Page 160 of Broken
“I have a safe room,” Prescott said, his velvety voice a godsend. “Take Loki downstairs. Go into my theatre room. There’s a door in the corner. Stand in front of the scanner. It should open for you. I gave you full-house access.”
“Okay.”
She grabbed a few dog treats from the kitchen and called for Loki. He came trotting in. She gave him one, then said, “Loki, come,” and headed toward the basement.
Down the stairs they flew and into the theatre room. Now trembling, she stood in front of the scanner, the light stayed red. She moved away, returned to the scanner. No change.
“I’m at the scanner, but it’s not giving me access.”
“Fuck,” he bit out. “Stay down there and away from the windows. I’m seven minutes out.”
* * *
Prescott
Prescott craved control and order.At the moment, he had none. But that was about to change, one fucking problem at a time.
“How you doing?” he asked.
“I’m okay,” she said. “But I’ll feel better when you’re here.”
“I’m pulling into my neighborhood. What kind of car is he driving?”
“A gray, four-door sedan. Maryland tags, black tinted windows, except the windshield.”
“I passed the house. I’m driving around the court and there’s no gray car. I’ll drive the neighborhood—”
“No, just come home. Please.”
He pulled up to the garage, tapped the remote, the door rolled up. Once inside, he cut the engine, got out. “Computer, close the garage door.”
“Welcome home, Prescott,” said the computer.
He waited until it closed before he stood in front of the scanner. The light turned green and he stepped into the house.
Jack came rushing over, Loki bounding ahead of her, his tail sweeping the air at a rapid pace. She crashed into him and hugged him hard. Wrapping her in his arms, he held her tight.
She was safe, and he could breathe.
“I got you,” he murmured.
“Thank you for coming home. I probably overreacted—”
“No, you did the right thing to call me.”
He broke away, ran his hand down her back, then clasped her hand. She was trembling.
“Computer, did anyone approach the house this afternoon?”
“Checking.” After a few seconds, the computer said, “Jacqueline Hartley exited through the front door at twelve-fifty pm. Jacqueline Hartley entered through the front door at one-oh-six pm. Prescott Armstrong entered through the garage door at one-seventeen pm.”
Jacqueline broke away. “I’m sorry for asking you to come home. I feel like a baby, or worse, a helpless woman.”
“Don’t do that,” he said. “You aren’t helpless, and you don’t need to deal with this alone.”
“That’s ironic coming from a lone wolf.”
With his hand on the small of her back, he guided her into the kitchen. She set the gun on the counter. “Where can I keep this so it’s out of Ethan’s reach?”
