, Rain. I couldn’t take it!”
I looked at him stunned, and then he strode out of the office.
“Jimmy!”
He didn’t come back. I paced the floor for a few minutes, trying to stop what felt like an impending aneurism from blowing, before I called for a cab. I grabbed the Bower files and my suitcase and went downstairs. A lone sedan idled in the parking lot; the interior light illuminated Jimmy’s disheveled hair. I didn’t want to fight again, and tried to slip around the side, but he looked up and saw me. He got out of the car, walked around to the passenger side, and opened the door for me.
“I already called a cab,” I said without moving toward him.
“You can cancel on our way,” he said. Back to his slow, laid back drawl, he walked over and took my suitcase.
“It’s not really nice to call a cab and then not use them.”
Jimmy put the suitcase in the trunk and looked at me quietly.
I walked toward him and slid into the passenger seat.
Jimmy closed the door, walked around the front, scanned the street up and down. He got in and sat there, staring out the windshield. When he looked at me, his eyes were red, worried, and exhausted. When he spoke his voice was quiet, controlled. “Rain, when I heard those gunshots I nearly lost my mind. I just kept thinking about all the time we’ve lost, dancing around each other. I don’t want to do this anymore, Rain. I don’t want to give you anymore space. I don’t want to be patient anymore. You said you miss us. Well here I am. All in, Rain. I’m here in this all the way.” He looked at me then and I started to tremble. His gray eyes were dark, full of pain. When he spoke again it was barely above a whisper. “What about you, Rain. What do you want?”
My heart jumped in my chest. I reached out and ran my fingers along his jaw. My lip was trembling again. The words caught in my throat. “I’m all in, Jimmy,” I said finally.
“You’re sure?” He reached up, took my hand, and kissed my palm. Relief and wariness mingled in his gaze and he looked at me intently.
I nodded, smiling and crying at the same time.
Jimmy slid his hand along my neck and his lips pressed against mine. Every muscle burned for him. My hands went to his jaw, drew him closer. My breath escaped in a moan. I kissed him with a million years of missing him.
He pulled back, finally. “That’s pretty sure,” he murmured.
I looked into those deep gray eyes and knew I’d just leapt off the edge again.