Page 70 of Impressing Brett

Two cops leave, and two stay behind. They ask a million questions. At least I’m finally able to sit on one of the hard plastic, uncomfortable reception chairs. They’ve been here for so long, I remember them.

It takes over an hour, and when they’re done questioning me, I’m exhausted.

Brett has flipped through the will, but I know he’s already seen it. He doesn’t comment until the police are done. “As suspected, your father left everything to you. We can’t know how much money that is, of course.”

“I don’t want it,” I retort quickly, shuddering. “He was an asshole. It’s not very clean.”

“He may have been a shady lawyer, Lacy, but I don’t think his money is dirty.”

“I don’t want it,” I state again. I stand. “Can we get out of here?”

“Yes.”

We follow the police out of the office. They lock it behind us. “We’re parked in back.” One of the officers extends a hand to me. “Sorry for all the trouble, ma’am. I hope everything will get straightened out. You did a great job.”

“Was it enough?” I ask him.

“Should be. You got him to admit he paid the PI and the arsonist. That will be difficult to deny in court. But more importantly, the Rutherfords have a long string of crimes they’ll be facing.”

He shakes Brett’s hand next. “Thank your boss and the rest of your team for us. Sometimes, private agencies provide us with information we can’t get on our own.”

The two men turn and head toward the back of the building while Brett leads me toward the elevators and the front. He sets a hand on the small of my back as we walk.

With his other hand, he lifts his phone and records an oral text to the three men stationed outside this building, letting them know it’s over, and we’re coming out.

The moment we step out into the sunshine, Brett’s phone vibrates.

I glance around. Unexplained unease climbs up my spine. Something feels off. I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it’s just the adrenaline rush crashing.

Brett pulls his phone out less than a second before gunfire fills my ears.

He throws his body at me, taking me to the sidewalk. His hand comes to the back of my head, keeping me from slamming my skull into the concrete.

The breath is knocked out of me as more shots ring out. The glass behind us shatters, raining down around us.

I squeeze my eyes shut to avoid the glass. Brett is crushing me. I can’t breathe. Has he been shot?

The shots keep coming, but they seem to be above us. Some of them aren’t as loud. They must be return shots, coming from either the police or Brett’s co-workers. And then there’s the sound of tires screeching a moment before a loud crash.

I can’t move, mostly because of Brett. The world seems eerily silent for a few moments before shouting is heard all around us.

I shove at Brett. “Are you hit?”

He lifts his head. “No, Little lamb. Are you okay?” He rises off me a few inches, scanning up and down my body.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I took you down hard.”

“My ass is going to hurt,” I tell him, “but other than that, I’m fine.”

He rises to his knees, keeping a hand on my chest. “Stay down.”

“Brett…”

He shoots me a look and leans over me so his face is inches from mine. “Stay down until Daddy makes sure it’s safe. Understood?”

I nod. I certainly can’t argue with Daddy.

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