They both froze. Siobhan quickly let go of his hand, and Ethan sat back down.
—Are you expecting someone?
—No. Are you?
They spoke almost in unison, then both shook their heads.
Siobhan straightened her clothes and went to answer the door, irritation plain on her face.
Ethan picked up his wine and took a sip, trying to rein in his frustration. The interruption had ruined the mood, and he doubted they would be able to pick up where they'd left off. At that moment, he could have cracked the intruder's head open.
After a while, he heard a faint argument outside the door. The voices then moved toward the front yard. Sensing that something was wrong, Ethan got up, retrieved his Glock from the cabinet beside him, and headed outside.
Siobhan was arguing with a long-haired man beneath the large tree in the front yard. From what Ethan could see, things were getting heated. The way they spoke suggested they knew each other, so he tucked the Glock into his waistband and approached, hoping to calm things down.
—Siobhan, do you need help?
—Where the hell did this asshole come from?
The sight of Ethan emerging from Siobhan's house clearly bothered the man. His face tightened with anger, and he reached out to shove him.
Ethan had been looking for somewhere to direct his frustration. He caught the man's wrist, pulled sharply, and shifted his feet. A moment later, the man went sprawling onto the ground.
—Ethan, stop.
Siobhan intervened immediately, preventing him from going any further.
Since she clearly knew the man, Ethan held back and left him where he had fallen.
—Little Squirrel, did you see that? He attacked me for no reason!
—He hit me! You're a cop now. Aren't you going to do something? Arrest him! I'm pressing charges!
The man spat out a mouthful of dirt and grass, scrambled to his feet, and shouted at Siobhan.
—Actually, you were the one who tried to assault a police officer first, weren't you? —Ethan lifted the hem of his shirt, revealing the gun tucked into his waistband, and gave him a hard smile.
The man immediately fell silent, though he continued to glare at him.
—Ethan, could you go inside and let us talk? I can handle this.
Siobhan took his hand, her expression serious.
—Are you sure you can handle him on your own?
She said nothing, simply nodding.
Ethan reluctantly backed off. He gave the man a warning look before turning toward the house. The coldness in his eyes made the man take an involuntary step back. Then he clenched his fists, trying to recover his nerve.
Only when Ethan walked away did the man breathe a sigh of relief. Ethan didn't go inside, however. He stayed on the porch, lit a cigarette, and rested his hand on the grip of his gun, keeping his eyes on him.
After exchanging a few more words with Siobhan, the man hurried away.
Siobhan stood beneath the tree for a while before turning and approaching the porch. She took the cigarette from Ethan's lips and drew deeply on it.
—That was my ex-husband, Brice Conner.
As she spoke, she reached up to rub her shoulder.
—What did he want?
Ethan knew she was divorced, but he had never asked about the circumstances.
—He wanted me to have the restraining order lifted. He says he can't get a job in town while it's in place.
She finished speaking and headed inside.
—Did he hurt you?
Ethan quickly followed her, the reason for the divorce becoming clear. They had no children, and a restraining order against a former husband often pointed to domestic violence.
Now he felt he had gone too easy on the bastard. He wished he had hurt him more.
Siobhan nodded and sat on the sofa, touching her right shoulder.
Noticing the gesture, Ethan reached for her collar. She started to pull away, but stopped when she saw the determination in his eyes.
He caught the fabric between his fingers and gently drew it aside, exposing her shoulder. A large scar marked the skin.
—What did he do to you? —Ethan asked, narrowing his eyes.
—An iron —Siobhan replied, quickly pulling her clothes back into place and offering a casual smile. —It's in the past. He's paid for it. Prison made him grow up, and his temper's gotten better.
—He still wants to hit people. That hasn't changed —Ethan said, sitting on the sofa and picking up a glass of wine.
—He once put a guy in the hospital just because he saw me talking to him at a bar. Can you believe that? But it was the drinking that made him do those things.
Ethan noticed the look she gave him, but remained untroubled, taking a slow sip of red wine.
—He does those things because that's who he is. Don't blame the alcohol.
He set the glass on the table and continued.
—What are you going to do now?
Siobhan shook her head.
—I'm going to have the restraining order lifted. Brice's cousin offered him a job, but only if I withdraw it. Maybe he really has changed. I don't want to be the reason he can't find work.
—It's your decision. I don't think it's my place to tell you whether it's right or wrong —Ethan replied with a shrug.
—I'm sorry. I'm not in the mood anymore —Siobhan said, leaning against him.
—It's all right.
After everything that had happened, Ethan had lost interest, too. He put his arm around Siobhan, and they watched television in silence, nestled together.
After a while, Siobhan whispered:
—Oz isn't the champion.
A sharp smack rang out as Ethan delivered a firm slap.
The next day, Siobhan didn't come to the station.
Ethan knew she had gone to settle things with her ex-husband, so he wasn't overly concerned.
During the day, Hood handed him a secure phone from Job, explaining that he could use it to contact him in an emergency without worrying about anyone listening in. Ethan smiled at the gesture. Apparently, Job was still annoyed that he had made him come all the way to Banshee just to talk.
That afternoon, he received a message from Siobhan. She said she had sorted things out with her ex and still had an open bottle of red wine. The implication wasn't lost on him. She clearly wanted to finish what they had started the night before.
Smiling, Ethan replied that one bottle wouldn't be enough and that he would bring more. After work, he stopped at the supermarket for drinks and snacks instead of going home. Once he had everything, he drove to Siobhan's house.
But as he parked and lifted the bags from the passenger seat, an uneasy feeling came over him. Something was wrong.
He looked toward the house. The windows were dark, no lights were on, and the front door stood ajar. His pulse quickened. Leaving the bags in the car, he drew his Glock and approached the entrance.
With growing unease, he carefully pushed the door open with the gun's barrel, preparing himself for whatever lay inside.
The living room was dark, the silence broken only by the faint sound of breathing. Ethan stepped quietly inside and found Siobhan sitting on the sofa with a gun in her hands.
Seeing no other immediate threat, he relaxed enough to reach for the light switch.
The sudden light startled Siobhan, and she quickly raised her gun.
—It's me! What's wrong? —Ethan called, ducking behind the corner before she could fire.
—Get out. Please, just go —Siobhan said, her voice muffled but firm.
Ethan peered around the corner and saw that she had set the gun on the table. He exhaled in relief, holstered his Glock, and approached.
—What's going on? Why were the lights off? —he asked, but then he saw the blood dripping from Siobhan's chin.
Alarmed, he sat beside her and examined the cut on her eyebrow.
—What happened?
—He said he'd stopped drinking —Siobhan murmured. —He begged me to lift the restraining order so he could get a job.
Ethan took out a handkerchief and gently wiped the blood from her eyebrow.
—Was it Brice? —he asked evenly.
He frowned as anger began to build in his chest, forcing himself to remain calm and let her speak.
—He wanted us to get back together —she continued, her gaze fixed on a distant corner of the room. —I said no, and he lost control.
Ethan's pulse quickened. The resentment in her words hung heavily between them.
—He found out you'd spent the night here, and… —Her voice broke for a moment. —He started hitting me.
Ethan clenched his fists, struggling to contain his fury. He was already weighing his options. Siobhan had endured far more than she should ever have had to. He leaned toward her and spoke quietly.
—I'm going to find him.
His anger continued to rise, but he kept it under control.
—Do you know where he's staying? —he asked softly.
Siobhan looked at him, understanding what he intended.
—What are you going to do?
—Don't get the wrong idea. I just want to talk to him —Ethan said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
—The Valley Motel —Siobhan finally replied.
Ethan nodded, patted her shoulder, and got up to leave.
—Wait.
Siobhan caught his hand, stopping him.
—I don't want you to do this.
—It's all right. I'll only talk to him —Ethan said seriously.
She studied him for a moment before shaking her head.
—I'm scared. I don't want to be alone. Could you stay with me for a while?
The vulnerability in her eyes stopped him. Ethan gritted his teeth, frustrated, but held his anger in check. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to her bedroom.
As he laid her on the bed, Siobhan took his hand and refused to let go. Resigned, Ethan removed his gear, put it in the closet, and lay down beside her.
He decided he would find Brice once she fell asleep. But he had barely settled onto the mattress when he felt something unusual.
—Siobhan, what are you doing? —he asked, realizing she had handcuffed his wrist to the bed.
—I'm sorry, Ethan —she murmured. —I can't let you do it.
He stared at her in disbelief as she got up, retrieved his gear, and tossed it across the room.
—Let me go —he said, tugging at the cuff in frustration.
—Stop struggling. It's no use —Siobhan replied firmly. —I know what you want to do, and I won't let you.
—I don't want to hurt him —Ethan insisted. —I just want to make sure he understands he can't touch you.
—Do you really expect me to believe that? —she asked from the doorway.
Ethan fell silent, taken aback by her determination.
Before he could say anything else, she left the room. Moments later, the screech of tires and the roar of an engine faded into the distance.
Frustrated, Ethan pulled against the handcuffs but couldn't free himself. Considering his options, he retrieved his gun from his storage space, then thought better of shooting the cuff. If he did, he would have to explain how he had concealed a weapon where she hadn't found it.
Then he remembered the phone Hood had given him. He quickly put the gun away and took out the device. When he switched it on, he found only one unfamiliar number.
He dialed without hesitation. After a few seconds, the call connected. An electronic tone sounded at the other end, then the line went dead.
A few moments later, his phone rang.
—Ethan? —Job asked, his voice much clearer.
—It's an emergency. I need Hood's number.
Job sounded irritated, but sent it over. Ethan called immediately, and Hood answered after a few rings.
—What's going on? —Hood asked in a low voice.
—It's Ethan. Siobhan's gone after her ex-husband, Brice. He came to her house tonight and beat her up. She's furious, and I don't know what she'll do in this state. She's heading to the Valley Motel.
There was a brief pause before Hood answered.
—Where are you?
Ethan glanced at the handcuffs in frustration.
—I'm stuck here for now. You have to stop her.
—Understood.
Hood hung up, leaving Ethan somewhat reassured. Despite his impulsiveness, Hood could handle the situation.
Ethan slipped the phone into his pocket and pulled against the handcuffs once more, to no avail. Frustrated, he lay back on the bed, hoping Hood would get there before things took an even worse turn.