simultaneously bringing my knee up into his groin. Hard. His punch deflected off my forearm but still hurt like the devil. His strange mewling noise was incredibly rewarding, made especially sweet when he looked at me, mouth open, eyes crossed. His hands clutched his family jewels and he ever so slowly toppled sideways, where he curled up into a ball on the entryway floor. Figuring he'd be incapacitated for a couple of minutes at least, I retrieved my phone from the living room and called Galloway.
"Audrey," he answered.
"If someone were to throw a punch at me, in my own home, and I kneed them in the nuts...is that assault?" I asked conversationally, walking back to keep an eye on Steven who was still curled in the fetal position.
"That would be self-defense on your part. Assault on the other party’s part. This isn't a hypothetical, is it?" he asked, his voice resigned.
"Sadly, no."
"Are you in danger? Where is this person now?"
"On the floor. I think he might be crying?" I added, peering at the sniveling excuse for a man.
"On my way." He hung up and I was listening to the dial tone. I don't know what possessed me, but I snapped a photo. For my own personal collection, I told myself. I'd never post it on social media. Although it would serve as a handy reminder to any male who thought it was okay to strike a woman. I leaned back against the wall and crossed my arms, waiting for Galloway to arrive. Every now and then Steven would move, then groan, then sniff. I cocked my head, watching him, and wondered if I'd busted a nut? I supposed it was possible, but so help me I didn't feel bad about it.
I heard the siren seconds before the screech of tires out front. Stepping over Steven, I crossed to the front door and opened it, watching as Galloway strode up the garden path. I made a mental note that he was just as easy to look at walking toward me as he was away.
Galloway ran his eyes over me as if assuring himself I was still in one piece, then looked beyond me to the man curled up inside. His face was stern, but I could tell he was trying not to smile.
"Okay. Tell me what happened," he said.
I did, telling him what had happened, what Steven had said before his misguided attempt to assault me.
Ben arrived, eyeballed Steven who had barely moved, then looked to me and Galloway. "What's happened?" His voice was shocked and I shot him a look, trying to convey that I could hardly answer him with Detective Galloway standing right in front of me.
Galloway was nodding. "That's a good move," he said when I described how I'd managed to get the jump on a two hundred-pound angry man.
I grinned. "Self-defense classes finally came in handy."
"And you're sure you're not hurt," he pressed. I lifted the arm that had blocked Steven's blow. The throbbing had stopped and a nice bruise was forming along my forearm. Galloway’s face darkened when he saw the mark. Swiveling, he stepped inside and dragged Steven to his feet, who protested with a pained whine.
Galloway had zero sympathy. "Hands behind your back," he demanded. Steven reluctantly let go of his balls and did as instructed. "Steven Armstrong, you're under arrest for assault. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you."
He marched Steven out of the house, past me, toward his car, lights still flashing on the dash. I followed. After securing him in the back seat, Galloway slammed the door and then came back to speak to me where I stood on the edge of the lawn.
"I don't want to press charges," I said.
"Too late. I've arrested him." Galloway shrugged. "Hold up your arm," he instructed. Puzzled, I did. Galloway snapped a photo of the bruise with his phone. "Evidence," he muttered. "And you're going to have to come in and give a statement."
"Can't you do that here?" I admit, my own voice came out whiny. Once upon a time, I used to love visiting Ben in his workplace. Not anymore. I had no desire to be sitting in an interview room knowing cameras were watching me, recording me, and being potentially used against me.
"You still need to be fingerprinted—relax,