Page 21 of Dangerously In Love

“Normally, I’d offer you two coffee, but even I wouldn’t drink the stuff they have here,” she starts. “What brings you here again, Ms. Wells?”

Brandon turns to me, and I start playing with the ends of my ponytail before speaking.

“As you may know, there was a shooting at my parents’ home. I’ve been receiving weird messages. Some admiring, some threatening, but I have no idea who this person could be.”

Lieutenant Cortes offers a sympathetic expression. “I saw a headline about that. I was sorry to read what happened. The news made it seem like someone wanted to rob your parents’ home again.”

Once, years ago, when Asher was staying home for summer break, someone made it onto the property, claiming they wanted my father’s Superbowl ring. The intruder was apprehended before we came home from our family dinner.

“No, we’re almost certain this has to do with whoever has been harassing Ava,” Brandon says.

The lieutenant looks between the two of us and pulls up something on the laptop in front of her. “Last time you were here, you mentioned messages online, but other than the incident at your parents’ house, any other in-person encounters?”

I tell her about driving from the party to Edgewater and the weird man in the hoodie staring me down while we got breakfast.

Lieutenant Cortes makes notes on her computer while I speak, and Brandon reminds me to show her the video I received moments before the shooting.

“Can you send a copy of that video to this number?” she asks and lays down a business card in front of me.

“Have you been in contact with Greenwich PD?” she asks.

“I spoke to one of their officers last night,” I say. After Brandon and I ate dinner, my mother called, letting me know an officer would be calling me for a statement about the shooting. After the Greenwich police finished asking me questions, Brandon tried to ask some of his own, but they didn’t reveal much of anything that would be relevant to Cortes.

She types a few more notes before steepling her hands and facing me again. “Are you sure you can’t think of someone who might be behind all this? May not be a fan at all. Possibly a hate crime?”

I hadn’t yet considered being a Black woman could be the cause, though it’s completely plausible. “No, there were no messages calling me the n-word or mentioning race at all.”

Lieutenant Cortes types while I’m speaking. “How about former significant others? You’d be amazed how many of these cases are typically jilted exes.”

Brandon whips his attention to me. The set of his jaw is tight as he awaits my answer.

Reid is the first man that comes to mind. He was more of a situationship. I met him at my brother’s company party. I was so excited to cater the event that night. Gorgeous, blond Reid sidled up to me at last year’s party, and we’d hooked up off and on for months but never ever claimed each other.

I knew instinctively he wasn’t boyfriend material. More likesomething to do, and he clearly felt the same about me.

There was no way Reid was behind all this. Reid is smart and spoiled, but he never once showed any signs of being violent.

At least I can’t imagine him doing any of this. And definitely not any guys I dated in high school or college. No ex in my past is capable of all this.

“No, I don’t think it’s an ex or a hate crime, but I also can’t say who it is.”

Cortes makes a few more notes, then closes her laptop. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much I can do. We have no leads other than what you just texted me. To be honest, these things usually lead to a restraining order at best if this person threatens harm to your person. Internet harassment is much harder to nail down.”

“So that’s it? This is how we protect women?” Brandon’s tone is dry.

“For now, Mr. Eastwood, yes,” she says. “You have my card, Ms. Wells. If anything else happens, call me directly.”

“Thank you,” I say, shoulders deflating because we’re now no better off than when we started.

After leaving the station, Brandon offers his elbow to escort me down the steps. “What happens next?”

Brandon only shakes his head at my question. “As I said before, you’ll have better protection with me around. New York’s finest is clearly not going to be helpful unless you get full-on attacked.”

I shudder at the possibility of that happening. So far, there had been no messages since the shooting, but whoever was out there clearly no longer thought messages were enough. Whoever was behind all this had become impatient and resorted to a violent public act.

Brandon checks the time on his phone. “We should be heading to the TSS office.” He begins moving us towards in opposite direction from where we’d come. “We’ll take the subway; it will be faster.”

We’re silent on the walk to Prince Street station. I take the open seat on the train closest to the door, but Brandon stands in front of me, making himself into a shield as we make our way to his office.

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