Page 74 of One More Chance
“Mr. Shaw, this is Detective Harlan. I apologize for calling so early.”
You can call me anytime,I almost said as relief coursed through me.
I sat back down at the table, heart tightening as I hoped to hear the words I wanted. “Please tell me you have enough.”
A pause. Then a sigh, heavy and frustrated. “We did. But we’re on hold right now.”
“What?”
“The department’s operations changed overnight. You saw the announcement, didn’t you?”
I had. The president on every channel last night, speaking in that somber, measured voice no one trusted anymore.
My mouth went dry. “You’re telling me she’s free to do whatever she wants now?”
“She’s not free. She’s… not the department's priority. Not right now. Our resources are limited, Mr. Shaw, and the entire government's focus is on the public's health. We can’t move on her until we have full clearance from a judge. And with the shutdown-”
“I have kids,” I snapped. “I have a pregnant wife under this roof, and she’s stressed out about everything. You can't seriously expect us to believe that the police can't do anything?”
“I understand your frustration, but this goes above my pay grade." There was a pause and his tone was lower, "Listen. I’m not saying to stop documenting everything. Continue providing evidence, because the more we have and the more she escalates? The sooner we can act. But you need to keep your family safe. Don’t confront her. Don’t engage. For now… bunker down.”
Bunker down.Like this was a war zone. Maybe it was. With the world going to shit and Angie circling us like a shark, it felt like a dystopian nightmare.
I thanked him stiffly and hung up.
The phone buzzed again immediately. This time, not unknown. Angie's name flashed bright.
I hitRejectand waited expectantly. Three seconds later it rang again. And again. And again.
Voicemail pinged. I played it with trembling fingers.
Her voice slithered through the speaker, sugar-sweet and venom-laced. “I saw the news. Cops have their hands full don't they? Which means it’s just us now, baby. You, me, and the truth you’re too scared to tell Sloane.”
As I listened, I saw the ping for another voicemail then another.
My call log read like a horror story. Twenty missed calls. Fifteen voicemails. All in the last few minutes.
My fingers ached from the constant forwarding, each tap of the screen sending another piece of evidence to the detective I’d just spoken with. I could feel my resolve building with each message, the weight of everything piling up.
I need them to take this more seriously. If something happens to Sloane or the kids, I will never forgive myself.
I thought about Rufus then.
Yeah, I will strangle the bitch if she touches my dog.
I texted Detective Harlan again, the words burning with urgency.
She’s not going to stop, and the car was vandalized last night. Check the video I uploaded.
Detective Harlan here. I'll get this in front of a judge ASAP.
Footsteps broke my thoughts as I looked up. Sloane had walked in quietly, still in her robe, one hand resting against the counter.
"Did you sleep?" she asked gently.
"No."
Her eyes scanned my face, reading the words I was not ready to say, “You okay?”
