“Nothing.” I start back up the stairs with him right at my back, and as soon as we get into the house with both dogs, he urges me down the hall to the kitchen. Going to the counter, I pick up my phone so I can call the police, but before I can even get my phone unlocked, he presses me up against the counter so that my back is against his chest, then reaches his arms around me and carefully lifts my hand.
“Let me see.” His voice is soft, but his tone honestly scares me, so I hold my breath as he unwraps the towel, hoping it’s just a wound that bleeds a lot but isn’t so bad. “How—”
“It was the glass from the mirror,” I cut him off while shutting my eyes as he turns my hand right and left.
“You’re going to need stitches.”
“Great.” I open my eyes back up as he rewraps my hand. “First, we need to call the police.”
“I’ll call them.” He takes my phone right after I get it unlocked, then I stand there and listen to him talk to dispatch while he goes to my freezer and yanks out the thing that holds the ice for the door dispenser, slamming it on the counter next to me. “Baggies?”
His eyes meet mine, and I go to the pantry and grab him one, and as I hand it over, he hangs up the call. “Someone else called in the sound of a gunshot, so they were already on their way.”
“Okay.”
“The car didn’t have a license plate,” he tells me while filling the baggie with ice.
“What?”
“The car that took off when I ran outside didn’t have a license plate.” His eyes meet mine. “And the windows were blacked out, so I couldn’t see who was driving.”
“So you think someone purposely shot at my house?”
“Or someone purposely shot at you or me,” he says, and a sense of dread fills the pit of my stomach.