My eyes track back yet again to the box. My vision blurs as I get lost in memories of my years as a journalist. Not sure how long I sit there, I startle as Jessen gently places a glass in my hand and wraps my fingers around it.
“Get that down. It’ll help settle your nerves.” As he speaks, the downstairs buzzer sounds. “Drink. I’ll get that. It’s probably Knight.”
Again, I do as I’m told. I wouldn’t have guessed at the dominant streak in Jessen, but I probably should have considering his chosen career field. I chuck back the alcohol, coughing a little as the liquid burns its way to my stomach.
With a nod of approval, he heads for my front door. I hear voices and find a group of men now standing in my tiny vestibule. I recognize the three men from the court case that now feels as if it took place a lifetime ago. Can’t, for the life of me, remember a single name though.
A long discussion carried out in low tones takes place just inside my front door. Eventually, the four of them come into the living room, and Jessen makes introductions.
“I’m not sure if you remember my teammates, but this is Knight, Scooter, and Bear.”
Like Jessen, the man he introduces as Scooter is on the shorter side – not to say he’s short by any means, just shorter, especially when compared to the other two men. But it’s the man he introduces as Bear that has my eyes stretching wide.
Knight is pretty damn tall, but Bear has a few inches on even him. On top of that he is he’s huge. I swear to God his arms are as thick as my thighs. I guess that’s how he’s come by his nickname – he reallyisa bear of a man.
“Hi,” I say, a little overwhelmed by the amount of testosterone accumulated in my living room. I get a hi from Knight, a hey from Scooter, and a chin lift from Bear. Feeling a little more myself after the drink Jessen gave me, I get to my feet. “Please, sit. Can I get anyone something to drink? Some coffee maybe?”
“Coffee would be great, thanks,” Knight replies, the other two men nodding their agreement.
Needing to keep my hands busy and my mind occupied, I get the coffee going. I arrange sugar, milk, and the mugs on a tray as I wait for the coffee machine to do its job. When it’s done, I fill the mugs and carry it through.
The men stand as I enter the room. Placing the tray on the coffee table, we fix our coffee before everyone, once again, takes a seat. Knight leans forward, cradling his mug between his large hands.
“Lucky says you don’t have any idea who’s behind the death threat you received tonight.”
A shiver of fear works its way down my spine at Knight’s blunt words. Apparently, he’s not one to beat around the bush. Simply cut to the heart of the matter.
“No, not a clue. I mean, with all the crime I’ve reported on over the years, the number operations I’ve caused to be shut down, not to mentions the arrests …” I shrug. “It could be any number of people.”
“I know it’s probably not something you want to hear, but I really do think you should get the cops involved.”
Sighing, I nod. “Yeah, you’re right. I know it, but I don’t like it. But that’s what being an adult is all about, right? Doing the shit you don’t want to do.”
“True that.” He indicates Jessen. “Lucky thought of the officer who was first on scene at your accident. I think it’s a good idea to reach out to her – she’s not a complete stranger.”
My eyes connect with Jessen’s. Obviously, my fear communicates itself because he comes over and drops back down on the coffee table, avoiding the tray. He holds out a hand, and as I place mine in his, he says, “I’m – we’re right here with you. You don’t have to do this alone.”
I take a deep breath, blow it out, then nod. “How do I get hold of her though? Do you remember which precinct she’s wi—” The words aren’t even out when I remember she gave me a business card when she took my statement about the accident. “Wait, I have her business card. I’ll be right back.”
It takes me a couple minutes to find it. Grabbing my phone, I dial the number and listen to the pounding of my heart while it rings.
“Mason.”
“Officer Mason, hi. Um, I’m not sure you’ll remember me, but it’s Agatha Traeger. You dealt with my accident a while back.”
“Ms. Traeger, hi. I remember. You write the crime novels, right?”
“That’s me.”
“How can I help?”
“I need to report a – ah – well, shit …” I snort out a nervous chuckle. “I don’t know what the hell I’m reporting, other than some weird ass package I received.”
“What kind of package are we talking here, ma’am? Anything that needs defusing?”
“Oh god, no. Not that kind of package, just a bullet on top of a page with what appears to be blood stains.”
She’s silent for a heartbeat, then I hear her speak to someone before she comes back on the line. “We’re on our way, ma’am. Sit tight.”
