“Wait here.” He returned to the living room and spoke to Jordan for a moment before returning, closing the bedroom door behind him.
“Okay. Let’s get you in the shower.”
He even had to help her undress, she hurt so bad. He tried to not let her see the empty holster when he removed it from her belt, but she reached out and stayed his hand. “Put it in the locker, please.”
That’s what they called the large gun safe in her walk-in closet, so it would seem less scary to Jordan. He took the holster and put it away, locking his own sidearm in there for now.
Once she was naked, he again scooped her into his arms. Carrying her into the bathroom, he set her on her feet in the shower and got the water started, waiting until it was a good temperature before switching it from tub to shower for her.
“I’ll come back for you in a few minutes,” he said from the safety outside the shower, peeking in around the curtain. “Let the water run on your back.”
She nodded, too weary and in too much pain to talk.
“And yell if you need me.”
She nodded again even though she wasn’t sure she could yell if she wanted to.
I’m useless.
The hot water helped loosen her locked and protesting muscles even if it didn’t do a lot for the pain. Brita started a slow series of stretches that would help her regain a little mobility as the water beat against her and steam filled the bathroom.
What. The. Hell?
How had today started out so good and turned into a raging shit sandwich?
She closed her eyes and rested her head against the shower wall, letting her silent tears flow. She didn’t know how much time had passed before she heard Ethan in the bathroom. “B?”
“Yeah.”
He peered around the shower curtain. “Oh, babe,” he softly said. He disappeared again, then reappeared at the front, his arm reaching in and shutting the water off. When he pulled the shower curtain open, he engulfed her in a large towel he had ready and once again scooped her up to carry her in to her bed.
She closed her eyes and let him take care of her, the way he had so many other times, fighting the urge to hate herself and feel useless and helpless and…
Damned.
Even though her brain tried to beat its way through the locked door of her mind, the one anxiety and stress and her PTSD had closed and barred, even though she knew she was once again engaging in what Sachi had dubbed pretzel logic, it was what she felt.
Ethan got her dried off and wrapped a towel around her damp hair. Then he helped her into one of his T-shirts he kept there, which hung huge on her, and a soft sarong to wrap around her waist.
“Here, take these.” He’d brought a couple of pills and a glass of water for her when he’d come for her.
She didn’t even look at them before swallowing them. She assumed the muscle relaxer, which she usually didn’t need, and probably her anti-anxiety meds.
Which she definitely needed right now.
For the first time, she wished she had the tolerance to take heavier medication, but anything else would knock her out.
Ethan crouched in front of where she sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at her, her hands in his. He kept his voice low. “I’ve got JJ doing some schoolwork in front of the TV with a snack. We’ll go back out there and sit with her.”
“Alisse and John hate me, don’t they?” she whispered.
“Babe, why would you think that?”
“Look what happened.”
“John didn’t sound mad. He was grateful you two were safe. I didn’t talk to Alisse. John said he would talk to her, but the last thing he sounded was mad. I don’t think anyone with half a brain in their head who saw what you saw would be mad at you for what you did.”
“He didn’t deserve to die.”
“Yeah, well, look how many Darwin Award winners take themselves out of the gene pool on a regular basis, huh? If it hadn’t been you, it likely would have been someone else at some point. Fortunately, no one innocent was harmed.”
“The driver died.”
“That’s on him, not you. And from what I understand, the charges against his film crew will reflect their part in it, as well.”
* * * *
Ethan was truly worried about Brita’s state of mind. This felt…different, like a deeper level of darkness than she’d ever hit during her recovery period after being shot. He reached up to cradle her face in his hands and made her look him in the eyes.
“Baby, we need to look into getting you in to talk to someone.”
“I don’t need to talk to anyone.”
“Yeah, you do. After I shot that guy that afternoon, I went and talked to someone. A few times. It’s not a weakness. That’s why it’s required when an officer is involved in a shooting. And I still talk to someone on occasion.”
“Talking to my mom doesn’t count.”
“It does when she’s a licensed psychologist, yes. But I talked to someone besides her, thank you very much. Someone local.” Unfortunately, the guy had moved last year, so he couldn’t make her see him or vouch for anyone else.
“What if I’ve traumatized those kids for life?”
“They saw a dedicated woman of law enforcement who stepped into harm’s way to save them. You didn’t hear the way the kids were talking to Jordan when I took her in for her lunch. They swarmed her asking about you, and telling her how cool they thought you were. You’re their hero, babe. You saved them from the monster. Literally. Not saying some of them won’t have nightmares, but they’d probably be worse nightmares if you hadn’t intervened.”
He’d turned off the ringer on Brita’s home phone and had set her cell phone to silent. While she was in the shower, he’d checked and she’d already had four voice mails on her home phone, from media outlets wanting to talk to her.
He wondered who’d leaked that information. Her number was unlisted, and while plenty of people had it, it wasn’t easy to get. Since she wasn’t active law enforcement any longer, her personal information wasn’t protected by the same safeguards. Or maybe someone had worked fast and already tracked down her federal firearms paperwork and got it from there. It was impossible to know at this point, but it signaled an early descent into media frenzy.
He’d already sent several calls on her cell that didn’t have corresponding contact entries straight to voice mail.
He would put his foot down, and would even play the Dom card, if he had to, but the last thing he wanted her to do was talk to the media. Especially not right now, in the condition she was in. If official stand-your-ground law status was issued in her case, at least it would shield her from a lawsuit from the guy’s family over his death.
But he’d be remiss not just as her boyfriend, but as a friend in general, if he let her talk to the media right now.
I need to call Ed.
He was Ethan and Brita’s attorney, and Ethan had only accidentally and belatedly realized Ed was also an attorney for many people in the Suncoast Society when he received several referrals for his services from friends who later turned out to be kinky. Ed had helped June when she’d shot and killed the guy who’d attacked her and her friend that time.
He finally got Brita up and moving and out to the sofa. He’d wanted to carry her, but she insisted on walking this time, albeit slowly and gingerly and while clinging to his arm for support.
JJ looked up from where she sat on the floor at the coffee table. “Are you okay, AuntieBee?” The girl had been too young to understand much at the time Brita was injured, but she’d grown up knowing her beloved aunt usually had some level of pain and to always be gentle with her.
“I’ll be okay, sweetheart. I just hurt.” He eased Brita down to the sofa.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked Brita.
“No, sweetie. Uncle Ethan will take care of it. I want you to do your work.”
A dark scowl filled the girl’s face. “I wanted to pet a dolphin today. They were also gonn
a let us feed a sea turtle.”
“I know, sweetheart,” Ethan said. “We’ll take you back another day.”
“That stupid monster man,” she continued ranting. “Why’d he have to be so dumb? Why’d he hate kids so much?”
Okay. That was unexpected. “What?” he asked.
“Someone like him has to hate kids, right? We were talking while I ate with the other kids. We had to whisper because the teachers and parents kept trying to tell us not to talk about it. That man had to hate kids. That was a mean thing for him to do. It wasn’t a funny joke, like standing around a corner and saying boo. It was mean like dropping someone’s favorite stuffed animal in a toilet and flushing it.”
It’d been too long of a day for Ethan to try to unpack all of that and explain subtle things to the eight-year-old, like clickbait and online ad revenues and the lowest common denominator of humor and human nature.
Instead, he nodded. “I think you’re absolutely right.”
When Brita tried to say something, he laid his hand on her thigh. “And AuntieBee loves you and your classmates. You know that. That’s why she protected you.”
“When you feel better, can you come talk to our class about being a cop?” she asked. “You, too, Uncle Ethan.”
“I’m not a cop anymore, sweetie,” Brita softly said.
Ethan took over. “We’ll be happy to. I bet I can get Major Dave to come, too. He’ll probably even bring his squad car so you guys can see it up close.”
“How come he gets to wear a uniform and you don’t? Is he more important?”
He prayed Brita would laugh, and she did.
Okay, so it was a snort, but he’d take the win.
“Major Dave is a patrolman. I’m a detective. He’s got the same rank I do, but I work in the office and he gets to drive the cool car with the lights and siren and supervises other patrolmen.”
“Why don’t you do that?”
“I used to. So did AuntieBee. We both started out on patrol and worked our way up. That’s how we met. The officers in the field handle different kinds of cases and take care of immediate stuff. Detectives handle stuff that’s already happened and, in some cases, try to figure out what happened through clues. Sometimes stuff that even happened years ago that hasn’t been solved yet.”
His cell rang, interrupting him. It was Bill. “Let me take this. I’ll be right back.”
Ethan stepped into the master bedroom and closed the door, then into the bathroom. “Yeah.”
“What the hell happened this morning? Is Brita okay?”
He gave Bill the run-down.
Bill sounded relieved. “Clean shoot.”
“Totally.”
“Can we come visit her tonight? Gabe doesn’t even know yet. She was up in Tallahassee testifying, and is flying back to Punta Gorda now.”
“Yeah. I think Brita needs a blue wall around her tonight. She’s in a lot of physical pain and she’s trying to shut down on me. We’re at her condo.”
“We’ll head straight there as soon as I pick Gabe up from the airport in an hour. Give her our love.”
“Will do.”
He’d just ended that call when another came in.
Ed.
“You reading my mind now, or what?” Ethan said when he answered.
“Huh?”
“You were at the top of my to-call list.”
“Brita?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve already called Ross. What time and where do you want us to handle putting together the media statement?”
“Here at her condo. Bill and Gabe will be up later, too. Any time after five. Jordan, her niece, is still here. But I don’t want Brita interviewed by media right now.”
“Oh, hell, no. Ross and I can hold a press conference at my office and read the statement and answer questions. I want to go through it with her first, though.”
“She’s…not doing very well right now.”
“Well, June was a basket case, and that fucker she shot totally deserved it. I can imagine Brita’s upset under the circumstances. I’d be worried about her if she wasn’t.”
Ethan was about to say something else when the doorbell rang. “I need to go. We’ll see you here in a couple of hours.”
“Will do.”
Jordan had looked up, but hadn’t stood to answer the door when he jogged through. He was more than a little relieved to find Dave’s wife, Peggy, standing at the door, cloth grocery bags in her hands.
He let her in. “Hey.”
“Dave sent me. Called me and said you brought her here.” She already knew her way to the kitchen from the time she’d spent helping care for Brita. “Let me set these down, hug her, and then I’ll get dinner going for you both. I’ll make plenty of extra.”
“Thanks.” He wasn’t even going to try to argue with her.
Tonight, he’d take all the help he could to ease Brita through this.
Chapter Twelve
It was actually Alisse who came to pick Jordan up, thirty minutes before Ethan was expecting John at his usual time. She rushed in, unlocking the door with her key and not bothering to knock first. Jordan was in the bathroom when she arrived.
Ethan had heard her car drive up but hadn’t made it to the door before her. He managed to intercept her in the living room, hooking an arm through hers and swinging her around before she reached the couch, pulling her in for a hug.
“Gentle,” he whispered. “B’s in bad shape.”
Alisse froze for a second, then, when he released her, she turned and slowly approached Brita, carefully lowering herself to the couch. “Hey, you all right, B?”
“I’m sorry,” Brita said, tears now rolling down her cheeks.
The anti-anxiety meds had kicked in, which in Brita’s case, with her in as fragile a state as she was, meant she couldn’t hold back the tears like she normally could.
“Sorry for what?”
“For…today.”
Ethan stood there watching, his arms crossed over his chest, as Alisse shot him a helpless look.
He shrugged. He had no good advice for her.
“Honey, John told me what happened. I’m just glad you’re both okay.”
“You’re not mad at me?”
“No! Of course not.” Alisse stroked her sister’s face and tucked stray strands of Brita’s hair behind her ears. “Sweetie, there’s a reason John and I trust you to watch her. Because we know you’ll take care of her. I ended up cutting ties with a former friend of mine several months back who thought it was horrible we let her come over here because you have guns.”
“But they stay locked up.”
“Uh, exactly. You’re responsible. You and Ethan both.”
Brita’s eyes squeezed shut and more tears rolled down her cheeks. “I yelled at him to stop. Why didn’t he stop? Why’d he die over a stupid prank?”
When they heard the guest bathroom open, both Ethan and Alisse moved to block Jordan’s view of Brita to give her time to compose herself, Alisse standing to catch Jordan’s flying tackle hug from her.
“Mommy! Did Daddy tell you what AuntieBee did today?”
“Yes, he did. I’m really glad she was there.”
“Hey, JJ,” Ethan said. “Go say good-bye to Miss Peggy, and then get your stuff.”
“Okay.” She headed to the kitchen, giving Brita a chance to wipe her face and blow her nose with tissues Ethan handed her.
When Jordan returned, she walked over to where Brita still sat on the couch. Leaning in to kiss her cheek, she said, “I love you, AuntieBee. Thank you for protecting us.”
“I love you, too, sweetheart.”
Jordan leaned in for one last hug and whispered something to Brita that Ethan couldn’t make out. Whatever it was, Brita nodded.
Ethan grabbed Jordan’s backpack, while she held her bag of new stuffed animals. “I’ll walk you out.”
Alisse had Jordan get in back and started the car, then hugged Ethan. “How bad is this for h
er?” she whispered. “Will she be in trouble?”
“No, it was justified. But whatever you do, don’t talk to anyone about it, and do not talk to the media. I’ve got our attorney working on a statement. Refer them to me if anyone tries to talk to you.”
“Okay.”
“And tell Jordan not to talk to anyone about it.”
“But is Brita…okay?”
“I don’t know.” He patted her on the back before stepping away. “That’s something only time will tell.”
* * * *
Once Jordan and Alisse left, Ethan seeing them out, Brita finally lay on her side on the couch, curled around a throw pillow, her eyes tightly closed. About an hour ago, the high-pitched whine in her ears had finally faded.
What she couldn’t erase from her memory was the sound of the shots.
The kids screaming.
The screech of the cars, horns honking, and the sound of the impact as the one hit the tree.
The dull, wet thud of the man’s body as he limply hit the ground.
She suspected the self-recriminations she felt wouldn’t easily fade, either.
Thinking logic and training and state fricking law told her she’d been completely justified.
Anxiety and PTSD and pretzel logic tried to hammer into her brain she’d fucked up.
And someone had died because she’d fucked up.
Even Jordan’s whispered, “You’re the best aunt ever,” before she left couldn’t erase all those other sounds from Brita’s busy brain.
Peggy emerged from the kitchen. “Dave’s on his way,” she said. “Can I get you anything?”
“A time machine,” Brita muttered.
Peggy leaned in for a one-armed hug where Brita lay. “We’ll get you through this, sweetheart.” She returned to the kitchen, to whatever she was cooking, which smelled delicious.
Brita was honestly shocked her home line wasn’t ringing off the hook. She’d never gotten around to disconnecting it, even though she rarely used it and it was an unlisted number. Anyone who needed to get in touch with her had her cell number. Sometimes she’d needed it to send or receive faxes for work when she was still on the force…but since she wasn’t working as a cop anymore, it really didn’t make sense to have it when now she could simply take a picture of a document with the scanner program on her iPad, save it as a .pdf, and then e-mail it.