By Shiloh Walker
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She might have barred him from coming in but he edged past her, forcing her to back up unless she wanted him brushing up against her. Which she didn’t—Chase was fully aware of the extreme care she took not to let him touch her. The door closed behind them and he turned to study Zoe’s face. She looked tired. Still so fucking beautiful it made his heart ache just to look at her, but tired. Like she could sleep for a week. Tired and frazzled and frustrated. He felt like a major prick because he wanted to offer to hold her for the entire week.
Brutal, hard hands closed around her throat, squeezing, choking the life out of her. Scrabbling at them, she was dimly aware of a low, angry voice snarling in her ear. “Fucking cunt. I’ve seen you staring at him—how can you do that? ” A nightmare, it had to be. Because that was Roger’s voice, and he’d never hurt her. She raked her nails over the strong, brutal hands at her throat, but it did no good. As the pain worsened, as her air dwindled, some latent instinct kicked in and she struck out, driving her hand upward, striking his throat.
Shaking her head, she looked up and said, “My husband is dying. ” McAfee’s face was implacable. ” Then he inclined his head. “However, there’s more than just my opinion to consider here, more than just yours. I’ve already spoken to your husband—” “You what? ” “Zoe, calm down and just listen,” James said, sighing. “He wasn’t there to arrest him or read him his rights or anything. Roger asked to speak to him. I was in there with him. ” The sheriff tipped his hat. ” “He won’t do it again,” Zoe said through clenched teeth.