Something thuds against the door and the wall shakes. Oh God. Is he trying to break the door down? I pull the plug on the microwave and stagger with it across the floor. Even as I heave it at the window, I know my plan won’t work. Too heavy and not enough force. The microwave bounces off the glass and crashes to the ground. Apparently I didn’t pass the Get Fit part of Get Fit or Die.

Despite all my weeks at Redemption and my determination to become a fighter, terror escapes me in a loud piercing scream.

“Fuck.” The intruder’s voice is harsh and angry, and now I wish I’d kept quiet. He didn’t know I was here after all.

Pound, pound, pound goes my heart.

Crunch, crunch, crunch go shoes over broken glass.

Oh God. Did he bring a friend?

The man gasps. His feet thud across the floor, down the hallway, and fade into the kitchen. Then the back door crashes open. And he is gone.

“Amanda, open up. It’s Fuzz.”

Recognizing the voice, I race to the door. A few moments later, Fuzzy is in my office dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, a gun in his hand. I throw my arms around him and hold on tight.

“Shhhh.” He rubs a soothing hand down my back. “I was in the neighborhood when you sent your text. Are you okay? Is he still here?” He places a gentle hand on my shoulder as sirens fill the air.

“Out the back. He went out the back.”

Fuzzy races out of my office and disappears around the corner. Shouts. Yells. Police swarm into the building in a thunder of boots and a clatter of weapons. A female police officer takes my statement while I sit on Ray’s couch. For the first time ever, I wish I had a cup of tea.

No, I didn’t see him. No, I have no idea who it could be. Possibly it could do with one of my cases. Thirteen cases. Only one paying client. Yes, that’s right. Only one. The rest I’m doing pro bono. I agree. Not really an economically viable way to run a business, but I like to help people. No, not something I got from my parents. More like in spite of my parents. No, nothing was missing. Yes, I felt threatened and scared hence the microwave tossing.

“Do you have a boyfriend or a husband, maybe an ex?” Her voice drops from cold and abrupt to soft and gentle. “Maybe you had a fight and he was angry. Maybe he came here to scare you or hurt you. When emotions run high, things like that happen.”

“I have a boyfriend,” I say quietly. “But everything is fine between us.”

Boyfriend. I called him my boyfriend. A big step for a commitment-phobe like me, and one I’m sure she doesn’t appreciate. But is it the truth? Is he my boyfriend and is everything fine?

Shouts from the hallway. Yells. A thud. Then Fuzzy calls, “Let him through.” Feet pound across the floor, and then Jake appears in the doorway.

Seeing him there, his chest heaving, eyes wild, his face etched with concern, something inside me breaks, and all the terror of the night leaks through, trickling over my cheeks in hot, wet tears.

“See. Here he is,” I whisper. “He came.” And I didn’t even call.

Without a word, Jake sweeps me into his arms and holds me until my tears dry.

An hour later, statements given, glass and wood swept away, police disbursed, Fuzzy, Jake, and I convene in the reception room. Jake sits on one end of the couch. I sit on the other. Fuzzy sits on my poor, abused coffee table and asks me questions about my cases and potential culprits.

As he takes notes, I glance over at Jake. Why is he sitting over there? Is he angry that Fuzzy called him? Was he trying to avoid me and felt obliged to come? Why hasn’t he spoken to me since he arrived? Or looked at me even once since he released me from his arms? I twist my bracelet around my wrist and then knot my fingers in my lap. What’s going on?

Finally, Fuzzy rubs his hand over his fuzzy head and sighs. “You got a friend you can stay with tonight, Amanda, or another place to go? After something like this, it’s best not to be alone.”

“Um…” I glance over at Jake, but he’s gazing out the window. Why would Fuzzy think I wouldn’t be staying with Jake? Did he say something? My heart sinks as I wrack my brain trying to think who would be the best person to call since Makayla is away. One of my law firm colleagues? Penny? Ray? Drake?

“Why don’t you just call up the guy you were waiting for?” Jake’s tone is so cool it chills my blood. “The guy you were drinking with.” He points to the open bottle of wine on the table. “Who was it this time?”

Shock freezes my tongue, and for a long moment, all I can do is stare. Finally, I peel my tongue off the roof of my mouth. “My house sold today. I was upset. I thought I’d have a beat-the-blues away drink before I dove back into my work. You’ll notice there are no glasses on the table. And the only glass you’ll find with wine in it is the water glass on my desk.”

A pained expression crosses Jake’s face. “Why didn’t you call me if you were that upset?”

My voice trembles. “I didn’t need you. I should really have been celebrating, but I got a bit emotional. I would have been fine after an hour if someone hadn’t broken into the office. “

“You didn’t need me?” Jake’s incredulous look sends a shiver down my spine.

“I knew you were busy at work—so busy you missed your session at Redemption. I didn’t want to bother you with a pity party I knew would be over as soon as I got my head buried in my paperwork.”

His face smoothes to an expressionless mask, and I sense he knows I’m not giving him the whole truth.