Page 72 of One More Chance
She broke off another cracker. “Dangerous.”
“I like to live on the edge,” I said, crunching my cereal dramatically. “Next I might try budgeting.”
“Slow down, Casanova. One wild fantasy at a time.”
We fell into a comfortable silence after that. Just the sound of soft chewing and the occasional creak of the house settling.
Then, the knock came.
The sound cut through the air, sharp and unexpected. Both of us froze, our hearts skipping a beat. Rufus, usually so calm, growled low from the hallway, his hackles raised.
Sloane’s voice was barely audible, a fragile thread of panic. “Don’t answer it.”
I didn’t need to ask who it could be. The tension in the air, the way the hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention, told me everything I needed to know.
Angie was outside.
Sloane and I stood frozen in the kitchen. The knock came again: three slow, deliberate raps. Rufus snarled low in his throat as he crept toward the front door.
“Don’t,” Sloane whispered again, clutching my arm now. “Please don’t answer it.”
I nodded, slowly backing us both out of view from the windows.
"Sloane. I have to…"
I reached for my phone and texted the detective immediately with the number they provided for emergencies.
Fuck, I feel like a sitting duck.
She’s here. At the house. Knocking.
The soft bing of the text being accepted was the only noise as we waited. Minutes passed. The knock didn’t come again. Instead, the sound of footsteps crunching across the gravel.
Rufus bolted to the window and barked. I hushed him as I peeked through the blinds. I heard the unmistakable sound of glass breaking.
All I saw was the blur of a figure disappearing down the sidewalk, hoodie up, posture unmistakable. It had to be Angie.
I turned to Sloane. “Stay here. Don’t open the door for anyone. I’m going to check outside.”
She looked like she wanted to argue, but her fear overrode it. She nodded.
I grabbed one of Liam's hockey sticks and slipped outside through the back, circling the house. Everything looked normal until I turned the corner to Sloane’s SUV.
The windshield was shattered. Glass glittered across the hood like ice shards. Car doors smeared with red lipstick scrawled in thick, erratic strokes:
BITCH HE'S MINE. WE BELONG IN KEY WEST
My nostrils flared as my fist clenched at the scene before me. I turned around to scan the street, but saw nothing.
I'm going to bury you in Key West, Angie.
Back inside, I locked every window and door while Sloane stared at me with the question already in her eyes. “What did she do?” she asked quietly.
I paused, running a hand over my face before I answered. “She vandalized your SUV.”
Sloane blinked. “Goddamn."
"Yeah."
