B00NRQWAJI by Nichole Christoff

he extended a hand to shake mine, I could’ve sworn I could see right through it.

    Not that that affected his attitude.
    “Hello, hello,” he burbled, stepping from behind his desk. “I bet you saw that Cape Cod on Jackson Street. It’s a new listing and—”
    Eric froze when he saw Barrett looming behind me in the doorway.
    But in an instant, he came to life again.
    “Get out,” he snarled.
    “Wait,” Barrett said. “I know you’ve been having a hard time since you got home from Afghanistan. I thought—”
    “You thought what? Since I slammed my door in your face last night that you’d just drop by my work and we’d swap war stories?”
    “No, I—”
    “Afghanistan was a walk in the park compared to what you put me through when we were kids.”
    “I know, but—”
    “I’ve got nothing to say to you,” Eric spat. “Not now, not ever. So get the hell out of my office!”
    Barrett blinked at Eric like a dog that’d been kicked with a steel-toed boot.
    I laid a hand on his sleeve. “Come on, Barrett. I’ll drive you home.”
    But he didn’t move.
    Eric stormed to his desk, grabbed up his phone, and pounded a button or two.
    “Mindy, call the sheriff!”
    In a flash, Barrett crossed the room to him. He snatched the receiver from Eric’s skinny fingers, dropped it into its cradle. “Eric, I want you to listen to me—”

    Eric turned for the bookcase flanking his workstation. He reached behind it. And pulled out a twenty-gauge shotgun.
    He brought the gun to his shoulder.
    And aimed it—point-blank—at Barrett.
    “Whoa!” I yelled.
    Eric’s eyes cut to me.
    He didn’t lower his weapon, however.
    “Jamie, get out of here,” Barrett growled.
    I ignored him. “Please, Mr. Wentz, put the gun down.”
    Hidden under my suede jacket, my own firearm weighed heavily on my hip. But it wouldn’t do me any good. Not if Eric lost his patience. Not if he blasted Barrett. That was a Smith & Wesson Elite Gold in his grip. The side-by-side barrels were so blue, they were almost black. And if the gun was fully loaded, those barrels each carried a round that could punch hot holes right through Barrett’s heart.
    “Lady,” Eric said, “I don’t know who you are, but Adam Barrett isn’t worth your worry.”
    “That may be,” I agreed, “but I don’t want to see you do anything you’re going to regret.”
    “Regret?” Eric snorted like an angry bull. “What about you, Adam? You got any regrets ?”
    “I do,” Barrett admitted. “Plenty—”
    “Well, you’ve got plenty of balls coming here like this.”
    Barrett nodded. “I know. But believe me. I’d bring her back, Eric. If I could, I’d bring her back.”
    “What else?” Eric shouted. “What else would you do to her, you son of a bitch?”

    Without warning, he swung the shotgun—and he fired.
    Crack!
    The blast’s shock wave hit me full in the chest. And a spray of lead shot hit a small clock on Eric’s desk. It exploded in a shower of brass and glass. But Barrett was still standing. And, though my heart thudded in my throat, so was I.
    Eric said, “Don’t you ever mention my sister again.”
    He dropped the shotgun on the desktop with a thunk. Still, a sick feeling scaled my insides. I didn’t know why.
    “Barrett? What’s he talking about? What happened to this man’s sister?”
    Barrett wouldn’t answer me. Or he couldn’t. All I know is Eric Wentz did.
    “Don’t you know?” he sneered. “Our senior year of high school, Adam raped my sister. She was only fourteen years old.”

Chapter 6
    Eric’s announcement struck me with all the force of a ground-to-air missile. Stinging shafts of fear and doubt blew through me to search out my soul. In the blink of an eye, they found it—and tore into it with hot precision.
    Without a word, I walked away from Eric Wentz and his shotgun. I walked away from Barrett, too. He didn’t try to stop me as I walked past him and out into the hall.
    Mindy, the secretary with the perky