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I laugh. “Paris,” I correct.
“Right,” he says. “I don’t like Paris. The women eat snails and raw meat. Hard to kiss a woman that has that shit in their mouths.”
Cole and I both laugh. “You are a piece of work, man,” Cole murmurs. “How bad is the press?”
“Not here,” he says. “Because we tricked them into thinking you were on a private jet at another location. Don’t ask how. We’re just that good.”
“I need to go to the ladies’ room,” I say. “Am I safe to go?”
“All is clear here in baggage claim,” Savage says. “Just come right back. No detours.”
I nod, relieved that the situation isn’t one that requires escorts to the bathroom. Obviously, Cole was just on edge on our way home, feeling all kinds of things that he’s not used to feeling. I kiss his cheek and follow the bathroom sign. Thankfully there isn’t a line and I quickly do my thing, wash up and head for the door when suddenly, a burly man is in the bathroom, stalking toward me.
I scream and turn to run, but there is nowhere to go but a wall or a stall where I will end up trapped.
Chapter fifty-eight
Lori
The man coming toward me is big, charging at me, and my heart is in my throat. I can barely think. I have no weapon. I have no place to go. That’s all I know until I hit the wall and the man stops in front of me, fisting his hands next to my head. Now he’s so close, that I know his eyes are green because of course, I want to know the color of eyes my killer has. His face is pudgy, his arms thick with muscle. “They should have the death penalty for people like you who get killers off to kill again.”
“I don’t defend guilty people,” I say, because if I’m going to die, I’ll die fighting, be it with words or a knee. And that’s what I do. I knee him, I do it with every force of energy I possess. He grunts and buckles forward, but not before he grabs a chunk of my hair.
“Bitch,” he hisses, and in hindsight, his tight yanking at my scalp makes the knee seem like a mistake.
It’s right then that I hear, “Lori!”
At Cole’s voice, I suck in air, but the man yanks me hard against him. Cole must grab him because he’s jerked backward but still has a hold on me. I’m now so close to this beast of a man’s face that I see the moment Cole’s fist slams into his cheek. The man releases me, and I hit the wall as he whirls and punches Cole. I scream, terrified for Cole, but in another ten seconds Savage has grabbed my attacker from behind, head-locked him, and somehow manages to speak into an earpiece, “Baggage area ladies’ bathroom, now.” The guy starts to flail around and sink to the ground. Savage is putting him to sleep, I think.
Cole grabs me and pulls me to him. “Are you okay?” He buries his face in my neck.
“I am now,” I whisper, holding him as tightly as he’s holding me. “I’m okay now that you’re here.”
“Listen up, you two,” Savage says from behind us, and we turn to find the man now passed out on the floor, while Savage puts some sort of plastic cuffs on him. “Are you okay, Lori? Do you need medical care?”
“No,” I say. “No, I’m just shaken.”
“We’re going to need to talk to the police,” he says. “Smith will bring security with him when he gets here. Chaos will erupt. Stay with him or me and we have extra men on the way.” He’s barely spoken the words when two police officers, and a tall man with sandy brown hair I soon surmise to be Smith, enters the bathroom. From there, it’s exactly as Savage said. Chaos. The man, my attacker, is taken away, and the EMS team that arrives checks our injuries, which for Cole includes a huge gash down his cheek. We’re asked a million questions by a million people, and at some point, I calm down enough to start to worry.
“My mother,” I say, talking to an officer. “Is my mother in danger?”
Cole turns me to face him, hands on my shoulders. “Savage has a man on the way to stay with them just to be safe.”
“We think this guy acted on his own,” the officer, a tall, redheaded man with such hard features that even his freckles manage to be intimidating, interjects. “He’s got a relationship with the deceased on the trial you just worked.”
This shakes me. A random person attacking me was less intimidating than someone who personally sought me out, but what cuts me, is that this man didn’t attack me out of insanity, not literally. He’s in pain. He’s lost someone he loves.
“Cole,” I breathe out, and he knows just what I’m thinking. I see it in his face, in the softening of his eyes.
“I know,” he says softly, confirming that understanding, and wrapping his arms around my shoulders to pull me close, his focus returning to the officer. “We’re going to need an emergency restraining order for us, our business, and a laundry list of people attached to this.”
“I’ll take the lead to push it through,” the officer offers.
“What’s his history and your assessment of him as a future problem?”
“He’s actually a civil engineer who’s been on the job ten years. He has no priors. He has no alerts on his record.”
“What’s his relationship to the deceased in the trial in question?”
