Page 5 of Wintering with George

I’d missed him when I’d checked out the room from outside, but it sort of confirmed my hypothesis that they were robbing the place, then planning on taking the kids. I was about to fire, but the dogs were suddenly on him, hurling him to the ground like furry missiles. It made sense he went down—each of them weighed a hundred pounds. He never stood a chance.

Standing, I saw Kurt running down the hallway that led from the front door to the living room. He’d gone to let the dogs in, which was the only reason the last guy was still breathing.

I picked up the gun the guy wrestling with the dogs had dropped, a Browning HP35, and retrieved the gun from the guy behind the couch, a Glock 26.

“Off,” Kurt commanded, and the dogs both released the man at the same time, moving into position, bookending my boyfriend.

Glancing around the room, I saw that Thom was crying, tears running down her face, Brad appeared ashen, the kids were both shaking, clearly in shock, and only Kurt seemed okay.

“Guard,” Kurt directed the dogs.

It was like a spell was broken as Thom cried out, rushing across the room to the boy I could now see was the older of the two, and Brad went to his other son on the couch, who was starting to hyperventilate, I was guessing because he had some blood on him from when I shot the guy who’d been standing behind him.

Kurt looked around at his family, seeing, I thought, that they were all safe, and then bolted over to me, colliding with me hard, wrapping his arms around me tight. And it hurt, but that was all right. How could it be true love if it didn’t hurt once in a while?

The cops showed up fairly quickly, but I was guessing that was because of the neighborhood. I’d lived in a lot of places in my life, and the better the zip code, the better policing you got. And a lot of people would say I was jaded, but I’d always been more of a realist. Seriously, across the street from Thomasin and Brad’s house was nothing but scenic view; there were no neighbors, just the railing that kept you from driving off the side of the hill. It was, without argument, a nice neighborhood.

I was sitting on a stool in the kitchen, talking with the nice EMTs fussing over me. I’d told Kurt to go hold his sister’s hand, so he joined Thom and Brad, who were talking to the police. Kurt wanted to stay with me, but I knew he would insist I take a ride to the nearest hospital if he had his way, and I was not, under any circumstances, going there. I needed to eat and sleep, and neither of those things would happen if I was carted away in an ambulance.

“No,” I told Taylor, who had introduced herself and her partner, Geneva, when they reached me. “I’m good with all my vaccines, so no tetanus shot needed.”

“Are you sure?” asked Taylor, adorable with her red hair, freckles, and big blue eyes. “You have to be careful, even if it’s only a graze.”

And it wasn’t even a deep one, which I was appreciative of. I had stitches farther up on that same shoulder, which was already twinging a bit.

“You need to go to the ER,” Geneva informed me.

“I’d rather gargle glass,” I told the beautiful woman, stunning with her flawless bronze skin and short box braids in a bob style. “Seriously, I’ll be there for years.”

“That’s very possible,” she agreed.

“Then we’re giving you something for the pain,” Taylor insisted.

I was not turning that down.

Once I was patched up, two detectives walked over, both in plainclothes, and introduced themselves as Tunney and Deng of the Portland Police Bureau.

“You say bureau here?” I asked Tunney, who was older, maybe late fifties, handsome in that rugged way where it looked like he spent a lot of time outdoors. He had blond hair shot through with silver, and had readers perched on the end of his nose. In contrast, there was Deng, who had a quick smile, expensive haircut, and a great wardrobe.

“Yeah,” Tunney replied. “Where are you from?”

“Chicago.”

“You’re in your ACUs,” Deng observed. “I hope you’re not headed out.”

“No, sir, just got back.”

“Thank you for your service.”

I gave Deng a nod in response. I never knew what to do when people said that to me. It was my duty; I didn’t need to be thanked.

“So…” Tunney sighed deeply. “Everyone is talking over there, but mostly all at once.”

“I think Mr. Butler is a shrink, right?” Deng asked me. “I mean, he’s trying to calm everyone down, but it doesn’t seem to be working.”

I smiled.

“Okay, so, Captain Hunt, is it?” Tunney asked.