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" G et down!" Jake grabbed me and shoved me to the floor, landing on top of me. Something burned the top of my shoulder, but I didn't think it was lust-related this time. It hurt too much. I shoved at him. "Get off me! You weigh a ton."

My hands connected with the muscles that were hidden under his t-shirt, and I realized why he was so heavy. If I could breathe, the position might have been kind of sexy.

No air, not so much. "Get off! I can't breathe."

He shifted his body to the side and in front of me, blocking me from the doorway. Somehow, he had a gun in his hands.

"What just happened? Why is my shoulder burning? What was that noise? Was that a bomb?"

He glanced back at me and looked at my shoulder, then shifted to stare out the door again. "It was a shotgun blast, Vaughn. Somebody shot the hell out of your doorframe."

He rolled up to a crouch, then stood, still aiming the gun out into the darkness of my front yard. Then he stepped out onto the porch and scanned the yard. "Damn. I heard a car revving up right after I dropped you to the floor. That was probably the shooter taking off out of here."

He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and held his other hand out to pull me up, bumping the door shut with his shoulder. I was surprised it still closed, but there really didn't seem to be a lot of damage to the frame, considering how loud the explosion noise had been.

I snuck a peek at my shoulder and almost fell back to the floor. "I'm bleeding!" I scrunched my eyes shut and tried to convince myself that the sight of blood didn't terrify me. Especially when it was my own.

Jake stepped closer and pulled the shoulder of my shirt to the side. "You got a splinter," he said, mouth tightening. "I could remove it, but I think you should have a doctor look at it."

My knees went a little woozy at the words "remove it," but he caught me with an arm around my waist. "How about you sit down while I call for help?"

We walked back into the kitchen, and I collapsed onto one of the folding chairs, trying not to let the tears building up behind my eyes leak out. He touched the side of my face gently, then flipped open his phone and dialed.

"Hey, that's too many numbers to be 911. Who are you calling? I want 911," I said.

He glanced at me, then turned away and had a cryptic conversation over the phone that involved several very bad words I'd never actually heard spoken out loud before. I also caught my name and "shooter," but not much else.

When he turned back around, he closed his phone and shoved it back in his pocket. "Help is on the way. A friend of mine on the OGPD. Do you want an ambulance?"

I thought about it for a moment. "I've never ridden in an ambulance. That might be kind of cool."

He raised one eyebrow. "Yeah, except for the part where they stick a huge needle in you to start the IV. It's just a splinter, Vaughn. I can take you to the ER."

I couldn't help it; I sniffled a little. "I would have preferred somebody a touch more sympathetic for my first GSW, Brody."

"It's not a gunshot wound, it's a splinter. I'm sorry, I can be very sympathetic," he said. But then he smashed his fist into the palm of his other hand. "I'd like to be very sympathetic to whoever's doing this to you. Right after I beat the shit out of him."

"Or her," I said, feeling cheered up.

That caught his attention. "What are you talking about?"

I took a deep breath. "Promise me you are not working for Addison Langley or Sarah Greenberg on the insulin cases. Also, that you're not spying on me for them. I want your word, Brody."

He stared at me, and for a split-second, I would have sworn he looked . . . hurt ?

"I told you I'm not. If you don't believe me, that's your call, Counselor."

But I did. I didn't know why, since he always seemed to show up when there was trouble, but something about him registered high on the integrity meter with me. Plus, he was a SEAL. You don't grow up in a Navy household without learning about the moral fiber of those men.

I nodded. "All right. I need to hire you on the Deaver case, so I can tell you this without breaking client confidence."

He nodded. "Done."

I blew out a huge breath. "Okay. I have a story to tell you about coincidences, dead bodies, and a conspiracy. Plus an implied threat that I'd be singing with the fishes."

He blinked. "Isn't that sleeping with the fishes?"

"Whatever."

In the five minutes it took for the police to arrive, I filled him in on the highlights of my suspicions about Langley, Cowan and, possibly, Greenberg and Smithies, including the bullying tactics and the threats. Nothing but the muscle clenching in his jaw gave away what he was thinking. He remained silent until I'd finished.

"So, it sounds crazy, but I think BDC knew about the defect and tried to cover it up before issuing the recall," I concluded.

"I think you're in some big trouble here. Shouldn't you go public with this?"

"I'm trying to figure out what to do next. For now, all I have are very far-fetched suppositions which are supported by zero admissible evidence."

"You need admissible evidence in your world, not mine," he said grimly. "All I need is proof."

The sound of sirens and then brakes squealing in my driveway stopped me from pursuing that line of conversation. As he went to open the door to the police, I called after him. "My case, my rules, Brody."

As I stood up, the pain in my shoulder sharpened. "For 'just a splinter,' it sure feels like a gunshot wound," I muttered as I sank back down in the chair. "And let's not forget that I have STITCHES in the back of my head, still."

I tried out a few of Jake's really bad words under my breath while he let the police in the door, but it didn't really help. Jake introduced me to his good friend, Lieutenant Connors.

Connors swept his sharp gaze over me and around the room, then looked back at me. "Another drug deal gone bad?"

This totally ruined the good impression I'd been forming of him — he was tall, lean, and great looking in a hardened "I'm the law" kind of way – but wavy brown hair and piercing, good-for-interrogating-perps blue eyes couldn't overcome his apparent stupidity.

Evidently, I was getting quite the reputation. Me and my non-existent drug cartel. Jake pulled Connors aside and, after a brief discussion that involved lots of "no shit?" and "no shit!" on the lieutenant's part, they walked back to where I still sat on the chair, getting my shoulder bandaged by the medical person from the emergency squad.

I put on my "brave and stoic" face, hoping for sympathy.

"Sorry, Miss Vaughn. Jake filled me in on the background here. You have to admit, after that newspaper article and then all the violence surrounding you these days, though, it looks bad," Connors said. "But if Jake vouches for you, you're good with me. Can you think of anybody who might want to hurt you?"

Okay, so maybe he wasn't all that stupid.

The medic finished and told me to see a doctor for follow up. I thanked her, then looked up at Jake and Connors and sighed.

"Unfortunately, it's a really long list."

After I filled Connors in on what little I was willing to talk about, Jake wandered through the house with the other police officers, looking for who knows what. It's not like I had much to look at. My phone rang, and as I picked it up, somebody banged on the front door. Jake walked past me and dropped something on my lap, then headed over to answer the door. I looked down to see my favorite stuffed tiger, the one I kept on my bed.

I knew I should have been embarrassed that all the big, tough police were seeing the trial lawyer clutch a tiny stuffed animal, but I was beyond caring about that. I smiled after Jake, thinking warm thoughts about a man who would take time to bring me my tiger.

Oh, oh. Defenses going down fast.

I flipped open my phone. "Hello, Aunt Celia. I'm fine. Everything is fine. Nobody was hurt, and the police are here now."

"WHAT?" she shrieked in my ear so loudly I wondered about permanent deafness.

"Weren't you calling because you heard about me on the police scanner again?"

"No! I was calling to invite you to the community bingo and pie social at the Seniors' Center Saturday. What are you talking about? Are you okay? Do we need to come over right now? Nathan! Get your keys! December is in trouble again!"

"No! I'm fine. Look, I'll let you talk to the police," I said, and shoved my phone at Connors. "Talk to my Aunt Celia."

He shook his head and tried to escape, but I grabbed him by his shirt. "Listen here, I have been through just about ALL THAT I CAN TAKE this week. If you don't explain this to my Aunt Celia, I'm likely to lose my FREAKING MIND."

I doubt the poor man had ever been accosted by a crazed lawyer brandishing a stuffed animal before. He took the phone. "Yes? This is Lieutenant Connors. Who?—"

Emily came running into the room and grabbed me in an enormous hug. "December! Are you okay? We were out at a church social, and we saw all the police, and?—"

Connors's voice was getting louder. "No! I did not hurt your poor baby. She is?—"

"Ouch!" I pulled back out of Emily's hug, and she saw the bandage.

"Oh, no. You're wounded! Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital? We can take you. Do you need chicken soup? Oh, Jake, what happened to her?" Emily stood there, wringing her hands and looking terribly concerned for me.

"I am NOT an incompetent, jackbooted spawn of the devil," Connors yelled into the phone. "Your niece is fine. I'm trying to help her, if you'd let me do my job." He clicked the phone shut and shoved it at Jake, who took it, grinning.

I smiled a little, too, but Emily's concern made me cry. "Oh, stop being nice to me, Emily. Now see what you did." I wiped at my face and sniffled a bit, which made Emily burst into tears. She knelt down on the floor next to my chair and held my hand, and we both snuffled a bit.

Jake and Connors looked at each other with that typically male "oh, crap, not tears" expression. Perversely, that made my tears shut off completely. I scrubbed at my face again. "If you don't need anything else, Lieutenant, I'd like to get some rest now."

He nodded. "I'm sure you're tired. I have your numbers, so I'll call you if I need anything else. I'd suggest staying somewhere else tonight."

Emily held up her hand. "She's staying with me. I live next door. Emily Kingsley. That's K, I, N?—"

I laughed. "You don't have to spell it, Emily. He can find us. And thanks. I don't much feel like staying here tonight, in case that lunatic comes back."

Jake finally spoke up. "I'm staying here tonight."

I shot him a look. "But what if the shotgun person shows back up?"

He smiled. "I'm hoping he does."

Connors narrowed his eyes and dragged Jake down the hall to talk. I ignored them both and get my pajamas and toothbrush. After Emily helped me throw a few things in a tote bag, I put my little tiger and a bottle of pain relievers on the top.

Just the essentials.