Hold Her Close

That’s what I’m hoping for. That he will think I am strong and a badass and brave. Not a liar.

But fuck, I’m tired. I’ll talk to him in the morning about it. This week, tracking everything down, making the connections, and finally infiltrating the dogfight to take pictures and videos has me exhausted. All I want to do is collapse into my bed and sleep for about twelve hours. Which I can do if I go to bed now.

Now that the story is out there in the world, I feel like I’m dragging on my feet. I drop my bag on a chair in the hallway as I walk in the door. I like my little townhouse. It doesn’t feel like home yet, but I’m working on it. At the very least I’ve got all the boxes unpacked. That’s step one of moving, I’ve found. If you let boxes just sit, your mind never settles and you’re constantly on edge.

Tea. That’s what I need. A nice mug of chamomile tea to send me off into sleepy bliss.

The crash of breaking glass makes me drop the kettle in the sink with a clang. There’s silence after, but my heart is pounding. Is there someone in here? The pepper spray that I carry is in my bag but I left that in the foyer. I don’t grab a knife from the block next to the sink. If there’s someone in my house, it wouldn’t help. I don’t have the kind of training that I would need for that to be effective.

I need to get to my bag.

Pushing off my shoes as quietly as I can, I duck down and creep across the kitchen and to the hallway that leads to the door.

When the living room comes into view, I’m relieved and terrified. There’s no one in here, but the front window of my living room is shattered, a cracked hole in the middle of it and glass all over the floor, my window seat, my couch, everything. There’s a brick on the carpet in the center of the halo of glass.

I grab a pair of sneakers from next to the door and put them on so I can walk on the glass. Fucking hell. The brick has a piece of paper wrapped around it with a rubber band. I’m not sure whether it’s worse that someone wanted to send me a message that warranted breaking my window, or be glad that they didn’t deliver that message in person.

Carefully, I shake the glass shards off the brick and unwrap the paper.

Fuck.

The handwriting is scrawled, but still legible.If you say my name again, or even think it, my dogs will rip you apart.My entire body is covered in chills. Fuck. There’s no signature, but it doesn’t need one. I know that it’s Jack Singleton. I was careful to avoid interacting with him when I was reaching out and when I went to take the pictures. But he knows my face anyway. I’m the face of the story, just like I’d wanted.

I didn’t think that he’d go this far, not right away, at least. Guess I was wrong.

The problem is that I don’t know anyone here in Nashville. The only people I know are colleagues from the station. And Jon. Given that this was my big break, I don’t want to look like I can’t handle a little difficulty after a big story. Plenty of reporters get death threats on a regular basis. It’s normal and almost a badge of honor for some reporters. it means you’re striking a nerve. Making waves.

That means there’s only one person I can call. Jon. Because I don’t think I can do this alone. I’ve never gotten a death threat before, and I don’t even think I’m completely processing it right now.

Grabbing my phone, I hit his number before I can second guess myself.

“Hello.” His voice doesn’t sound happy.

“Hi.”

“Guess your promise didn’t mean very much, did it?”

Slowly, I take a breath. “I can explain. But I…I don’t have anyone else to call.”

“What happened?” There’s suddenly a hard edge to his voice. Something protective.

“A brick through my window. Death threat.”

There’s a deep sound, nearly a growl. “Stay put,” he says. “Get away from the window and lock yourself in your bedroom. I’ll be there soon. What’s your address?”

I give it to him and he hangs up. So much for going peacefully to sleep. I’m still exhausted, but I don’t think I want tea anymore, and I don’t know how I’m even going to close my eyes. But I go into my bedroom and wait, bringing my pepper spray with me this time.

It feels like forever, waiting in the silence. But I don’t want to turn on the TV or music or anything in case they decide that the brick wasn’t enough. I don’t even really want to move from my bed to my closet to change out of my work clothes.