Page 30 of No Control
“Who is your ex-fiancé?”
“Mason Prewitt.”
Recognition flashes across his face. “Seriously? Like Jim and Karen’s Mason Prewitt?”
Shit. He knows him.
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“Huh, okay. Well, I’ll take the report. How many guns went missing? You got the paperwork on them?”
I gather the necessary documentation and hand it over to Deputy Briggins, who seems to relax after finding out I assume it was Mason. He gives me a nod and heads toward the front door, Duke padding along quietly. I glance down at him, still a little suspicious of the way he’s behaving. He never likes strangers.
“Are you going to check around outside?” I ask the deputy as he steps out onto my front porch.
He glances around, his beady brown eyes making a quick scan. “You sure Mason’s not just playing a joke on you? Or maybe you just don’t remember him picking up the guns? Did any of them belong to him?”
You have to be freaking kidding me.
“No, they all belonged to me. And no, I don’t think it’s a joke.”
He shrugs. “Okay, well, maybe consider changing your locks. I’ll look into this.”
As I watch him head off the porch, making his way to his car, a terrible feeling rolls over my body, and I’m fairly certain of one thing…
He’s not going to be looking into it.
I watch the car leave the driveway, and let Duke slip out to go to the bathroom. I stand there in the open doorway, watching the dog and wondering what the fuck I’m supposed to do. Duke comes running back as soon as he’s finished, happily slipping back into the house. I slam the door shut and turn the locks.
I don’t want to be here.
But I don’t want to call my parents, either. Our relationship is strained as it is. We go months without talking sometimes—and they only live an hour away. They were closer to Mason than me, and I’d hate to know what they’d think of this mess.
Probably blame me for breaking up with him.
I fill Duke’s dog bowl and set it down on the tile floor for him before sifting through my phone to Emma’s number. I hit call and take a seat on the couch. My eyes flicker to the fire poker by the fireplace, and I swallow hard.
Guess I’ll have to rely on that thing.
“Wow, good morning,” Emma groans groggily. “Why are you calling me at the ass-crack of dawn?”
“Things have…escalated.”
The sound of fumbling around fills the line. “What happened?” she asks, suddenly sounding wide awake. “Is it Mason?”
“Yeah,” I answer her, glancing around the living room like he might be listening or something. “He took all the guns in my house…while I was sleeping.”
Emma’s quiet for a moment. “Whoa…I—did you call the police? Please tell me you called them.”
“I did,” I answer flatly. “And the deputy knows Mason. I don’t think he took me seriously. I guess I’m going to change the locks, but I’m scared to leave and come back to him in the house.” The words sound ridiculous coming out of my mouth. This is the kind of shit that only happens in the movies—or true crime documentaries. Maybe I’ve watched so many I unknowingly manifested it into reality.
Yikes.
“Come stay with me.”
“I think Jared might murder me.”
She pauses in a way that makes me uneasy. “Nah,” she clears her throat. “But I don’t blame you. He’s more off than ever right now, but we can talk about that later.”
