A distorted voice growled. Your husband didn't listen. Look what happened to him. Sharon's breath caught in her throat. The phone slipped from her grasp, clattering onto the hardwood floor.
Aaron, who had been sleeping in the guest room down the hall, appeared in her doorway seconds later, alert and ready. Sharon, what's wrong? He crossed the room in three quick strides, switching on the bedside lamp. She couldn't speak at first, just pointed at the phone on the floor. Aaron picked it up, checking the call log.
Blocked number, he muttered, his jaw tightening. Sharon wrapped her arms around herself, shivering despite the warm night air. They they threatened me. Mentioned Marcus. Her voice broke on her late husband's name.
Aaron sat beside her on the bed, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders. Tell me exactly what they said. As Sharon recounted the brief call, Aaron's expression hardened. He pulled out his own phone, sending quick messages to his network of supporters. We're going to trace that call, he assured her.
And I'm setting up surveillance cameras tonight. No one's getting near this house without us knowing. Sharon leaned against her brother-in-law's steady presence. I keep thinking about Marcus, how he faced threats like this alone. "You're not alone," Aaron said firmly.
I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere. They sat in silence for a few minutes, the ceiling fan spinning lazily above them. Then Sharon's phone chimed with a notification. Aaron reached for it first, but Sharon grabbed it before he could. Her sharp intake of breath told him everything.
"What is it?" Sharon turned the phone screen toward him, her hand shaking. There on Facebook was the photo Miller had taken at Marcus's funeral, posted with a caption that made Aaron's blood boil. One less troublemaker in Eastridge. Who's next? Blue lives matter.
That son of a Aaron caught himself standing up to pace the room. His military training kicked in, helping him channel his rage into focused energy. Sharon scrolled through the comments, each one worse than the last. Miller's supporters were out in force adding their own racist remarks and threats. How can he just post that?
Sharon's voice cracked. That's my husband. That's Marcus. Aaron stopped pacing, his expression determined. Because he thinks he's untouchable, but he just made a massive mistake.
He pulled out his phone again, taking screenshots and sending them to Sarah Kimble and their media contacts. Within minutes, their secure messaging group lit up with responses. Community members reported similar threats. The photo was being shared widely, drawing national attention and outrage. I need you to pack a bag, Aaron said, his tone leaving no room for argument.