Page 13 of Aspen's Defense

"I got to the shop at 3:30," I start, leaving out the part about getting there early in the hopes that I'd finish early and have to spend less time in the kitchen with Noah. Either the universe hates me, or it's sending flaming arrows my way, trying to point me toward the gorgeous hockey player because my brilliant plan worked a little too well. We haven't spent a single second in the kitchen…but he's glued to my side anyway. "I barely made it around the counter when I heard someone rummaging around in Jack's office. I thought it was him."

"Wasn't me," Jack mutters.

"Really? You mean you aren't the one who tried to shoot me?"

He narrows his eyes at me and then cracks a smile. "Smartass."

"Why'd you think it was Jack?" Dillion asks.

"Because they were in his office?"

"Were there lights on?"

"No. That's why I didn't yell to ask why he was here so early."

Dillon nods, jotting something in his little notebook. Or maybe he's doodling, I don't know. What do cops write in those things anyway? "And then what happened?"

"The two men in the office started talking."

"What were they saying?"

"Look in there," I repeat. "You know this rich mothertrucker probably leaves money in the desk drawers."

"He called me a mothertrucker?" Amusement carves little lines around Jack's eyes. Even though the situation is serious, he can't help but tease me. I think he's trying to make me feel better. I know he feels terrible, though. He rushed here as soon as Dillon called him.

"No, he called you the expletive version," I mutter. "I edited to spare your one feeling."

"That's more like it," Jack mutters.

Even Noah relaxes a little bit, some of the tension flowing from him.

"What happened from there, Aspen?" Dillon asks, trying to get us back on track.

"I hid and called Noah." His number was the first one that came up on my phone. At least, that's what I'm telling myself. I don't have the mental energy to expend having a crisis over why I chose to call him out of everyone in my contacts. "Somehow, I knocked a coffee canister off the counter when I was trying to shift positions so I could try to at least get a look at whoever was in the shop if they came close to me."

Noah grunts beside me. He's made the same exact sound every single time we've gone over this. He's really not happy that I tried to see the guys in the office. I thought it was the smart thing to do, though.

Spoiler alert: It was a stupid thing to do!

As soon as the coffee canister hit the floor, my life flashed before my eyes. It flashed again when the two men burst out of the office, and I saw the gun. And again when the shot exploded the window beside my head.

Everything after that is a little bit of a blur. I remember feeling immensely relieved when I saw Noah. And I remember the feel of his lips on mine, searing me to my soul. But the rest of it? It's a little jumbled up and chaotic, as if the world fell out of focus for a while there and is only now beginning to right itself.

"Do you remember anything about what they look like?" Dillon asks.

I glance up at him. "I remember what they look like." That part isn't jumbled or chaotic. Their faces are seared into my brain. "The one with the gun was a few inches taller than me. He had red hair. I couldn't tell his eye color, but I'm pretty sure he had freckles. He seemed young, mid-twenties, maybe. I didn't see the other one very well, but he was about your height and lean, with short, dark-colored hair."

Dillon jots the entire time I talk and then looks at me. "Did you recognize either of them?"

"Possibly?" I shrug, uncertain. "The tall one seemed familiar, but I see a lot of people through here every day. It's possible he's been in here before, but not often enough for me to immediately recognize him in the dark. It was more just that he seemed familiar. Does that make sense?"

Dillon nods and then glances at Jack. "Do either of them sound familiar to you?"

"Possibly," he says, a troubled look on his face. "Before Aspen started, I had an employee here for a brief time, Glenda Brennan. Her son, Silar, has red hair and freckles. He was the reason I ended up having to let her go. He caused some trouble around here and she kept letting him come back."

"Shit," Dillon growls.

"You're familiar with him," Noah says. It's not a question.