pulled the gun down from his top shelf and quickly loaded it with three shells and dumped several more into my shirt pocket.
Tiptoeing back into the bathroom, I paused by the door and listened to the silence. Had I imagined it? No. I could smell cigarette smoke.
It definitely wasn’t Marco.
I eased into the bedroom and paused again, the shotgun pointed toward the ceiling, when I heard a soft clang from the front of the house.
“Who’s there?” I called out, wondering if that was wise, but Marco’s only phone was in the kitchen and it would likely take a sheriff’s deputy a lot longer to get here than I had time to deal with the intruder.
The person didn’t answer, so I leveled the gun tip to point toward the living room and went out to confront them.
“Who’s there?” I called again in a harsher tone.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” a man said with a short laugh. “You can come on out. I’m only here to give you a message.”
His voice was coming from the kitchen and dining area, so I eased around the corner and saw a man I didn’t recognize. He’d made himself at home, tapping his cigarette ashes onto one of Marco’s plates while he sipped coffee from a mug. His hair was long and needed a trim, and his face was scruffy. He looked like he was in his forties, and most of those years had been a challenge.
“What do you want?” I asked pointing the gun at his chest.
“You know how to use that thing, little girl?” he asked as his eyes danced with amusement.
“Trust me, I do. Now what do you want?”
“I told you, I have a message.” His gaze drifted down to my bare legs sticking out of Marco’s shirt, which hit mid-thigh, as he took a drag from his cigarette. “Something sure smells good. You make your man some breakfast before he left? Want to whip some up for me?”
As if. “I’m going to ask you one more time, what do you want?”
His face turned hard. “You need to let this go, little girl.”
“I’m afraid you need to be more specific.”
He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “I think it’s pretty clear.”
“And if I don’t?”
He stubbed the cigarette out on Marco’s tabletop, then left it mashed on the wood. “You may have noticed there are a whole lot of accidents around these parts.” He gave me a tight grin. “I’d hate to see something happen to someone you care about.”
I swallowed my fear and thrust out my hip, hating that his lecherous gaze followed the movement. “You think you can scare me? You’ve just wasted your time, so go back to whatever lowlife sent you and tell them I’m my own woman and I’ll do whatever I damn well please.”
He rolled his shoulders in a lazy shrug as he set the mug down and scooted his chair back. “Your funeral.” He started around the table toward the front door. “Naw, the funerals will be for the people you care about.” He grinned. “I bet you look damn sexy in black. I might just off one of ’em myself to see those legs again.”
Standing in place, I kept the gun tip on him as he reached for the door. “Who sent you?”
“That part’s not important,” he said. “The important part is that you listen.” He tapped his temple with his fingertip, then opened the front door and strode down the steps toward an older black pickup truck parked on the street at the end of the long drive.
I stood on the porch with Marco’s gun, watching as he got into his truck and drove away.
I tried to read the license plate, but the distance was too great and it was smeared with mud. Part of me wanted to grab my keys and follow him, but one, I wasn’t wearing any underwear. Two, he had a head start on me. And three, if he realized I was following him, he might make me sorry I’d found him.
Instead, I went back inside and locked the door (which was pointless since I’d locked it before), set the gun on the table, and called Marco.
I wasn’t surprised when I got his voicemail. I left him a message, trying to sound calm so I didn’t freak him out.
“Marco. I’m still at your house, and I need you to call me as soon as you get this message. Just call me.” Then I added, “Please, please, please be careful.”
I hung