He tips his head to the side and says something.
I want to open the window above the sink to hear their conversation. More spying?Bloody hell, man, what's wrong with you?
Erica's visitor smiles in a way that he must think is endearing, but it makes me want to run over there and punch him. The fact that Erica keeps the door between them suggests she doesn't like the man. Are they former lovers?
The man takes two steps toward Erica and reaches out as if to touch her face, but I can't see that part of her.
My fingers ache. When I look down at them, I realize I'm gripping the sink counter hard enough to cause pain. I cannot stand bullies, and that scunner over there who's speaking to Erica is clearly that sort of man.
Erica's visitor rests one hand on the door and the other on the jamb, leaning into it.
Is that bastard trying to force his way into the house?
Erica tries to shut the door, but the scunner uses his foot to stop her from doing that.
A dog starts barking. Her dog, I assume. It's not friendly barking either, but the sort that means the dog is upset.
And still, the bastard doesn't relent. He keeps his foot jammed in the doorway.
Ye fucking ersehole, treating a woman like that.
I race out the front door, slamming it shut behind me, and run for Erica's house.
The scunner is trying again to stop her from shutting her door. After several attempts, he throws the weight of his body into it, bashing the door into Erica's chin.
I trip over a tree root and need a few seconds to regain my balance and get moving again.
"Quit it!" Erica shouts as she kicks the man's foot. "Stop or I'll call—"
"The police?" the scunner says. He throws his head back and laughs. "You're so funny. Who do you think they'll believe? A filthy little thief, or the Harvard-educated, prized son of the Cichon dynasty?"
"Get away, you twisted son of a bitch!"
I'm on Erica's lawn now, barreling toward the front door of her house.
She yanks the door inward, knocking thebod ceannoff-balance just enough that she can slam the door on his foot.
He deserves much worse.
The bastard howls, his face wrenching in agony. He stumbles backward, shouting nasty curses, and Erica's dog darts out the door to latch onto the man's calf.
Erica drags the dog back inside the house.
I vault across the concrete walkway and leap onto the porch, landing beside the scunner. But I don't look at him. I aim my gaze at Erica. "Need a hand?"
"Thanks, but this creep was just leaving." She glowers at the cretin, though her lower lip trembles.
Her attacker scrambles to his feet, scowling at me. He's abod ceannwithout question, though "dickhead" doesn't seem like a strong enough insult for him.
Despite my pulse racing and adrenaline electrifying my blood, I manage to maintain a calm demeanor. Years of working with high-strung clients have taught me that much. But I don't even try to soften the look in my eyes, which must be angry, when I turn my attention to the would-be intruder.
"Your visit is over, laddie," I say in a menacing tone that doesn't sound like me at all. "Take yourself away from here."
The tosser steps away from the door, holding his nose high and tightening his lips into a smirk. "Or what? You'll torture me to death with bagpipe music?"
"I don't take kindly to scunners who try to force their way into a lady's home."
The twat flicks his middle finger at me.