Shame on Him

“It’s all right—it’s just a small scratch. A bullet must have grazed you,” he says calmly.

The look on his face contradicts the softness in his tone. He’s clenching his teeth and a muscle ticks in his jaw. He’s probably angry with me that I came in here, acting like I knew what I was doing, and now a prime suspect is dead.

I want to defend myself, but I can’t make the words form. What if it was my fault? Maybe someone saw me leaving Stephanie’s house and they followed me here. What if I’m the reason Andrew Jameson is dead?

The distant sound of sirens pulls Dallas’s gaze away from mine and he quickly looks out the open door and then back to me.

“Hurry, get up.”

He grabs my arms and pulls me to my feet.

“The cops are going to be all over this place in ten minutes. You need to get the fuck out of here,” he tells me, pulling me toward the door.

“What? What are you talking about? I can’t leave,” I tell him, finally finding my voice and planting my feet firmly in place, refusing to move. “I just saw a man shot to death. A man that I was questioning in a murder investigation. I need to tell the police what happened.”

Dallas huffs in irritation, clenching my arm and trying to pull me closer to the door. Even though I’m a little confused by the careful way he handled me moments ago, it doesn’t escape my notice that right now all he cares about is getting me out of here. Judging by all of our interactions since we met, there’s only one possible explanation for his need to shove me out the door before anyone sees me.

“You just want the stupid glory all for yourself. I hate to break it to you, but I’M the one who found out about Andrew Jameson, not you. I got here first and you can’t stand that, can you?” I fire at him.

The sirens are getting closer and Dallas turns away from me to look out the front door once more.

“Get your head out of your ass for two seconds here and think about what you’re saying,” Dallas says angrily, his hands still wrapped tightly around my arms. “You were here questioning someone for a murder investigation. A murder investigation that you aren’t supposed to be anywhere near.”

His words flip a switch in my brain and all the fight leaves my body. He’s right. What would I even tell the police when they got here? That I just happened to stop by the house of a man who worked with Richard Covington and it was just a coincidence that he was shot down right in front of me?

“You need to get the hell out of here right now.”

I stare at Dallas, more confused than I’ve ever been. Why is he helping me? He should be making sure I get thrown in jail for what I’ve been doing.

“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.

“We don’t have time for this. Get in your car and go. Now.”

He pulls me against him and walks me through the doorway. He’s made sure to position himself in such a way that I don’t have to see Andrew lying on the ground behind him.

When I’m on the front porch, he finally lets go of me and I walk in a trance down the stairs and toward my car. The sirens are only a few blocks away now and I know I need to hurry. I run the rest of the way, fumbling my keys out of my coat pocket and wincing at the pain in my hands. I get in the car, start it up, and speed away from Andrew Jameson’s house and Dallas, watching in my rearview mirror as blue-and-red flashing lights pull up to the curb where I was just parked.

A few hours later I hear my doorbell ring and I realize I’ve been sitting on my couch staring at nothing since I got home. I should have showered. Or at the very least, washed the blood off my hands. At least I put on a fresh shirt.

Pushing myself up, I walk over to the door and look through the peephole. I’m not surprised to see Dallas standing on my front porch with his hands in his pockets.

I open the door and he walks right in without an invitation. I close the door and turn to see him pacing back and forth in the living room.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he finally says, coming to a stop with his hands on his hips.

Here we go again. He’s going to tell me what an idiot I am and how I’m not cut out for this line of work. He’s in my house and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him make me feel like crap.

Mirroring his pose with my hands on my hips, I let it fly. “I am sick and tired of people underestimating me. I might not have a lot of experience yet, but I’m good at what I do. I can solve this murder case!”

My chest is heaving and even though it feels good to let all of that out and not have it burning a hole in my chest, I have no idea what made me spew all of my insecurities at Dallas. I don’t know why I care what he thinks of me.

“Lorelei. Come on, snap out of it, baby. Look at me.”

His words from earlier echo through my mind. He was so careful with me, almost sweet. It’s like my subconscious knows there’s a nice guy in there underneath all of that cockiness. A guy who was worried about me and made sure I didn’t get in trouble.

He still hasn’t said a word since my outburst and it’s starting to make me uncomfortable.

“What, nothing to say now? No more insults or tips about how I’m just going to screw everything up?” I ask sarcastically, trying not to feel like a bug under a microscope as he stares at me. I’m sure he’s just taking his time trying to think of some way to put me down.

Without saying a word, he takes a few steps in my direction and stops in front of me. I flinch when he wraps his hand around one of my wrists and flips it over, brushing his fingers over my palm. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">