Maddox stepped through next, saying, "I'm going to talk to the police."

"Good thinking," said Solomon. "Fletcher, take a look around back. Lexi fought the assailant on the deck. See if you can find something useful before MPD take over."

"Got it," agreed Fletcher, stepping into the dark.

"I thought there were security lights outside," I said. "They didn't light up as we crossed the garden."

"There were. The bulbs were taken out." Solomon replaced the gauze before letting the t-shirt drop over it. He took my hand and placed it at my side, applying light pressure to the wound.

"And our cameras?"

"I need to look into that. Did you see them?"

"No, it was too dark and the perp wore a ski mask and dark clothing. Penelope said it was a man, only..."

"Only?"

"I'm sure whomever I fought with was a woman."

"What makes you think that?"

"Height, weight. Some of the punches were a little off. Strong, but not well-thrown, and lacking in clout."

"Could have just been a small guy. Or someone not used to fighting."

I shook my head. "No, whoever it was even felt like a woman. I was on the floor grappling with her, Solomon. I swear it had to be a woman."

Solomon glanced at the garden. Through the dark windows we saw the flashing light of the ambulance above the fences as it slowly made its way out of the alley. "Penelope?"

"I thought so at first, but it can't have been. This woman shot her too."

"Strange coincidence."

"Getting shot? Or that she was in the alley and got shot too?"

"Both. Penelope was our prime suspect."

"Ours?"

"Yours, but rapidly becoming mine too. Now she's another victim. It's weird. It feels off. A little too convenient."

"I thought that too, but she isn't even wearing the same stuff as the woman who shot me. Penelope was wearing ballet pumps, and my attacker wore boots. They had different jackets on too. Here, I grabbed a bit of it and it tore. Penelope's wasn't torn. Solomon, I think I got it wrong. I think I was too fixated on the idea it was Penelope because she had access; and I later thought her past relationship with Rob gave her motive. Juliet has the charmed life with Rob, and Penelope is a struggling mother. Isn't that reason to hate her? What if I got it wrong and that’s why Penelope got hurt too?" I sniffed my way to a stop, mortified at my mistake. How could I have done so badly and been so wrong?

Solomon nodded thoughtfully. To his credit, he didn't tell me I screwed up, or offer any platitudes.

"There's not much to see," said Fletcher, returning inside. "There's a little blood on the deck that I figured was Lexi's, and I found a boot print in the flower bed just below the deck. I'm guessing here, but it looks to me like a women's size seven."

"That supports your theory the assailant is a woman," said Solomon. "Anything else?"

"Nothing. My preliminary search didn't turn up any other prints; and I haven't found how they got in yet. I'm thinking there had to be an unlocked door or window."

I shook my head. "No, Juliet's been really careful."

"Then, perhaps a key?" Fletcher suggested.

"Juliet changed all the locks," I replied, looking up at Solomon. He didn't look happy. "They got another key? How?"

"Same way they got the last set," Solomon said, his eyes narrowing.

"I don't think Juliet has allowed anyone in the house since the locks got changed. Only she and Rob have sets. There was no spare key to steal."

"We already proved to Juliet how easily we could get into her purse," said Solomon.

"Yeah, I know, but that doesn't change the fact that she hasn't had anyone in the house."

"Penelope and her kid were here."

"They were here for less than ten minutes; and we had eyes on them the whole time," I pointed out. "She didn't have opportunity. Besides, whoever it is just shot Penelope."

"Is my sister okay?" asked a very loud and familiar voice.

"Garrett, I'm over here in the kitchen," I called and Garrett appeared, followed by Maddox.

"What the hell happened this time?" asked Garrett. "I got a call reporting an attempted murder and the responding officer thought it was you! I didn't know whether you were dead, or presumed a killer."

"Neither," I said. "You're premature if you expected a homicide."

"I really thought I was going to find you dead this time. Are you bleeding?" he asked, his eyes widening as if he'd never seen blood before.

"It's barely a scratch," said Solomon.

Garrett's jaw stiffened. "It doesn't look like a scratch. Your hand is covered in blood. She's been shot! "

"I'm okay, really," I told him. "It's a flesh wound. Stop worrying. The victim here is Juliet."

"I was told someone else got shot too." He narrowed his eyes. "Did you do it?"

"No. My gun..." I felt my waistband as my face paled. It took minutes before I realized its absence, and in the shock of learning I'd been shot, I'd totally forgotten. "Oh shit! Solomon, my gun is gone!"

The room stilled. "What?" said Solomon.

"It went off when we struggled then... I don't know... the gun went off and she hit me and stunned me. Then she took off across the yard and I started to run after her, and that's when I heard the second shot..." I dropped my face into my hands. Reality dawned on me with cruel consequences. Penelope was shot with my weapon and now my gun was gone. Unless it had been dumped, the assailant still had it. I felt sick.

"Damn it, Lexi!" yelled more than one man.

"Fletch, go look for the gun. See if it got dumped anywhere nearby," ordered Solomon.

"Take a uniform with you," added Garrett, yelling to an officer. "Lexi, I'm going to need to take a statement from you. You've got all the paperwork for the gun?"

"Yes, I can get you everything."

"And your carry license is up-to-date?"

"Yes."

"You should be okay. Let's hope they dumped it somewhere where it doesn't find its way into even worse hands."

"How much worse could it get?" I asked.

"You mean how much worse than having your gun being used to shoot you and someone else? Oh, much worse!" yelled Garrett. "Aww, crap! Look who just turned up! It's Donahue. Stay put, Lexi. I'll be back."

"That seemed to go okay," I told Solomon once my brother stomped from the room. "I don't think he's too mad."

Solomon smiled. "He's just worried, not mad."

"You're not mad?" That concept was almost worrying. I expected Solomon to be livid at my stupid mistake.

"No, but I am worried."

"John Solomon, worried?"

"Wouldn't you be worried if I got shot?"

I nodded. I wouldn't just have been worried, I would have been paralyzed with fear and shock if that ever happened. Fortunately for Solomon, luck seemed to be on his side. I couldn't say the same for me, however. Then again, the bullet didn't hit anything vital, so maybe I was lucky. As I was about to tell Solomon to never, ever get shot, I saw a uniform lurking in the kitchen doorway at the same time as he spotted me.

"Ma'am I need to take your fingerprints and do the swabs from under your nails," he said, stepping in.