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People are starting to notice the altercation now. Some of them make a wide berth around the four people clustered together on the sidewalk. Others cross the street to avoid the confrontation altogether.
My stomach is in knots. I suspect the kid is under the influence of something, most likely drugs. And he’s carrying a weapon, whereas Jamie is not.
“I’m not going to ask you again,” Jamie says to the kid. “Move along.”
As the kid whips the knife from its sheath, the old man stumbles back in surprise, pulling his wife with him.
“Go, sir,” Jamie says as he steps between the kid and the couple.
The man and woman don’t waste time moving out of harm’s way, but they don’t leave entirely. They wait at a safe distance to watch what unfolds.
The kid moves closer to Jamie. “You are begging to get gutted, mister.” When he lunges at Jamie, swiping outward with the knife, Jamie jumps back out of the kid’s reach.
I grab my phone and call 911. I give the dispatcher a quick description of the situation.
When the kid makes another swipe with the knife, Jamie grabs his wrist, bends it back as far as it will go, and twists hard. The kid screams and drops the knife, which clatters to the pavement. I run up and kick it aside, well out of reach.
The kid falls to his knees, grimacing in agony as Jamie maintains pressure on his twisted wrist. “Let go, asshole!” he gasps, the words barely legible. “Let go!”
Calmly, Jamie says, “Call 911, honey.”
“I already did,” I say. “They’re on their way.”
Jamie keeps up the pressure on the kid’s wrist, which is twisted in an awkward angle. The kid is practically hyperventilating as he begs Jamie to release him.
Just a couple minutes later, we hear a brief blast of a police siren as two patrol cars pull up to the curb. Uniformed officers exit their vehicles and quickly assess the situation. One of the cops soon has the kid lying face down on the pavement and in handcuffs. The other officer is speaking with Jamie.
After taking Jamie’s statement, as well as statements from the elderly man, his wife, and a couple other bystanders, one of the officers collects the kid’s discarded knife and bags it as evidence. The other officer reads the kid his rights and loads him into the backseat of a patrol car.
As the officers drive away, I join Jamie. There’s a thin ribbon of blood on his right forearm. “He cut you.”
Jamie grimaces as he flexes his arm. “I was a second too slow. He clipped me. It’s not serious.”
I link my arm through his. “Let’s go home so I can treat your arm.”
“Lead the way, sweetheart,” he says as he takes the shopping bags from me.
After we get home, I wash the blood from Jamie’s arm and apply an antibiotic ointment and a bandage. As the cut’s not very deep, I’m sure it’ll heal just fine.
Since it’s only mid-afternoon, Jamie decides he’ll get a bit of writing in. I’m still feeling a bit shaken from all the drama this afternoon, so I decide to stay home rather than make an appearance at my gallery.
While Jamie’s seated at his desk and narrating the latest chapter of his new book, I grab my iPad and curl up on the sofa in his office and read while he works. I’m having trouble concentrating, though, as my gaze keeps wandering to Jamie. I can’t help studying his handsome profile. He seems perfectly calm and relaxed as he speaks into a microphone. I’m still frazzled by what happened today. The kid only nicked him, but it could have been so much worse.
Jamie can’t help himself—you can take the former Navy SEAL out of the service, but you can’t take the hero out of the former Navy SEAL. Jamie’s always going to be the one who runs toward danger, not away from it. It’s his nature. It’s part of what makes me love and admire him so much, but it also scares me. He’s only human. He’s not invincible. And without his sight, he’s always going to be at a disadvantage.
I finally give up on trying to read my own book and instead sit there and listen to him dictate his new story. It’s about a former special ops soldier who leaves the service and returns to his hometown to help run the family business. It’s part mystery and part thriller, but there’s also a significant romance elementto it, which I love. And he’s promised me it ends with an HEA—a happy ever after ending. It’s a real romance.
Listening to his hypnotic voice lulls me into a relaxed dream state. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know, he’s sitting on the other end of the sofa, massaging my feet.
I groan. “Oh, that feels good. How long was I out?”
“It’s six-thirty. I figured after what happened this afternoon, you could use a nap.”
“What about you? You’re the one who was at risk. I was just a bystander.”
“You called 911. That was a big help.” He presses his thumbs into the arches of my feet, making me groan again.
I laugh. “Yep. That’s me. A hero.”
