Page 78 of The 1 Lawyer

I was still trying to get my head around that message when I heard the front door open. Rue’s voice rang out in the reception area: “Stafford Lee! It’s me!”

“Back here,” I called. She appeared in my doorway with her keys in hand, smiling. But when she saw my face, the smile vanished.

“What happened?” she asked. “Bad news?”

I shrugged, unwilling to describe what I felt. “I just got a message that I need to listen to again.”

She hesitated. “You want me to leave?”

“No, stay. I’d like you to hear this.”

Rue walked up beside me, and we both stood near the phone on the credenza as I replayed the message.

At the first words, Rue gave me a startled look and whispered, “There’s an app for that.”

Despite the robot trick, I’d hoped I might recognize the guy’s voice when I heard it a second time. But I didn’t.

When the caller said I was lucky to be alive, I heard Rue gasp. “What are you going to do?” she asked, clutching my arm.

“I’m not sure.” It was true. I didn’t know how seriously I should take it.

“It’s a threat, Stafford Lee. You have to do something.”

Privately, I agreed with her, but sounding chill, I said, “It’s not an overt threat. There’s no mention of violence or references to harm.” But when I took a step back and considered it dispassionately, I realized that maybe Rue was right. I unplugged the phone, intending to take it over to the Biloxi PD and share it with Sweeney.

But what was Sweeney supposed to do about it? The caller’s identity was a mystery, and his statements didn’t rise to the level of a crime. Sweeney might think I was asking for consolation or emotional support. The last thing I needed was sympathy from the detective.

But the call had shaken me. From Rue’s troubled expression, I could tell that she was worried too.

I wanted to calm her down, so I said, “Rue, I do understand if you have second thoughts about staying at my place. My security system is over fifteen years old. You might not feel safe there. I get that—it’s a legitimate reaction.”

Maybe she was already weighing the risks. She took her time before she answered. “I think I’ll stick around. We’re talking about my compensation—free housing. But I’m sleeping with one eye open.”

CHAPTER 60

JENNY GLASER stayed up late, binge-watching a new series. When she started to nod off, she hit Pause on the television remote and fell asleep immediately.

When she awoke and saw pitch-black through the bedroom window, she checked the time on the nightstand. The digital clock read 2:34 a.m.

Huh. That’s funny, she thought. Two-three-four. She lay in bed wondering what had awakened her. It wasn’t a phone call or a bad dream. In fact, she had no recollection of dreaming at all. She didn’t have to use the bathroom. Wasn’t thirsty.

Then she heard the soft rattle that her back screen door made when it closed. It was followed by the thud of the wooden door and the click of the latch bolt against the lip of the brass strike plate.

She lay there, frozen. I locked it, didn’t I? Before I went to bed? I never forget to lock up.

Of course she’d locked up. The noise the intruder made must have woken her.

The sound of footsteps in the house broke her paralysis. Jenny rolled out of bed, got down on her knees, and thrust her arm between the mattress and box spring. She kept a handgun for her protection, a Glock 19. And she knew how to use it.

But the firearm was shoved in too deep. She wasted costly seconds groping for it and only managed to graze the metal of the barrel with her fingers as the footsteps pounded into her bedroom. She barely caught a glimpse of the man who came through the door. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her roughly to her feet and away from the bed. A second guy closed in on her. He was big, brawny, wearing jeans and a black hoodie. The hood was pulled over his head, and a cloth gaiter covered the bottom half of his face. He advanced on Jenny, muttering words that didn’t register. She hiked her right leg up high, then shot it out, aiming directly for his crotch.

The kick connected, and he shrieked as he went down. The guy holding her loosened his grip on her left arm and shouted, “Shit! Fucking bitch!”

She wrenched her left arm free, pivoted her hips toward him, lifted an elbow, and, with all the force she could muster, struck him in the chin.

The blow must’ve surprised him; he let go. Jenny ran from the room, jumping over the intruder who lay curled up on the floor. She tore down the hall and headed to the front door, which was the nearest exit.

She’d just thrown the dead bolt when the guy she’d shaken off caught up to her. Her elbow strike hadn’t incapacitated him. He grabbed her arm and jerked her around. His face was masked with a gaiter. He was huge, more than a head taller than Jenny. When he punched her the first time, she stayed on her feet, though she heard a bone in her nose crack. The second blow knocked her to the floor.

---