Micah winced. “My… friend? Her name’s Caprice.” The woman in question scoffed, shaking her head in obvious derision.

“Are either of you hurt?”

“No. Well, my head is bleeding,” he amended, “but it’s nothing life-threatening.”

“I’ll dispatch an ambulance,” she assured. “In the meantime, if it’s safe to do so, I want you and Caprice to go outside to meet the officers who are on their way to you. Make sure the gun is in plain view when they arrive, okay? Stay on the line with me, and let me know when you hear the sirens.”

Micah turned towards Caprice. “She wants us to go outside,” he reiterated.

Caprice pursed her lips at the news, but after a brief stare-off with Micah, she merely huffed and led the way.

It was cold outside without his jacket or even his shoes on, the snow quickly wetting his socks, but Micah could barely feel it. (Probably the shock, said a voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Tessa.)

Tears sprang in his eyes at the thought of his friend. Maybe the totality of the situation was finally catching up with him – he’d almost died – but at that moment, Micah would have given just about anything to be on the receiving end of one of Tessa’s bone-crushing hugs.

He cleared his throat. “What precinct is responding?” he asked the woman on the phone.

“Um, let’s see… that would be the 9th precinct, stationed in east Manhattan.”

“Can you contact Detective Tessa Gallagher of the 105th precinct in Queens and inform her of the situation? Tell her to get here – if you can, please.”

Micah didn’t get to hear the operator’s response before the phone was abruptly taken from him. He watched numbly as Caprice hung up on the woman, glaring at Micah so harshly he was shocked he didn’t combust on the spot.

“We were supposed to stay on the line,” he said dumbly.

Micah knew, logically, that it was her husband, Jason, who’d just tried to kill him – but in that moment, he found Caprice much more intimidating.

She didn’t respond to his stupid remark. “You said you were calling Damon,” she accused bitingly instead. “What the fuck?”

Anything Micah could say in response – any excuse or reason he could possibly come up with – got stuck in his throat.

“Well?” she snapped. “Just how hard did that idiot inside hit you on the head that you somehow mixed up Damon, my brother who runs a goddamn illegal empire, and the fucking police? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Micah could only nod. He did know – but she didn’t, not yet.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry.”