CHAPTER 13
THE MUFFLED SOUND of my phone interrupted my broken sleep, the ringtone entirely too cheerful for my mood. When I managed to drag an eyelid open, a glance at the clock on my lopsided nightstand told me it wasn’t quite seven. Who would be calling at that time? Missy worked late and never got up before eight, so my money, if I had any, was on Tori.
Or what if it was Michelle? Had she heard about the incident last night? As the phone continued to ring, the full horror of what happened hit me like an army battalion, complete with horses and one of those giant catapult things they used in medieval times. Mr. Goldman had pointed a gun at me!
As if the man I worked for—or rather, used to work for—trying to kill me wasn’t bad enough, now I was jobless again. Not that he’d truly been
