And what happened was I heard gunshots, six of them, one after another sounding like they were right in front of my house.

I stared at the window a nanosecond before I crouched down behind the island as more gunfire sounded and it penetrated my frozen with terror mind that it sounded like return fire.

As the gunfight continued, I came to my senses, scuttled in a crouch to the landline phone, reached up, grabbed it, hit the on button then dialed 911.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“Gunshots outside my house,” I whispered.

“Where are you, ma’am?”

I started to give my address as I heard noise at my front door and I stopped, staring through my house at it, paralyzed with fear.

“Ma’am,” the operator called, “please confirm you’re safe and your address.”

“Someone’s –”

The door opened and Brock walked in, his overcoat on one side dusted with snow. He turned, slammed the door, locked it and prowled to me holding his gun in his hand.

I didn’t, as I usually did, admire him in his work clothes. Today, a nice, thick black turtleneck (one, incidentally, I bought him for Christmas and I say one because I bought him three), jeans that weren’t nearly as faded as his normal jeans, a great black belt that the sweater was tucked behind (and that was the only part of the sweater tucked, I didn’t know if he did it on purpose or what but for some reason I thought it looked awesome) and a handsome, tailored, black wool overcoat (which, also incidentally, Laura and Jill got together to buy him for Christmas and on him it was the bomb).

Although his work attire was only a nuance away from his non-work attire, when he got home, after greeting me, he never but never hesitated in taking it off, putting on faded jeans, no belt and, now that we were in the dead of winter, either a faded, long-sleeved tee or a thermal.

Now he prowled through the house toward me and I didn’t notice how hot he looked in his work clothes. I only noticed the dusting of snow on his overcoat and the gun in his hand.

How did he get that dusting of snow?

“Ma’am?” I heard the 911 operator call. “Are you with me?”

“That emergency?” Brock growled when he got to me, staring down at me still crouched by my kitchen counter.

I didn’t respond. He bent and pulled the phone out of my hand and put it to his ear.

“This is Detective Brock Lucas. I was just fired on and exchanged fire with an unidentified male…”

He kept talking but my mind blanked of everything but his words repeating in my head.

I was just fired on and exchanged fire…

I was just fired on and exchanged fire…

I was just fired on and exchanged fire…

I straightened as he continued to growl into the phone, his eyes on me but my thoughts were still elsewhere.

He had that snow on him because he threw himself to the ground to dodge bullets aimed at him in front of my house.

My man had thrown his beautiful body to the snow to dodge f**king bullets aimed at him in front of my f**king house.

And he had his gun in his hand because he’d had to return fire.

And I knew exactly who ordered that unidentified male to aim bullets at my man.

No.

Oh no.

I did not f**king think so.

Just like I lost it when Levi was at Brock’s house, I didn’t think.

I just moved.

And what I moved to do was snatch my keys off the counter and then I ran out of the house.

“Tess!” Brock shouted but I was gone.

Down the walk and in my car.

“Goddamn it! Tess!” I heard Brock shout from somewhere outside the car.

Car on, I didn’t even look and put the pedal to the floor.

I didn’t know how I got there and it was a miracle I made it without killing myself or anyone else. But I hit University then turned right then turned left on Yale then I drove like a demon through Donald Heller’s established, tidy neighborhood with its big houses on big lots, a path I had taken frequently for twelve years while dating and married to my shitheel of an ex but had not taken once in the last six and a half.

And I went there because I had no idea where Damian lived.

But I sure as f**k was going to find out.

I screeched to a halt at the curb, shot out of my car and raced through the snow in the yard to the front door, not noticing the headlights of the truck that followed me go out as it parked behind my car.

I banged on the door loudly, not letting up as I shouted, “Don, open the f**king door!”

A hand came from behind me, fingers wrapping around my wrist, halting my pounding as I felt warmth hit my back and heard whispered in my ear, “Tess, Jesus, baby, calm –”

Brock didn’t finish because the door opened and Donald was standing there.

His eyes flashed quickly back and forth and back and forth again between Brock and me then a tentative smile hit his mouth as his eyes started to light and he whispered, “Tess, honey, my –”

He didn’t finish because I shouted, “Where is he?”

Donald blinked, his gaze moving between Brock, who now had my wrist and arm wrapped around my belly, his with it, and me then he asked, “Who?”

“Your f**king scum of the earth, shithead, ass**le of a son, that’s who!” I shrieked.

He blinked again then I heard, “Tess?” and looked beyond Donald to see f**king, f**king, f**king Damian standing several feet behind him in his father’s foyer.

And that was when I lost it again.

Tearing free of Brock, I shoved straight passed Donald and launched myself at Damian, arms raised, nails bared, ready to scratch his motherfucking eyes out.

His hands came up to defend himself and he took a step back but I didn’t get there.

A steel arm clamped around my waist, I let out an “oof!” and was hauled back against Brock who then clamped another steel arm around my shoulders and chest at the front.

At my ear, he whispered, “Cool it, sweetness.”

“Fuck cool! ” I screeched and struggled against his hold at the same time planting my feet as he tried to pull me back. Through this my eyes stayed glued to Damian. “You f**king dick! ” I kept screeching.

“What on –?” Donald asked with soft shock at my side but I shouted over him.

“It wasn’t enough hitting me?” I asked and Brock froze at the same time I sensed Donald doing the same. “It wasn’t enough raping me?” I kept shouting and disregarded the noise that came from Donald that sounded like someone landed a blow to his stomach. “Then you call me out of the blue, f**king lie to me a-fucking- gain after you lied to me so many f**king, f**king times I lost count with the women you screwed who were not me, and told me your father was sick as a ploy to get me to meet you.”