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Chapter Thirty-Three

C laire put the final touches on the show scheduled for the next day.

Standing back and admiring her work showcasing the new artist, she had a moment to reflect on how far she’d come.

Under Keith’s thumb, she would never have been able to work here, show her art or even laugh.

And if she were truthful, she wasn’t sorry that Keith was dead.

He would have killed her eventually. Maybe not on purpose, but when you’re dead—you’re dead. It didn’t matter how you died.

Hillary and Roman left earlier. It was five o’clock, still warm and light out.

The gallery was in a safe neighborhood, so she didn’t feel uncomfortable working alone.

There were restaurants on either side of the gallery still open and busy.

She planned to meet Joe at his house for dinner.

The week had passed quickly so she only saw him the day he came to the gallery.

She missed him. He had to leave for a weeklong job the next day, so they only had tonight to be with each other.

Their relationship was going strong, although she sensed that Joe was uncomfortable about something. Oh, he never came out and said what was bothering him. That was the only issue she had with him. He didn’t speak about feelings other than being happy with her.

She wondered if it had something to do with Roman.

The man was a terrible but a harmless flirt.

He flirted with every woman that came in.

However, Claire happened to know that he doted on his girlfriend of three years and wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that relationship.

In fact, he flirted in front of his girlfriend, who just rolled her eyes and laughed.

Claire thought it was disrespectful and told him so, but he had just shrugged and said it worked for them.

Okay, then, Claire didn’t mind if that was as far as it went.

He never touched her inappropriately or made her feel uncomfortable.

It felt good to exchange flippant remarks with a guy or anybody, for that matter, without worrying about Keith getting upset or worse.

She wondered if Joe could be upset about the flirting or if he thought it was more than that.

Claire knew he would never believe she was cheating on him or let someone else believe she was available.

It was time to have a discussion with Joe. Maybe tonight.

Claire locked the gallery door and stepped to the small employee parking lot behind the building.

Her red Audi A5 convertible was parked close to the building, and she couldn’t wait to get in and put the top down.

She’d always wanted a red convertible and loved that it had all the bells and whistles.

Everything was at her fingertips on the steering wheel—cruise control, phone, radio controls, oh my.

It was a sharp little car that she bought used.

No sense in spending more on a car than she needed to, even though she could afford it—wasting money just because she had it wasn’t her style anyway.

She stepped up to the door and pressed the fob to unlock it.

Something was off. She looked around, saw nothing out of the ordinary.

She looked down at the car. It listed to the right.

The tires on the driver’s side were okay.

She walked around to the other side. Damn.

She had a flat. How the heck could that have happened?

She hadn’t left the building today, and no one came in to mention it to her.

Claire pulled out her phone, called Joe. “I’m going to be a little late. You won’t believe it, but I have a flat. I’m going to call Triple-A.”

“No,” Joe said as she explained the problem to him. “I’m not far. I’ll change it for you.”

“Joe, I don’t want to put you out, plus, that’s why I pay the big bucks to these companies, so someone else does the work.”

“Claire.” His voice was low and stern... “I’m at the office. I’ll be there in ten. Go back inside the gallery or get inside the car and lock the door.”

“Okay, okay. Bossy. I’ll see you when you get here.” She got in the car, locked the door and turned on the AC. Took the time to catch up with her messages on her phone.

In less than ten minutes, Joe pulled up behind her car. Claire got out, and they inspected the tire. “Well, we’re not going to inflate this. Looks like something punctured the tire. Open the trunk, and I’ll get the lug wrench.”

She opened the trunk. Joe grabbed the tool kit that he needed to change the tire and told her to bring the jack. He walked to the front of the car and opened the kit.

“Shit. Claire, how long has it been since you used this?”

“Never. Why?”

“It’s missing pieces.”

“Great. Guess we do need to call for help after all. Let me get my phone.” She got into the car to grab her purse.

It had gotten darker. An overhead lamp provided more than enough light for them to see what they were doing.

Footsteps.

Running .

Toward them.

She sensed danger in the air. Joe did too. He was getting up from the ground, the broken lug wrench in his hand. She saw him tense, prepare himself.

Oh, God . Two men were running toward them.

The scene put her back to the attack her freshman year, but then it was boys.

These were men. Burly men. Two mean-looking burly men.

And they were looking for trouble. One got behind Joe, the other in front of him, jumping from foot to foot.

Were they on drugs? What did they want? Joe turned sideways to face both.

The first man had a bat he’d been bouncing against his hand. He swung at Joe’s head. Joe deflected it.

She reached for her phone and quickly dialed 9-1-1.

“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

“Help!” she screeched, then gave them the information.

“Stay on the line, ma’am. The police will be right there.”

Stay on the line? As if. Joe needed her. She got out of the car and ran to the trunk, picked up the jack.

“Oh, shit.” This was Joe’s worst, well, one of his worst nightmares. He could handle the two men easily, but with Claire in the way, the situation was going to be more challenging.

He quickly dispensed with one attacker, who’d brought out a knife and had been slicing through the air—thankfully missing him.

Oh, dear lord, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Claire get out of the car, run to the trunk.

“Run,” he yelled.

The man with the bat was swinging it around again. Joe had dodged it once, but the second time, he took a blow to his side. It felt like he had bruised or broken ribs—too bad. He was watching Claire. Why didn’t she run?

She approached the man from behind with the jack. What on earth did she think she could do? The attacker was a big man and angry. He had to dispense with this asshole now before she got hurt.

A quick roundhouse kick, and the man was down. But now the other attacker was getting up with a gun in his hand—no time to be nice. The SEALS had taught him more than one way to disarm a man.

He kicked the gun out of the guy’s hand. But the stupid man just kept coming. A swift hook punch to his face stopped him. Joe heard the man’s neck snap, and down he went.

Claire screamed.

Lights were flashing. Sirens were screaming. Cops were yelling.

“Get down. Down on your knees.”

One cop had his gun pointed at Joe. Joe got down on his knees and landed on a sharp stone.

His heart raced as the adrenaline flowed through his body.

Claire could have been hurt. What did those assholes want?

They appeared to be hopped up on something.

Was the flat tire a coincidence or planned?

Argh. And what was with the stone in his knee?

He lifted the one knee resting on the stone and caught a dirty look from the cop.

His side hurt. He didn’t think anything was broken, just bruised.

“Drop the weapon.”

“DROP THE WEAPON.”

He looked over at Claire, who was staring at him, holding the tire jack, looking confused. The one cop had his gun pointed at her, getting angrier and angrier. Oh, God, please don’t hurt her.

“Sweetheart, drop the jack.”

Her hands were shaking, and Joe wanted to make this all go away.

She’d had enough angst and pain in her life, and he just put her in another situation.

She placed the jack on the ground and knelt, her hands in the air.

The cop kicked the jack away. Joe could see her trembling and wanted nothing more than to hold her and tell her it would be all right.

It would be all right, but first, he had to deal with a killing because he knew for sure that the one attacker was never getting up.

The one man who had the bat was just getting up from the ground and holding his wrist while shouting to anyone that would listen that Joe attacked him.

The paramedics arrived and tended to Joe’s ribs, which they declared were just bruised, and also attended to the attacker’s broken wrist. The coroner hadn’t arrived yet. The cops were taking a statement from Claire, and Joe was pissed.

Hours later, Sam picked them up from the police station. Claire’s car still needed the tire changed, but that wasn’t happening tonight—too much going on.

No charges were made yet. Sam told them her lawyer was on it, and since it was self-defense and Claire was a witness, Joe was probably in the clear. They would have to talk to the cops again tomorrow. The man who was still alive had given no reason for the attack but was in a cell.

Claire was unusually quiet on the drive over. He and Sam went over what had happened.

“I’ll have Phil look at the security tapes tonight. It’ll take the police a day or so before they can collect them. I’d rather know what was happening. So, what are you thinking? Junkies?” Sam’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “I’ve got to say I don’t like this at all.”

“Totally agree with that.” Joe was in the back seat and leaned over the seat to rub Claire’s shoulder.

She shivered, and he kept his hand there.

“I don’t know what they wanted. They didn’t ask for money or keys to the car.

Why did they come out just after I got there?

No reason that they would know me. I’m just grateful I was there to take care of them and Claire wasn’t alone. ”

“Amen to that,” said Sam.

They didn’t talk much after that. Joe planned to have a talk with Claire about what happened, but that could wait. The fact that Claire hadn’t run away bothered him but also made him proud. She had his back years ago and still did. Although now he didn’t need it.

Sam dropped them off at Joe’s house because it was closer.

“I don’t understand what those men wanted. If they wanted money or my car, I would have given it to them.” Claire took a sip of wine, her hands still shaking. She eased back into the sofa.

Joe shook his head. “Two men? Overkill for sure. But…” The thought Claire could have been hurt bothered him a lot. Claire had to understand the seriousness of her staying there, even if it were to help him. “I had it handled. You should have run when I told you to.”

“Humph. As if.” She had dark circles under her eyes, and her body was still shivering. “I would never have left you there alone. I’m glad you were there because I don’t know what would have happened to me. Plus, I was afraid for you.”

She was afraid for him? No one had ever been afraid for him. Maybe afraid of him. Joe had to think about that. He wasn’t used to anyone helping him.

She yawned. “I’m so tired. ”

“It’s the adrenaline. You’re crashing. Let’s get you in bed,” Joe said. He stood up and took her hand.

“Hmmm. I might have just enough energy to take advantage of you,” she murmured.

“Sweetheart, I would like nothing more than to spend all night making love to you, but it’s been a crazy night, and you need the sleep, plus my ribs hurt. Come on. I’ll help you get undressed.”

Joe led her into the master bedroom and spent a minute undressing her.

She was passive as he removed her clothing.

She meekly took the T-shirt and a pair of boxers he handed her.

He lifted the cover of the spread and had her lie down.

Then he tucked her in and kissed her forehead before he got in next to her and pulled her in tight against his side.

Thankfully not the side where his ribs were injured.

“Go to sleep, Claire. Tomorrow will be better.”

“I hope so,” she said in a small voice.

Claire hadn’t said anything about the dead attacker.

Joe didn’t know if she was grossed out, afraid of him or disgusted that he had killed a man.

He’d never wanted her to see that side of him, and yet it happened.

They would have to talk about this tomorrow, but for tonight, Joe held her as she fell asleep and lay awake for a couple of hours worrying that Claire would hate him for killing a man.

That she would hate the man he had become.

That her rose-colored glasses were off and the real Joe Harkin, the boy nobody loved, was worse than unlovable. He was a killer.