| |
Lucille had never been shot before. Of all the stupid, crazy-assed things that had happened in her life, which was now, annoyingly, flashing before her eyes, she’d never once been shot. It wasn’t pleasant. She heard the ear-shattering bang when the gun went off and the clatter as the weapon she held fell to the floor. She felt something hit her between those sounds. Then she felt nothing. Someone screamed, and it didn’t seem to be her. Her lips were gripped together, her teeth biting into the side of her cheek. Then the pain started. It ripped through her shoulder in an angry, vicious surge. She tasted blood in her mouth and smelled it on her skin. She felt that same blood rushing around inside her, pouring from the open wound, trickling from her bit cheek, rushing in her ears. And the pain. The pain was every kind of torment she’d ever felt and it was all of them at once.
There were a lot of voices, a lot of people saying a lot of things at her. She couldn’t sort them out; time wasn’t going at its usual speed. Then, in a rush, all the voices came closer, time caught up, and she looked over at her right shoulder and nearly passed out at the sight of the blood, her blood, running down her skin. She swore, adding her enraged agony to the cacophony of madness.
The voices were sorting themselves out now.
“Take it off! Take it off right now before another drop of blood gets on it. I’m serious!” Sylvia was shouting.
Michel was frowning, his hand still reaching for the gun as he watched the blood ooze from her shoulder.
She turned to see who the numbskull that shot her was. In the doorway were two policemen, with Matt at their lead. Matt who was rushing over to her; Matt who was trying to get her to sit down in the armchair, whispering, pleading, “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.”
From behind her, Brett was asking if she was okay, interspersed with demands to have someone untie him so he could check out her wounds.
Lucille’s mind pieced it together. She shoved Matt off her with all the strength in her left arm. “You shot me? You fucking shot me? What the fuck?” she bellowed at him.
He kept trying to touch her, apologizing in a steady stream.
“No. Do not touch me. I can’t believe you fucking shot me!”
Michel appeared at her side. “Are you okay?” He looked concerned, but not overly so, by the sight of his spin doctor bleeding out on his priceless rug.
“No, I am very much not okay! This asshole here shot me!”
“I meant the arm. Does it hurt?” he tried again, his face growing more worried.
“Yes.”
“We should get you to a hospital.” Now he looked concerned. Maybe it was the close-up of the wound, or maybe Lucille was turning as pale as she felt.
“No shit. First, can you get him away from me?” Lucille had her left arm on Matt’s chest, trying to hold him at bay. She needed her strength for the whole not-bleeding-out thing, not tied up dealing with psycho exes.
Michel nodded and put his arm around Matt’s shoulder, talking soothingly to him and dragging him away.
She turned to one of the policemen, who were both shifting uneasily in the doorway. “You. Stop standing there, pull out your damn gun, and get this bitch to shut up. I can’t hear anything over her whining.”
The man shut his mouth and then did as he was told. He held up his gun and pointed it at Sylvia with a steady hand. She fell silent.
Lucille shot a look back at Brett. “Hey, can it. You’re not helping either.”
“No shit. No one will untie me,” Brett growled from his chair.
She wanted to roll her eyes at him but felt that an eye roll would cause her to pass out.
She turned to the other police officer. “Will you untie Mr. Jacobs? Oh, and maybe, I don’t know, call an ambulance?”
He hurried to do as he was told.
The room was silent, or close to it. All eyes were on Lucille, waiting for her next move. She wanted to lie down, right there on the rug, and die. It had to be more comfortable than standing here with a bullet wound while a room full of the people she cared the most and the least about in the whole world waited for her to make a decision.
Then, Brett was by her side. He led her over to the armchair and she let him. He pulled his t-shirt off, a little weird and a lot hot, and set to work bandaging up her wounded shoulder as best he could with one arm. He left her side only to retrieve his sling and awkwardly strap it into place across his bare chest and then he was back, crouching beside her and continuing to wrap her injury.
And everyone just watched.
Sometimes inspiring that much fear into people was exhausting.
Lucille sighed and glared at Matt. “Let’s start with you.”
Brett jogged her arm and she grimaced.
“Sorry,” he whispered, and he kissed her skin right above the bullet wound.
“It’s okay,” she whispered back.
“I really am sorry, Lucy. I had no idea it was you,” said Matt, clearing his throat. He’d straightened himself out, stopped muttering apologies, and was now watching Brett like he wanted to tear his head off. It wouldn’t be the first time someone felt that way about Brett, Lucille almost told him. But stopped. Because he’d shot her. There was an awkward silence as Matt seemed to be waiting for her to accept his apology and she didn’t.
“So you normally walk in and shoot the first person you see?” she said instead.
“The first person with a gun cocked who looks ready to fire.”
Lucille did roll her eyes this time. “Whatever. How did you even find us?”
If Matt looked contrite before, it was nothing compared to how he looked now. He turned red and stared at the floor.
“You were having me followed, weren’t you?”
He didn’t respond but gave Lucille her answer in his silence.
“You know what? I’m too furious to deal with this right now. Will you just arrest this woman already?”
“What?” Matt looked confused.
Michel piped in. “And be quiet about it, please. There’s been enough commotion in this house for one night. I don’t want it known that I was almost murdered in my own home by my former fiancée.”
Lucille looked over to Michel with a kind smile. “I was thinking a nice rehab stint for her? You had a domestic dispute because of her drinking problem and the cops were called. She’s hurt you one too many times, so you broke it off. Then she goes to rehab, and you’re free to do whatever you like.”
Michel didn’t take his eyes off Sylvia, but he smiled. “You think of everything, Miss Anton.”
Matt jumped in. “And again, what?”
Brett finished treating the wound and stood up, topless and unabashed. Matt may have more muscles, but Brett’s confident pose right then was far sexier. “Detective, you seem to be off your game here. That’s okay, I’ll fill you in.”
Matt gritted his teeth, glaring at Brett. “I’d rather hear it from Lucille.”
“Lucille’s a little under the weather at the moment because her dick ex-boyfriend shot her in the shoulder.”
Matt actually made a lunge for Brett, catching him off guard and knocking him to the ground. The two police officers pulled their boss off, Sylvia started protesting about her legal rights, and Michel yelled at them all to calm down.
“Hey, hey, cool it,” Michel demanded. “What do you say we take this down to the station and get it sorted out there?”
The sound of an ambulance drifted through the air.
“Right on cue,” Michel said, grinning like he’d engineered the whole thing out of magic and his own charisma. “Let’s get this darling woman to a hospital and, if I’m not mistaken, this guy and the one downstairs as well. If they aren’t dead.”
They weren’t. Lucille was glad of that. She didn’t want her conscience stained with the deaths of two unnamed henchmen. After the drugs started kicking in, she was glad of a lot of things. Though not glad Brett wasn’t riding with her in the ambulance. Matt had insisted on taking him in one of the squad cars to be questioned. Lucille drifted off from the blood loss and narcotics.
***
Late in the afternoon the next day, Lucille was released from the hospital. The doctors had removed the bullet, bandaged her shoulder, and stuck the arm in a sling, all in record time. A policeman was stationed outside her door throughout the proceedings. Whether he was there to keep people out or her in wasn’t clear but she didn’t have any visitors. The hospital was a lonely place to be in without visitors, stuck in a white bed, in a white room, her clarity coming back and her arm throbbing. It gave her too much time to think. If she had a more positive outlook on life, she’d say it gave her a chance to slow down and find the answers to the questions she’d been mulling over. She did not have a positive outlook, but the answers were there regardless. By the time of her release, she felt crappy and spiteful. The negative emotions, however, had less to do with her introspective insight and more to do with her being taken directly to the police station for questioning, thus explaining the speedy treatment.
“What the shit?” she asked from the backseat of the squad car, where she’d been hustled after the nurse wheeled her out to the curb.
“Sorry ma’am, Detective Adams insisted that you be brought to the station as soon as you were able,” the policeman replied. He didn’t look at her as he spoke, his eyes trained on the road.
At least he knew what was good for him. “Of course he did. Am I being arrested or something?”
Now the man really didn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t believe so, ma’am. At this point everyone responsible for the incident last night has been brought in.”
Lucille scowled and thunked her head against the back of the seat. “Don’t call me ma’am.”
“Yes...”
At the station, the policeman pulled up to the front and then hurried around to open her door. She didn’t have handcuffs on, but he insisted on escorting her through the building to Detective Adams’s office.
Lucille scowled again. She’d have preferred handcuffs and an interrogation room with the one-sided glass to whatever intimate conversation awaited her here. With a heavy dose of dread, she entered the office, accepted her orders to sit and wait, and heard the door lock from the outside, trapping her.
The office was a mess. There were papers strewn across the desk, overflowing from open file cabinets, and piled on the floor. In the midst of the clutter was a photo of Matt’s family at his sister’s graduation from med school, smiling and happy. Another photo sat beside it. A snapshot of her and Matt at the police academy holiday party, young and in love. With her uninjured arm, she swept that one into the overflowing trash can.
The door unlocked and Matt walked in, not looking at her as he made his way around his desk. He dropped more papers on a stack and settled into his office chair. Lucille watched the performance, one eyebrow raised.
He met her eyes. His were tired and sad, his hair unruly from a night of running his hands through it, the gray more prominent. He no longer looked as distinguished and sexy as he had when he’d stormed into Michel’s house a few days ago. Now he looked exhausted and desperate, and breaking his heart again would be cruel. Lucille wasn’t sure she was still enough of a cold, callous bitch to do that.
“Are you okay?” he asked her, his voice breaking with emotion as he spoke.
She had to be. This was getting pathetic. She had to do this for Matt’s own good. If he was ever going to get a girlfriend again, he needed to know there was a zero percent chance it’d be her. “No, I’m not. Some asshole shot me in the arm last night.”
Matt ran his hands through his hair. “I said I was sorry about that. Will you— I mean, can you ever forgive me?”
Lucille studied him. “I don’t know.”
Matt nodded. He looked down at his paperwork and then back at her. “I could have you arrested for breaking and entering Mr. Polce’s private residence.”
Lucille closed her eyes and shook her head.
He must have misread her reaction because he said, “There’s no use denying it. We have you on video.” He sounded smug, like he’d caught her.
“Really? That’s the tactic you want to go with, Matt? Not the way you get someone to forgive you, especially someone you’re clearly pining over.”
It was Matt’s turn to swallow. “How do you know I’m pining over you?”
“That picture.” Lucille pointed to the trash can.
Matt followed her direction to the photo. “Oh. Why is it in the trash?”
In her mind, she went off at him. Because you, the ex-boyfriend who had my uncle arrested for murder, should not be keeping a photo of me around like some lovesick schmuck! Out loud she said, “I didn’t like how my hair looks.”
Matt stared at her for a few minutes, his jaw clenched and his lips pressed together. Then he exploded, “Goddammit, Lucille! God fucking dammit! What is it about you that drives me crazy? You’re mean, sarcastic, and frankly kind of a bitch. I am a good guy. I am a good guy and a damn good detective. Yet for some reason, whenever you’re around, I become some bumbling idiot who needs your forgiveness so I can get on with my fucking life. One minute I swear to myself I’m over you, and the next you waltz back into my life, all high heels and sarcasm, and lay some grievous offense of mine at my feet. Well, you know what? I’m sick of it. I am sick of these stupid games. I am sick of waiting around for you to realize that I made a mistake eight years ago and that losing you was the worst fucking thing that ever happened to me. I love you. I’ve always, for some ungodly reason, loved you. Now can we get past all this shit and just be together?”
Matt had been pacing around the room as he talked, gesturing wildly. At the end, he sank to his knees in front of her and grabbed her hand.
The man was persistent to a fault. In some other reality, where they had other jobs and he hadn’t shot her or had her uncle arrested, maybe they’d be together. In this reality, he’d given what he probably thought was the most impassioned, romantic speech of his life, a speech in which he’d called her a cruel, sarcastic, heartless bitch. She paused, not because she was at all considering his offer, but in order to decide how best to proceed. Should she let him down gently or just slice off the putrid limb and be done with it?
Whether it was because of the life-changing events of the last few days or not, she didn’t have the energy to be cruel. “Matt,” she said, removing her hand from his, “I’m sure some day you’ll find a woman who will be nice to you and treat you right.”
“But you’re not that woman?” He looked into her eyes as he talked, his pleading.
“Have I ever been? You said so yourself, I turn you from an intelligent, competent detective into a pleading, bumbling asshole who keeps screwing up and apologizing.” She tried to say it kindly, but considering how exhausted she was, it came out biting anyway.
He didn’t seem to notice. “You’re right. I know you’re right.” He stood up.
She felt a fleeting sympathy for him. Poor guy. He had terrible taste in women.
Matt smiled and looked back at her. “I was just kidding about still loving you.”
Lucille shook her head. “No, you weren’t. But that’s okay.” She stood up and turned to leave.
“I could have your uncle arrested again. After all, he threatened Ms. Walton with an unlicensed gun,” Matt said from behind her.
Lucille sighed and turned back to him. “Seriously, Matt. Just stop. Do you really want to have my Uncle Simon around here for a few months, possibly years, while you try to get a jury to convict him? Him, here all the time, reminding you of me?”
Matt smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I was joking.”
“It was a sad joke.” She waited a moment to make sure he was done talking. “I’m going to go now.”
Lucille took a few steps. Her hand was on the door handle.
“Are you in love with that idiot Brett?”
She didn’t even turn this time, just tilted her head toward him and said, “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
And like that, she opened the door, walked out into the hallway, and was free of Matt Adams for good. She sighed and looked down at her bullet wound. Once this shoulder healed, she could stop thinking about him and cursing his name. Wouldn’t that be a relief.
Near the front door of the station she found her uncle, sitting casually on a bench, one leg crossed over the other as he watched police officers milling around.
“Lucy,” he said when he saw her, jumping up for a hug.
Her shoulder throbbed. She didn’t care. “You did it, didn’t you? You got your name cleared?”
He nodded. “Yes. Sylvia’s been arrested, Michel’s gone home, Beverly has been charged with Cooper’s murder. It’s all over.”
There was a pause as she fought back the tears of relief. It hadn’t been an easy couple of days.
“Well, almost over,” Simon added.
She pushed back to look at his face. “What do you mean?”
Simon nodded toward the front door. “There’s still another of your suitors waiting to talk to you outside.”
“If it’s Chad my college boyfriend, I am never leaving this building.”
Simon laughed. “I’ve got to hear about Chad sometime. But no, it’s just Brett.”
“Oh, him? Yeah, I do want to talk to him.”
Simon grinned. “I figured you might.”
“Shut up.”
“What? The guy’s growing on me. Plus, he has that tortured artist thing really working for him, and he’s best friends with Michel Polce. If you don’t talk to him, I will.”
Lucille punched him in the arm. “Hey, stop moving in on my man.”
“If he’s not tied down...” Simon feigned a dash to the door.
Lucille laughed. “I want to hear how you got your charges dropped so quickly.”
Simon sighed loudly. “It’s actually quite boring and anticlimactic. I’ll tell you some time. Now seriously, get out there.”
“I will. But there’s something I do need to talk to you about first. It’s about the business.”