Dammit! She knew me too well.
I couldn’t stand the silence.
“How were things with Brock last night? More Triominos or did you convince him to play poker with you?”
She gave a short shake of her head. “Things were fine with Brock. He only told me one Navy story before he informed me there was a baseball game on last night. Lucky for him, I’m a fan of Milwaukee. We watched that until the end. Sadly, the Nationals won, which made Brock’s day. First shortcoming he’s shown.”
I chuckled. “You mean since he doesn’t root for your team, it’s a shortcoming?”
She shrugged. “All men have at least one.”
My lips twisted. “So do most women, Mom.”
“You’re right. So, what are you doing today? Sifting through more of your sister’s belongings?”
I fought hanging my head. That wasn’t in the plan, though it probably should have been. “No, Mom. I’m going to research movers and get estimates for moving my things down from New York.”
She turned bright eyes to me. “Sell it all and be done with it.”
I pressed my lips together as I thought about it, but she continued.
“Well, everything except the sentimental stuff. Believe me, whatever furniture you have, it isn’t worth moving it.”
“Thanks, Mom. That’s good advice. But I still need to get estimates. It’ll make Clint feel better.”
“Malarkey. He doesn’t care if you chuck your worldly possessions. He just wants you, and that, my dear, is the most important quality to find in a man.”
I reached out and squeezed her hand. “You’re right, Mom.”
She squeezed back, but not without getting the last word. “Of course, I’m right. I been around a while. About time you started listening to me.”
I tilted my head back to give the ceiling an exasperated look. Then I leveled my eyes at her again. “Are you set? Do you want the walker out here?”
Her eyes slid to the side and back. When she spoke her tone was begrudging. “That would be nice, my dear.”
WHEN MY STOMACH GROWLED, my brain swam with numbers. A notification hit my phone, and I saw it was a quarter to noon. It surprised me that Mom hadn’t shuffled in to tell me what she wanted to eat. I looked into the living room and saw she was dozing off in her chair. Quietly, I turned back and perused the fridge for lunch options.
While I assembled sandwiches, Clint came in through the side door. My hopes that he had brought lunch were dashed since he held his phone to his ear and his other hand was empty. He winked at me in greeting, and I grinned.
I grabbed another plate and more bread. Once he was off the phone, I asked, “We’re having ham and cheese. Are you up for that, or do you need something more high falooting?”
He leaned a hip against the counter and shot me a look. “Since when am I ever ‘high falooting,’ Rae?”
I scoffed. “Clint, you are the biggest foodie I’ve ever known!”
He smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Never knew you thought that about me.”
“Baloney! I told you all the time.”
He shrugged. “Must’ve blocked that out. Anyway, I like good food, but any sandwich you make will be great because you made it for me.”
I blew out a breath shaking my head at him. “You do know how to butter a woman up.”
His cell rang, he glanced at it, and he pushed away from the counter. “Hey Er—”
That clipped greeting got my attention. He stood statue-stiff and his facial expression was hard as nails. “Yeah, Carlos. Where’s Erica and what’s wrong?”
My stomach dropped and I went to grab my purse for my phone.
“Fuck,” Clint hissed. “Call 911. Do it right now. I’ll get there as soon as I can, but you’re wasting time. Call 911.”
He jammed his finger against the cell screen. I moved toward him. “Do you need me to call Juanita or anyone?”
His eyes focused on me as though he’d forgotten where he was. “No. Not yet, baby. I don’t know enough, and I don’t want to worry her. I gotta get downtown.”
He grabbed the back of my neck, kissed my forehead and jogged to the front door. I followed him, but he slammed the door behind him.
Then I heard it.
No, not it.
I heard them.
Gunshots.
Three shots rang out and I ran to the front door, but Mom yelled at me. “Raegan Anne! You stay inside this house.”
I stopped and had enough presence of mind to reach for my cell in my purse. But before I could get the phone out, the door flew open and Carlos stood there, a devious but satisfied grin on his ugly face.
“Never liked the saying before now, but two birds with one stone,” he said.
Then I heard another gunshot and he pitched forward, falling onto the floor. Jason, the huge man who worked for Tommy Debenedetti, stood there with a gun in hand.
He looked me up and down. “You good?”
I nodded. Then croaked, “Clint.”
I stepped forward, but he held a hand up. “Stop. Stay in the house. We’ve called 911, and Phil’s putting pressure on his wounds.”
My vision swam while my heart sank like a brick. “Wounds?”
“Keep it together, Connelly,” he muttered, like I was one of the guys.
“I can keep pressure on—”
His chin jerked down at Carlos. “This asshole might not be the only threat. Contract for your hit became a bounty yesterday afternoon. Stay in the house, and don’t go near the windows.”
Then he was gone.
My nose stung, and tears fell from my face in a steady stream. Then I heard Mom’s whispered, “Clint’s been shot.”
In the past month I hadn’t seen Mom stoop, but she leaned so heavily on the walker she was hunched over it. I moved to her and she let go of it to give me the tightest hug imaginable.
Sirens rent the air, and I had perverse visions of Mr. Hipps complaining again.
Those thoughts were cut off when I realized my
