Page 8 of When the Smoke Clears

“Can you walk me through the events of the night?” he asks, without acknowledging my response.

Sutton doesn’t move from where he stands, his gaze burning into the side of my face.

I release a long breath. Reliving it all threatens to overwhelm my senses.

Just the facts. Stick to the facts.

“I was in the backyard when Colt showed up. On the phone with Sutton.” I look up at him, and something flickers in his eyes momentarily. I focus on the detective.

There’s nothing remarkable about him. He’s a man of average height and weight with pretty, brown eyes. His face remains void of emotion and, as expected, he’s writing in his book. I study the threads of the Bull Creek Police Department patch on the breast of his polo. I wonder how much this interrupted his weekend.

“Were you expecting him?”

“No.” My lips are especially dry. I wet them before continuing. “The last I saw or heard from him was Halloween. He approached me at a Trunk-or-Treat event at the dental office. I filed a police report.”

I pull my hand free from Sutton’s, rubbing both over my face as the revelations from my conversation with Colt wash over me again. “Actually, there’s another report, too. My Jeep window was broken last weekend, and I filed a report then. Colt admitted tonight that it was him.”

Sutton shuffles on his feet and scrubs a hand over his face angrily.

The detective watches him for a moment before returning his focus to me. “Was that why Colt came over? To tell you about the window?”

A sardonic laugh bursts from me, and Sutton tenses. “No. Not even close. He came to kill me.” I don’t blink, daring Detective Porter to question my statement.

His lips purse and he scribbles more notes into his book. “You killed Colt Young because you feared for your life?”

It doesn’t matter that his tone isn’t accusatory. His bland use of “kill” sends fury rippling through my aching body. I grip the plastic rails of the bed with both hands and lean forward, gritting my teeth from the pain that shoots through my gut like lightning. “He threatened my life and stabbed me.”

“And you shot him.”

He’s only stating facts, but after what transpired tonight, I feel reactionary, and it’s an effort to school my emotions. He stares at me blankly.

Sutton takes a step forward. “With all due respect—”

I reach up and wrap my hand around his wrist. “It’s ok.” Except, it’s not. “Yes. I shot him. Yes, I feared for my life.” I thought I could, but I can’t do this tonight. Not in a way that keeps me in control of my emotions. “Actually, I’m feeling kind of tired. If there’s anything that you absolutely need to know tonight, please ask me that. Otherwise, I’d prefer to schedule a time over the next few days to discuss this.”

He dips his chin and closes his notebook. “A gunshot residue kit was completed at the house, correct?”

Was it? I don’t remember.

Sutton speaks up. “Yes.”

“Good, good.” He hesitates. “Were there any…other injuries?” He looks uncomfortably between Sutton and me.

I lift my left hand toward the hidden wound. “You mean, aside from being stabbed?”

He swallows. “No sexual assault?”

Sutton’s head whips my way.

I close my eyes and work to keep my tone even. “No.”

He nods. “I’ll get out of your way tonight. No need to make an appointment. Just stop by the police department in the next forty-eight hours so we can discuss a few more details.” He extends a card to Sutton. “Call me if you need anything in the meantime.”

I can’t bring myself to force a thank-you. I’m reaching my limit.

The door closes again.

“Cowboy.” I wait for his perfect, steel-blue eyes to return to me, and he moves to the bed, reaching for my hand. “Can you please call—Oh, shit!”

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