Page 131 of Skeletons in the Closet

Without waiting for an answer, I shoved the door open, half expecting it to be locked.

It wasn’t.

The second it swung inward, chaos ensued. A war cry filled the air. A blur of movement caught my eye. An earsplittingcrackmade me flinch.

It took a solid two or three seconds for me to register the sound I’d heard was from a gun going off.

My heart launched into my throat, and I froze, shock petrifying my organs and turning my insides liquid. How I didn’t piss my pants, I had no idea.

By the time I gathered my wits, Diem was straddling a woman on the floor. Faye. He had her pinned by the wrists to the ground. In one hand, she held a fancy gun like I’d seen in a noir film years ago.

Diem was shouting, but the words didn’t immediately penetrate my confusion. The blood whomping in my ears drowned it out.

“Tallus. Call the fucking cops,” he was saying.

I fumbled my phone from a pocket and dialed 911, blundering my way through the operator’s questions as I stared at Diem, trying and failing to figure out what had happened.

Faye was half his size but fighting him tooth and nail to get free. Bucking like a bronco. Kicking. Spitting. Wrenching her body side to side. Screaming in his face. Diem didn’t move. Apart from the hold he maintained on her wrists and his knees planted on either side of her hips, he didn’t touch her. He didn’t react to her violent attempt to get free, and he could have easily prevented the assault if he’d wanted to.

It was like he’d zoned out. He took the abuse, ensuring the gun stayed out of play and Faye couldn’t get to her feet.

The operator chattered on. Something about the weapon. Was it secure?

I told her yes. At some point, Faye had released her grip, and the gun had been knocked out of her reach with the thrashing.

Diem’s arms trembled. Faye tried twice to head-butt him. She kneed, and kicked, and squirmed, yelling, “I’ll kill you, you bastard. I’ll fucking kill you.”

A bead of sweat dripped off the end of Diem’s nose, except it wasn’t sweat. It was crimson.

Crimson?

Was he bleeding?

The fog cleared, and I moved, dropping to my knees beside him. “Diem. You’re hurt. There’s blood. Where are you hurt?”

“Cuffs.” He ground his teeth. “Desk. Get them.” His words were broken and raspy.

I raced to the desk and pulled open several drawers until I found a pair of handcuffs. When I returned, Diem flipped Faye over effortlessly and pinned her arms behind her back before securing them around her wrists.

She squirmed and shouted protests, calling him names and making more threats.

Diem shuffled away until his back hit the desk, and his ass landed hard on the ground.

Faye tried to get up, but I kicked her in the ass until she landed on her face. “Stay down. Don’t fucking move.”

She spat at me too, but it mostly rolled down her chin. When I was certain she wasn’t going anywhere, I turned to Diem, scanning him head to toe. It didn’t take long to find the source of the blood. A lengthy gash along the side of his head, an inch or so above his disfigured ear, seeped.

Holy shit. He’d been hit.

I rushed forward and fell to my knees, floundering for the Kleenex box he kept on the desk. I wadded up a handful, took his chin to keep him steady, and carefully pressed the tissue to the injury.

Diem stared through me, lost inside his head. I could see in his eyes the adrenaline hadn’t dissipated, and he struggled to contain it. His arm muscles pulsed as he flexed and released his hands. The stiff line of his jaw was tight enough to crack teeth. His nostrils flared with each inhale.

I tended the wound, gently stroking a thumb along his newly stubbled face, hoping it would calm him.

“D?” The vacant stare worried me. “D, look at me.”

He didn’t, but he spoke through clenched teeth. “Did I hurt her?”

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