Page 145 of A Dead End Wedding

"Oh, no. You're wounded! Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital? We can take you. Do you need chicken soup? Oh, Jake, what happened to her?" Emily stood there, wringing her hands and looking terribly concerned for me.

"I am NOT an incompetent, jackbooted spawn of the devil," Connors yelled into the phone. "Your niece is fine. I'm trying to help her, if you'd let me do my job." He clicked the phone shut and shoved it at Jake, who took it, grinning.

I smiled a little, too, but Emily's concern made me cry. "Oh, stop being nice to me, Emily. Now see what you did." I wiped at my face and sniffled a bit, which made Emily burst into tears. She knelt down on the floor next to my chair and held my hand, and we both snuffled a bit.

Jake and Connors looked at each other with that typically male "oh, crap, not tears" expression. Perversely, that made my tears shut off completely. I scrubbed at my face again. "If you don't need anything else, Lieutenant, I'd like to get some rest now."

He nodded. "I'm sure you're tired. I have your numbers, so I'll call you if I need anything else. I'd suggest staying somewhere else tonight."

Emily held up her hand. "She's staying with me. I live next door. Emily Kingsley. That's K, I, N?—"

I laughed. "You don't have to spell it, Emily. He can find us. And thanks. I don't much feel like staying here tonight, in case that lunatic comes back."

Jake finally spoke up. "I'm staying here tonight."

I shot him a look. "But what if the shotgun person shows back up?"

He smiled. "I'm hoping he does."

Connors narrowed his eyes and dragged Jake down the hall to talk. I ignored them both and get my pajamas and toothbrush. After Emily helped me throw a few things in a tote bag, I put my little tiger and a bottle of pain relievers on the top.

Just the essentials.

35

Friday morning involved trying to keep very loud small people from jumping on my wounded shoulder. Plus, there were Cocoa Puffs for breakfast. The sugar high ought to get me through till at least midnight, I figured. Plus, another twenty-minute long phone call with Celia and Nathan, on top of the one I'd had with them last night after Connors'd hung up on them.

After I said goodbye to the kids and Emily and walked over to my house, I peered at the damage to the doorframe. Several gouges marred the surface of the wood, but it looked like most of the blast had hit the brick front of the house. Other than a few chips off of the brick surface, I couldn't see much damage. Either it had been a warning shot, not meant to hurt me, or the shooter had terrible aim. Either way, I felt pretty lucky to be walking around with nothing worse than a bandage where the splinter had been.

By the time I showered, pulled on a simple white blouse and pinstriped slacks, and put my hair back in a French braid, my mundane morning routine had calmed my heartbeat to withinrange of normal. The drive to the office helped, and the thought of another day helpingpro bonoclients raised my spirits a lot.

I drove into the parking lot, smiling in anticipation of seeing another long line of clients. But the parking lot was empty. Mr. Ellison must have let them into the office already. I parked the car, making another mental note to get it painted. Anything but pink.

Then I walked into my offices, humming under my breath. No mere gunshots could dampen my spirits. I was Super Lawyer, defender of the weak and innocent. I could vanquish evildoers with a single bound. I pulled the door open and practically bounded in.

To an empty office.

Completely empty.

Super Lawyer screeched to a halt.

"But . . . but . . . where is everybody?"

Mr. Ellison stomped in from the hallway, resplendent in a sunshine-yellow shirt and pink pants. "We're out of the good cream. How come I have to do everything myself?"

I blinked. "What? Who cares about cream at a time like this? Where are my clients?"

"Oh. Well. About that," he said, shuffling his feet a little. "Nobody's coming."

"What? Why not? How do you know?"

He wouldn't look at me. "Well, one of them deadbeats, er, I mean, clients showed up earlier. But he just wanted to know if you got anything done on his case. He said nobody else from Legal Aid is coming, on account of you're involved in some murdering drug cartel."

Super Lawyer shot down in flames.

I made it all the way back to my office and gently closed the door before I said any of my newly learned bad words.

When Max came in around nine and tried to tell me how Daisy was a guy magnet at the dog park the night before, I growled at her, picked the puppy up off the floor, and shut the door again. The less-than-friendly conversation I'd had with the folks at Legal Aid hadn't put me in a gossipy mood. Then I spent the rest of the morning working on the Deaver case with a warm puppy on my lap, only taking periodic breaks for doggy potty trips and play time.

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