Page 90 of Her Only Hero

“The young man will be getting a restraining order to stay away from you and your apartment.”

“I would have never guessed this.” It hadn’t been David, like I’d assumed.

“As for another part of your case, I have a location on Dr. Fulthorpe. He used a credit card out of state.”

“That’s fantastic,” I said and tried to make eye contact. “Patrick, please, talk to me.”

He finished his beer. “What’s to say, June? Except, Aram’s the guy that fucked you up, isn’t he?”

“Fucked me up?” I tensed at the crudity. He had never spoken to me this way before.

“I should have suspected when I saw he texted you a couple of weeks ago.”

“You looked at my phone?”

“No, June, I wasn’t snooping. Your phone was on the bed and buzzed on as I walked by. Funny how timing works, too.”

“So, you don’t want to talk about what happened this evening? Know my side of the story?”

“There’s only one side. The truth. And I saw it clearly.”

My heart dropped. I could understand him being angry, but he wouldn’t even engage in a conversation. For a man of the law, he was being closed minded for not even trying to hear me out.

“Very well. If there’s nothing else, I’ll get my things.” I went up to the bedroom and took my duffel bag from the closet. I shoved my clothes into it and forced the zipper shut.

Patrick stood at the bottom of the stairs, large, imposing, but he didn’t try to stop me from passing by.

“June, don’t go,” he said in a low tone.

“You don’t want me to go?”

“You may still be in danger,” he said.

“Well, let’s discuss that, shall we?” I tried to keep my voice from shaking. “You just told me the juvenile delinquent that damaged my car and threatened to cut up my face has been busted. And David Moreno, the guy who had broken into my house, is dead. So, I’d say I’m in the clear. Besides.” I grabbed the pistol from the kitchen table and held it up by the barrel. “I’ve got this now. Goodbye, Patrick.”

I bolted outside and shoved the weapon into my purse. With so many distracted thoughts, it felt like I was driving blindly. I eased off the accelerator and focused on the road and the color of the streetlights. My phone beeped, but I ignored it until I arrived at my duplex. Only then did I have a look.

—June, please call me if you get a chance. I’m here if you need me.—

The message was from Aram, not Patrick.

I texted back.

—I’m fine. Good night, Aram.—

When I entered my apartment, the box that had contained the cracked mirror sat on the hallway floor. I grabbed it and threw it out onto the front lawn. I locked the door behind me and turned on the exterior light. I checked around to see if everything looked in place, and then I made sure the back door was secured as well.

I didn’t want to think or feel anymore. How could I numb the stabbing in my chest?

I rummaged through the bathroom cupboards for a sleep aid and then fell into bed. Sweet nothingness engulfed me until the early beaming sun heated my face. I reached for my phone, and my heart raced a million miles a minute. The message box was empty. No text from Patrick.

I got up and headed to the kitchen. I foraged through the scant items in my refrigerator and found nothing to snack on but wilted celery, spongy apples, and a desiccated piece of cheddar. I tossed them all into the trash. I snatched an open box of wheat crackers and sat on my couch. I munched on stale biscuits in disbelief at how things had ended with Patrick. We had been so close, almost inseparable for weeks. How could he let our relationship vanish, like a puff of smoke? Didn’t he want to fight for us?

The one thing I had learned from the last two years was not to dwell on sadness. I’d try to distract myself, at least for the day. My thoughts would be best served trying to bring closure to the David Moreno mystery.

I suddenly gained clarity of what I wanted to do about this case. I dialed St. Eugene’s Hospital.

“Hello. My name is June Harber. I would like to speak with Dr. Crawford, if that’s possible.”

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