man to bed gave her an urgent need for a box of gingersnaps. Or a chug of Pepto Bismol.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she told him.
“I was trying to flatter you.”
She stared at him. “Get out of here, Oliver. You don’t live here anymore, and you know what’s at stake. So go home.”
“And what if I don’t?” He shifted his gaze to the gun at her side. “You gonna put a hole in me?”
She frowned at him, then moved to the long table against the wall and set down the gun down, glad to be rid of it.
As she stepped away, she said, “You can take it with you, as far as I’m concerned. I don’t ever want you thinking I owe you any favors.”
The coldness filled his entire face now as he swung his feet off the table and stood up. “Let’s talk about favors, why don’t we?”
He moved toward her, and Lisa found herself backing away slightly, wondering now if she should have been so quick to put down the gun. Oliver carried with him such a sense of menace that she was unsure of what he might do.
Despite his history of violence, however, he had never threatened either her or Chloe and she hoped that would continue to hold true.
“You weren’t so anxious to refuse my favors when I got you out of that dump of an apartment you lived in. I didn’t see you protesting when I put you in a brand-new Volvo. Made sure you and Chloe had all those pretty little clothes to wear.”
“I’ve never said I’m not grateful, Oliver, but none of that means you own me. And right now you’re trespassing.”
He moved in close, trapping her against the wall. “Trespassing? I haven’t been around here in months and this is how you treat me?”
Lisa’s heart started thumping again. “Get out of here, now, or I swear I’ll—”
It came suddenly and without warning. Oliver’s hand shot toward her, grabbing her by the throat, slamming her roughly against the wall.
Lisa struggled, feeling her air cut off. She tried to speak but couldn’t.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver said. “What was that? Were you about to threaten me again? Tell me I don’t have the right to come into a house I bought and paid for? You think some computer file you’ve got stashed, or some piece of paper your lawyer drafted up is gonna change that?”
Panic rose in Lisa’s chest. She could barely breathe.
Upstairs, Chloe started to cry, the sound muffled by her door. But Lisa doubted it was their voices that had awakened her. Her usual sound sleep had instead been disturbed by that sense of menace that Oliver carried with him wherever he went. A malignant contagion stirring the air around them.
As Lisa struggled to breathe, he loosened his grip on her throat and she stumbled sideways. But before she could move away from him, he grabbed hold of her arm and shoved her back against the wall.
She was too stunned to move. This was the first time he had ever laid a hand on her.
“Don’t you talk to me like that again, you little gold digger.” He held her in place and slipped his free hand inside her robe, grabbing her right breast, rubbing his thumb over her nipple. “You may have snagged the gold, but the way I see it, you’ve got a long way to go before you earn—”
A ratcheting sound cut him off. They turned and saw Beatrice standing at the foot of the stairs, a shotgun in her hands, leveled at Oliver.
“You’d best get your paws off her real quick, son. I wouldn’t want to muss up the lady’s new robe.”
Tears of relief filled Lisa’s eyes. She hadn’t even known Bea owned a shotgun—wouldn’t have approved if she did, not with Chloe in the house—but the old woman looked as if she knew how to use it and Lisa welcomed the sight.
“If you think I’m kidding,” Bea continued, “just try me.”
Oliver released Lisa, but his body went rigid, the coldness in his eyes turning into a hard, angry stare. “You don’t have the guts, you old bat.”
“Don’t I?” She moved forward. “My daddy taught me how to use this scattergun when I was twelve years old. I’ve never shot at nothin’ but tin cans, but I’m all too happy to find out what a round of buck can do to a grown man’s face. I don’t imagine it’ll be pretty.”
“I didn’t come here alone,” Oliver told her. “I’ve got men outside and all I have to do is sound the alarm.”
Bea smiled. “You go right ahead and do that, son, see what it gets you.”
He studied her a moment longer, then did as she asked and backed away, throwing his hands up as he moved. “Never argue with a shotgun.”
“Damn right.”
Lisa took a deep breath and said, “Get out of here, Oliver, and don’t come back.”
He snapped his gaze toward her. “Or what?”
“Or I go to the police.”
“Why? Because I copped a feel?” He grinned. “Judging by the way your body reacted, I’d say you were enjoying it.”
“You know what I’m talking about,” Lisa said.
His face got hard and Bea gestured with the shotgun. “Son, I’m about two tics away from squeezing this trigger—and it isn’t much of a target, but I’ll be aiming at your talliwacker.”
Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “You’re gonna regret this,” he said, then looked at Lisa. “Both of you.”
He walked to the front door and yanked it open, then turned in the doorway and smiled at them again, using his thumb and forefinger to form a gun.
“You’re about to find out what happens to women who dump on Oliver Sloan …”
He pretended to pull the trigger, then turned again and went outside.
Chapter Two
The call came in two hours earlier. Gunshots heard by an insomniac, coming from the auto repair shop next to his apartment building.
“Unit Fourteen, we’ve got a possible 142 in progress, can you respond?”
“Roger, dispatch. I’m on it.”
Sheriff’s deputy Rafael Franco was in the middle of his usual graveyard shift, happy to have the distraction after a night of shoveling up street drunks and carting them to the holding tank. It was a part of the job he had never enjoyed, mostly because his skill and brains were being underutilized by the department.
His college diploma still had a bit of wet ink on it, but he was frustrated that he hadn’t yet been promoted.
Rafe had been with the Sheriff’s department for nearly
