For the three years I’d been on the run, I didn’t get them involved either since I’d learned that lesson well.
Now, I’d need them to clean up the mess (maybe).
I made it to the safe in my closet before I heard, “Nine one one, what’s your emergency?”
“My husband—” I started, jabbing the first two digits of the code into the keypad on the safe but hitting the third wrong when I jumped because I heard a loud thump on my front door.
I shook my head and closed my eyes hard.
Focus, Ilsa. Focus. I told myself, opening my eyes and clearing the code on the safe.
“Ma’am?” the 911 operator called. “Your emergency?”
“My husband found me,” I told her, hitting the correct digits and the release button and gratefully hearing the whirs of the door opening on the safe. “His name is Pol Ulfr. Apollo Ulfr. He’s a drug dealer in Portland, Oregon. He’s abusive and I’ve been running from him for three years. Now he’s caught me. I’m in apartment 3D at twenty-six, sixty-one Rampart Street.”
I heard another thud on the door.
Therefore I added, “And he’s right outside my door.”
I reached into the safe and wrapped my hand around the grip as I kept speaking.
“I’ve got a gun. You need to send someone soon. If he gets to me first, I’ll use it.”
“Ma’am, do not arm yourself. I’m dispatching officers immediately to your location,” the 911 operator told me but I ignored this.
She didn’t know. She didn’t have a clue. And I hoped to God she never would.
Instead of sharing that, I warned her, “He’ll have men. At least one. And trust me, badges and uniforms will not stop them from getting what they want.”
And they wanted me.
Or at least Pol did.
But with the loyalty his men showed him, they’d go down in a hail of gunfire before they’d give up doing whatever they had to do to get Pol what he wanted.
“They’re en route now,” the operator continued. “So find a safe place and please—”
Another thud on the door which included some splintering wood.
They’d be through soon.
Thus there was no safe place. Not in this apartment.
Not anywhere.
Unless I made it safe.
I darted to a corner of the room and hunkered down, eyes aimed through the dark at the door, saying, “Gotta go now.”
“Ma’am—”
“Bah-bye,” I whispered, hit end call, dropped my phone on the floor and shrugged my purse off.
I then lifted the gun to point it at the door.
Shit.
The outside door crashed open.