"Do you think he’s not home?”
I check the time. "He should be."
"What do you mean he should be?"
"I stalked him for a while. I was going to make him the villain of my next book."
“For real?” Glory seems surprised, not at the stalking but that I might have patterned a character after Toscati.
“Or a victim. I hadn’t decided yet.”
"How about me?"
"What about you?"
"Can I be the bad guy? I mean a bad girl? A reporter goes around and kills to create stories. That's a good plot, don't you think?"
"Not bad," I admit.
"What kind of backstory would you give her? Former Russian spy rehabilitated like the Scarlett Witch?" She's getting enthused. It's adorable. I want to kiss her. I lean in to do just that when a roar fills the air. I turn just in time to see the shadow of something rushing toward my head. I whip Glory under my arm and shift, but the blow still lands, sharp and painful across my shoulders.
Toscati lifts the shovel to strike again, but this time, I'm able to throw up an arm to block the blow. The steel nearly breaks my forearm. I reach underneath and drive a punch to his gut. Toscati grunts and stumbles backward.
"Get in the car, Glory," I order.
"Mark, what are you doing?" she says instead of listening to me.
Mark looks like a wild animal with his chest heaving and his nostrils flaring. "I'm saving you," he pants. "This is a bad guy. He's slept around. Impregnated groupies. He might have even killed someone, Glory."
"Those are all stories," Glory says.
"That's what he wants you to believe. Hide in my house while I take care of this trash," Toscati yells.
"That's my line," I object.
"You can't write your own story here. This is the real world." Toscati charges. I start to dodge and then remember Glory's right behind me. "Get in the damn car," I growl and then launch myself at Toscati's midsection, driving him backward off the porch. The shovel lands on the steps as we tumble to the ground. He rolls, trying to get the upper hand. I twist around and pin him to the ground. The gun falls out of my pocket. Mark sees it before I do and lunges for it. I'm too late to stop him, and he has the gun in his hand, pointing at Glory, who is about to duck into the car.
"Stop," he shouts. "The house, Glory. Now.”
She hesitates, looking at the gun and then at me.
“I’m the one with the gun,” he screams. The dude’s finger hovers on the trigger. He could pull it at any second. I rush him, shoving his arm into the air just as he fires. The bullet spends in the air, but Glory screams in fear and drops to the ground, covering her head with her hands.
"You dumb fuck," I swear. I crack Toscati in the jaw, grab the gun, and get to my feet. "Sorry I have to do this, but I swore to Glory's mom I'd keep her safe, otherwise she'd cut off my balls." I pull the trigger.
Chapter Sixteen
Glory
“It’s fine, Glory,” Corby says even as they slap the handcuffs on him. My heart is still pounding. They are hauling Mark off in an ambulance.
“Knock it off, Graham!”
“It’s Sheriff Larson right now, Glory.” I roll my eyes, trying to keep myself mad. If I don’t focus on my anger, I’ll likely start crying. I’m on the edge, and being angry is the only thing that’s keeping me sane at the moment.
“Mark was trying to kill him. He had no choice. It was self-defense.”
“I get that, but there are still procedures that need to be followed and not to mention Mr. O’Neal here is on Mark’s property with a gun.” Okay, that might look bad now that I think about it.
“You keep that mouth sealed, Corby. We did nothing wrong. You don’t make a statement or sign a damn thing until your lawyer arrives.” Now it’s Graham who’s rolling his eyes.
“I promise I’m fine,” Corby says again.
“Meet me at the station, Glory. We need to do a report.”
“I don’t know nothing.” I tilt my chin up. “You’ll have to speak to my lawyer.”
“You don’t have a lawyer,” Graham says dryly.
“She does.” Corby smiles at me. I know he’s trying to get me to relax. I’m worried about him; he shouldn't be worried about me. “He’s probably getting on a plane right now.” Corby winks at me. He’s being so calm about all of this. I’m trying to stay calm, but I can still feel the slight shake in my hands. I wanted a story but not like this.
Corby only shot Mark in the leg. He went down hard and fast while screaming in pain. It didn't even look like there was much blood, to be honest. After Corby checked on me, he pulled out his phone and dialed 911. I think he might have fired off a few texts right after too, which were probably to his lawyer. Based on his comments, I’m guessing whoever is going to represent him is coming here from New York.