Exit Strategy by L. V. Lewis

home. I’m not sure why, because Thomas is back in a residential rehab program in Arizona. I grin, ready to tease him, until the SUV pulls up to me and I see the hooded figure. I only get a fleeting look because my self-preservation kicks in, and I step back involuntarily before stumbling into Jorge as he bursts out of the door. The SUV noisily peels off.
“What the fuck?” Jorge says.
“I think ... I just dodged a bullet.” I’m not actually aware of just how rattled I am until my knees buckle and Jorge catches me. My heart is thumping a million miles a minute, but it doesn’t feel like it does when I’m about to have a panic attack; this is pure, unadulterated fear.
Jorge draws me close. “I got you, cuz,” he says with a soothing voice and holds me until I stop shaking. He fishes his cell phone out of his pocket.
“What’re you doing?”
“Calling the cops.”
“That guy is long gone. Did you get his license plate number?”
“No, that shit happened so fast all I could think about was making sure you were okay.”
“So, what are we going to tell them? That some guy in a mask was trolling our parking lot?”
“Hell yeah. At least they’ll know this guy’s on the prowl, and it might save someone else from being surprised by that motherfucker.”
“You’re right. Let’s call, but from the safety of your car.” Jorge agrees and keeps his arm around my waist as we hurry toward his waiting vehicle.

     

CHAPTER SIX
Tristan
     
Tristan’s mail is stacked neatly on his desk the same way Darryl makes sure it is every day, with confidential mail on the left. The opened and sorted is stacked from least important on the bottom to most pertinent on the top. A creature of habit, Tristan opens the confidential mail first. He is almost through the stack when Darryl buzzes him.
“Mr. White, there’s a sheriff’s deputy here to see you.”
Well, that’s not an intercom message he gets every day. Confident that whatever the officer’s reasons for showing up at his office unannounced doesn’t concern him being on the other side of the law, Tristan views the visit as a nuisance.
“Pick up your handset, Darryl.”
“Yes, sir.” Darryl’s obedience to his command is immediate.
“Any idea what he wants?”
“He’s here to serve papers, sir.”
“Papers... as in a subpoena?”
“That would be my guess, Mr. White.”
“Can’t you just sign for them and send him away?”
“I tried that before I buzzed you, sir.”
Tristan grumbles a silent expletive. Shit! He has too much to do to stop and play nice with Cook County’s finest.
“Escort him into my office in thirty seconds,” he says and then hangs up unceremoniously, as he’s been wont to do since he’d become a Dom without a submissive. If Darryl’s taken offense to his newly adopted attitude, he hasn’t complained.
Tristan stands and slips his suit jacket back on, rolls shoulders stiff from sitting in one position since six a.m., and then adjusts his collar and pulls down his sleeves. Darryl enters at the thirty-second mark, exactly, and ushers the officer in.
“Deputy Sheriff Wick Carlson to see you, Mr. White,” Darryl announces as if he’s introducing a head of state.
“Thanks, Darryl.”
Tristan puts on his million-dollar, cordial smile, which of late does not reach his eyes, and offers his hand to the officer.
“Tristan White, Deputy Carlson. How can I help you?”
Deputy Carlson smiles in response and hands him an envelope. “This is a subpoena for you to appear as a material witness in the matter of the State of Illinois versus Byron Oswald McCaskill.”
“How does one respond to such a thing? Thank you?”
“That’ll do nicely,” Deputy Carlson says. “I won’t take up any more of your time, sir. Have a nice day.”
“You, too.”
The Deputy turns on his heel and leaves as Tristan opens the envelope and peruses the legal document.
“Oswald is a good goddamned name for a criminal,” he mutters to himself and sits back down to