Ethan had already disabled her cell’s voice mail and texting features to prevent more abuse, because she’d refused to change her number or replace her cell phone yet.
It was her number, dammit. She’d had it for years. Why should she have to change her number or spend money on a new, second phone?
She’d spent the last several days hiding, and she knew it. She used that time to crochet, finding it soothing and able to quiet her mind in some ways.
Especially since right now she didn’t have the heart to go to the gun range. She didn’t want to talk to anyone about the shooting, and she wasn’t yet strong enough to deflect discussion of it.
What hurt most was having to call Sachi to cancel her lessons for the couple of weeks, knowing she was in no condition to be doing that, either.
“You know you can talk to me, right?” Sachi said after Brita had told her the basics of what happened. “About this. You don’t need to put on a brave face for me, and I won’t tell anyone.”
Part of her wanted to spill her guts.
Part of her succumbed to denning instinct. “I need to find my center again. Sorry about canceling on you. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
“No worries, sweetie. I’ll be here when you’re ready. Brightest blessings, and namaste.”
“Thanks.”
Brita didn’t bother looking at her e-mail or her Facebook account, Ethan having already warned her about the trolls. When Gabe stopped by to visit her that afternoon on her way home from work, Brita finally got her friend to admit to her how bad it was.
“There’s a small group of guys, his hardcore fanbase, who are screaming on Twitter and Reddit and elsewhere that you should be charged. Which is, of course, bullshit. Typical troublemakers, most of them probably teenagers. They’re trying to drum up support for the camera crew. They even started a GoFundMe for them, which was canceled by the website after one day when enough people reported it to them.”
“How much had they raised?”
Gabe snorted. “Fifty bucks.”
“That’s it?”
“Seriously. Mainstream locally, all the man-on-the-street opinions the media are filming are overwhelmingly in support of you and what you did. One guy said if you ran for sheriff, he’d vote for you. Several people said they thought you should have shot the camera guys, too.”
Brita’s stomach rolled as Gabe continued.
“The stand-your-ground opponents are stumbling around and saying of course this case isn’t a ‘bad’ example of it in action, but that had it not been in place, you still would have been protected from prosecution in light of the circumstances. What the proponents are reminding people is that SYG is protecting you from civil liability, whereas a finding of no-prosecution without it would not.”
“Did the guys make bail?”
“No bond. Two of them have outstanding warrants, it turns out. One a bench warrant, failure to appear for a traffic ticket in Delaware, of all freaking places. The other guy had been found guilty of misdemeanor battery against his ex-girlfriend in California and stopped checking in with his probation officer six months ago. And it looks like they’re waiving their speedy trial option. The production company is footing the bill for their attorney.”
“Great. Who is it?”
She laughed. “I asked Kimbra about him. Some idiot from Nokomis who usually handles DUIs. Apparently he works cheap. She thinks he volunteered to do it for the free advertising.”
“Are they looking for an ineffective counsel appeal?”
“I don’t think they’re that smart. I think the production company is just that broke.” Her smile faded. “Ed’s already prepping the wrongful death lawsuit for the Iverson family. That’ll be separate from the negligence suit he’s going to file for everyone else.”
“I wish he wasn’t including me in that. Ethan says I need to.”
“Damn right you need to. This has upended your life.”
“But it ended his.”
* * * *
Ethan had tried to get Brita to at least call the psychologists on the list, but she kept putting it off.
Finally, by Sunday night, when they were alone at her place, he pressed the issue.
“Honey, it’s time you start making phone calls.”
She’d been putting away clean dishes from the dishwasher and slammed a glass against the counter so hard it shattered in her hand, scaring her.
“I’m not fucking calling anyone, so stop it.” When he moved in to help her clean it up, she held up both her hands, warding him off. “Stop. Please. And don’t pull the damn Dom card on me!”
Then she started sobbing.
He stepped in, wrapping his arms around her and gently guiding her away from the counter. It took her a moment to finally relax in his arms.
She hadn’t left the condo since the afternoon of the shooting.
He slowly rocked her in his arms. “You’ve been looking at your e-mail, haven’t you?”
“Yeah,” she eventually sniffled.
Ethan had all her login info for her various accounts. Gary and Tom were looking into the case officially now, because the threats were escalating and growing more persistent and detailed. They’d already requested a court order for IP info from Facebook and Gmail, but it took time to get those requests processed at the other end once they were submitted.
And it might not even give them usable information that could lead to an arrest.
“We need to get you a new phone this week, and change your home number.” Last week, when he’d had to go to work, he left his personal cell for her to use because he had his work cell.
“I know.”
They hadn’t had their conversations about her moving in with him, either. Right now, in her fragile state, he didn’t want to heap more stress on her. He’d spent every night there at the condo with her, not wanting to leave her alone.
He got her settled in the living room and then cleaned up the broken glass for her. When he returned, she was staring at the TV.
“I think I need to be alone tonight,” she said.
Her quiet, flat tone of voice scared him. “Baby, please—”
“I’m sorry, Ethan.”
Torn, he struggled for a response, floundering. “I don’t know if that’s the best choice tonight, baby.”
“Please don’t make me safeword.”
It almost felt like a slap in the face, her statement shocked him so much. He sat on the coffee table in front of her. “Is this what you really want?”
“For tonight. I’m not going to hurt myself. I just need to clear my head.”
He finally came up with a compromise. “I go home tonight, you will start calling people tomorrow to find someone to talk to. And we’ll go get you a new phone this week. Deal?”
At first, he thought she would safeword anyway, argue with him.
The slow nod of her head brought him a measure of relief. “Deal,” she quietly said.
It was a trade-off he’d accept as a win, because for the one step back of having to leave her alone, he’d just gained two steps forward. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“Okay, baby. I’ll go home tonight, if that’s what you need me to do.”
“Thank you.”
Still, nerves churned in his gut as he did. Leaving her alone didn’t feel right.
But maybe he had to let her decide this for herself tonight.
* * * *
Once Ethan had left, Brita locked the door behind him, and verified it was locked.
Then she made the rounds twice, checking all the windows and the back door, before setting the alarm.
It felt weird doing it herself after having Ethan around for so many days in a row.
She’d walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water and take her anti-anxiety meds when she saw the light on the home line blinking, meaning it was ringing, and the caller ID showed 000-000-0000 as the phone number.
Angry, she grabbed it. “Hello?�
��
A pause before the obviously disguised voice started speaking. “Gonna have a pig roast.”
“Then do it, you nutless douchebag. Quit being a fucking coward and calling and e-mailing me and fucking do something. Hell, show up at my front goddamned door and say hello, why don’t ya? Obviously you have no fucking goddamned life if you’re obsessed with me! What’s the matter? Your mommy didn’t give you enough love? Or are you some spoiled little brat who can’t get hard unless he’s bullying someone?”
Ominous silence met her. Belatedly, she realized maybe they were recording her call.
She also realized she didn’t care.
“You’re gonna pay for that, bitch.”
The line went dead.
She hit end and fought the urge to slam the cordless phone down on base unit.
Fuck.
She knew that was the worst thing she could have done, but she hated feeling afraid, hated that some selfish prick looking for lulz had gotten himself killed by her, and she hated feeling like her entire goddamned life had been hijacked yet again, beyond her control, just when she’d been about to move in with Ethan. She was done being a victim.
Oh, hey, there’s my fucking spine. Hola, amiga. Where ya been?
She started laughing at that realization, and it felt good to finally laugh again.
Ethan’s right. I need to talk to someone. I’ll start calling in the morning. First thing.
On that thought, she finally took her meds and shut the kitchen light off without going back to verify—again—that the windows and back door were locked.
Chapter Fourteen
Brita didn’t know what woke her up at first. She squinted to make out the time on the cable box and saw it was a little after four in the morning.
Sitting up in bed since she was now wide awake, she listened and thought she heard a weird noise. Getting the nine millimeter out of the drawer of the bedside table where she kept it at night when she was alone, she crept out toward the living room.
That’s when she spotted the orange glow outside. She peeked out the front window.
Her car was on fire, and the neighbor’s cars on either side were quickly becoming engulfed, as well.
Turning, she hit the fire-call button on her alarm panel before running back to the bedroom to grab her shoes and purse. She already heard sirens approaching, so one of the neighbors must have awakened before she did. She didn’t know if the alarm company was trying to call her, because the house phone was silenced and her cell was on the charger in the living room.
By the time she got her alarm disabled and went outside, the first firetruck had rolled up and the neighbors on either side were standing outside.
In shock, feeling like she was stuck in a nightmare, she watched as they quickly extinguished the flames while a deputy and more firetrucks arrived.
She didn’t know the deputy who walked over to talk to her and her neighbors. Barely able to focus, she answered his questions, mentioning the ongoing threats and the call the night before, and that he needed to pass the info to Tom and Gary.
It wasn’t until he’d finished with her statement and started talking to one of her neighbors that she finally thought to call Ethan. She pulled his cell from her purse and called his work cell, which she knew he kept on the bedside table at night.
He sounded half asleep. “B? Honey, what’s wrong?”
She tried to tell him and burst into tears, so loudly that the deputy turned to make sure she was okay.
“Honey, what happened? Are you okay?”
Ashamed that she couldn’t even get words out now, she handed the phone off to the deputy and sat, right there on the sidewalk, and sobbed.
* * * *
Brita knew the major, Elliot Polk, who rolled up five minutes later, apparently summoned by Ethan’s frantic call to the duty desk to see who was on and available and close enough to get there before he could. Elliot helped her stand and return to her condo, calling Ethan to let him know he was with her.
When Ethan arrived twenty minutes later, in shorts and a T-shirt and his badge on a chain around his neck, he burst through the front door like a tornado. “Brita!”
She was sitting on the couch, still clutching her purse—which held her nine—and rocking herself.
“She’s okay.” Elliot pulled him aside to update him.
All this she processed through a weird filter, both seeing and understanding everything going on, and now too far beyond her ability to hold it together to really respond to any of it.
Ethan sat next to her and pulled her into his arms. “It’s okay, honey. I never should have left you alone.”
“We’ll get the arson team here,” Elliot said before heading outside.
“Please put my purse up, Sir,” she whispered to him, handing it to him.
He must have realized, when he felt the weight of it, why she asked it of him. He immediately stood and disappeared into the bedroom, returning a moment later without the purse.
She knew from the amount of time he’d been gone that he must have locked her gun up.
He sat next to her again and held her. “Tell me about the call you got.”
She did, ashamed now that she’d lost her temper and triggered not just her own car being set on fire, but the neighbors’ cars as a result.
No way it could be a coincidence.
That was proven ten minutes later when Elliot returned. “We have evidence of some sort of incendiary device being placed under the car. It’ll be light pretty soon and they’ll get a better look at it then before they move anything. I already contacted Tom and Gary about this, too.”
“Thanks,” Ethan said.
Alone once more, he cupped her face in his hands. “Okay, baby. Ready to lean on me again?”
“Why are they doing this?”
“Because some people are vicious and crazy and evil, that’s why. You need to move to my house.”
“I don’t want to let them run me out of my house.”
“We’d already decided you were going to move in with me.”
That’s right. They had.
“Not yet, please? We haven’t even had our talk yet.”
She almost gave in under the weight of his blue gaze. “Next weekend, baby. We’re moving you. Period.”
“Yes, Sir.”
As dawn broke that Monday morning, Ethan took over, handling calling her insurance company, who was able to get an adjuster out that morning before the sheriff’s office had the car towed to impound for analysis. Since it was obviously a total loss, and she didn’t owe any money on it, there wouldn’t be any haggling about estimates or repairs. He tapped in the report on his tablet and had her sign it with her finger.
“We’ll be handling it as a wire transfer,” he said. “To the same account you pay from?”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
He went to his car and printed her up a hard copy of everything, including the settlement amount, and left it with Ethan.
“I guess we need to add car shopping to the list this week,” Ethan said.
“I guess so.”
How had she gone from finding her spine last night to once again feeling…helpless?
Hopeless?
On his way out the door from his house, Ethan had grabbed stuff he’d need for work and planned to take a shower there at Brita’s condo. He couldn’t miss work today, though. So once her car, and her neighbor’s cars, had been towed away, he got ready.
“Do you want me to call Loren to come stay with you today?”
She slowly shook her head. Shortly after arriving, Ethan had made her take a full dose of Xanax.
“Will you let me take you to my house, at least? Spend the day there?”
“No.” She was already beyond her upper limit of stress. She didn’t want to leave her home.
Not like this.
“I’ll leave my cell with you. Call me immediately if anything else happens, okay?”
She slowly nodded.
>
Once she was alone again, she set the alarm and crawled into bed, immediately dropping off into a nightmare-filled sleep.
* * * *
Ethan had trouble sleeping that night even after Brita had drifted off thanks to Xanax. He kept getting up to look out the front windows at the charred spot where the three cars had been parked that morning.
That the troll had escalated things to this level terrified him. He had no one to put a hand on and toss in jail. Her complex didn’t have security cameras to see who it was who’d set her car on fire. It could have been anyone, including one of her neighbors, for all they knew.
In the process of yesterday’s events, Brita had forgotten to make the calls she’d promised to, tearfully breaking down when she realized that after he’d returned from work. He’d assured her he wasn’t upset with her, and softened his stance on it. She understood she needed help, and was moving in the right direction.
He wouldn’t fault her for the extra stress making her forget.
Even though he only got about two hours of sleep that night, Brita looked even worse than he felt the next morning.
“I unplugged the house phone last night,” he told her. “Don’t plug it back in. We need to cancel it. You don’t use it anyway.”
She nodded.
“I’m going to get you a phone on my account today, all right? I’ll bring it home with me.”
She nodded again.
He pulled her into his arms. “Baby, we’ll get through this. Please don’t quit on me. They won’t win. We just need time to track them down.”
“Time for what? For them to set fire to my condo next time? What if someone had gotten hurt?”
“It’s not on your head, baby. You’re using that pretzel logic again. We’ll find them, and now since they’re in felony territory, they’ll go to jail. This just got bumped up in priority. They’re bringing in the FBI and FDLE to help out.”
“All that effort just because some loser’s obsessed with me.”
“Stop talking like that. We’re going to get this guy.”
But after he said good-bye and headed in to work, he wondered if they really would be able to.
Pretzel Logic Page 12