by Irene Hannon
Phelps retrieved a bottle of water from his backpack. Began walking toward Finn and the chief.
This was it.
Stepping out from her cover, she pointed the Winchester at him. “Drop the gun.”
He halted but continued to aim his pistol at Finn as he jerked her way.
Finn lunged his direction—but Phelps swung back toward him and pulled the trigger.
As slivers of oak bark spewed into the air from the tree behind him, Finn froze and Dana almost lost her breakfast. Another few inches to the left, the bullet would have lodged in his brain.
Oh, God, please help me! The silent plea ripped from the depths of her soul. I am so out of my element here!
Although she could feel Finn’s gaze burning into her, she kept her focus on Phelps. “I said drop the gun.”
After sizing her up, his lips curled. “I don’t think so.”
He was calling her bluff.
That’s when she realized her tactical error. She should have let him get as close as possible to Finn before stepping out from her concealed position. That way, Finn would have been able to complete the tackle he’d attempted.
Too late for second thoughts now, though. She had to work with what she had—and her number one priority was clear: convince Phelps she was serious. If she did, she could cross to Finn, hand him the rifle . . . and let him finish this job for which she was so ill-suited.
Diverting the barrel a hair to the right of Phelps, she prayed her aim was as accurate as it had once been, thanked God her midrange vision was back to normal—and pulled the trigger.
She absorbed the recoil as Pops had taught her and reloaded the bolt-action rifle in one swift, smooth motion as the spent casing ejected.
“The next one goes in you unless you drop the gun.” Much to her surprise, her words didn’t waver a fraction.
But Phelps did. A touch of uncertainty glinted in his eyes. He might not be convinced she’d follow through on her threat—but he wasn’t sure she was bluffing, either.
Please, God, let him back down!
He started to lower the gun.
But instead of dropping it, he yanked it up and aimed her direction.
The next sequence of events happened so fast, Dana couldn’t even sort out the order.
A shot was fired.
She squeezed the trigger.
Booms resounded through the forest, shattering the stillness.
Finn dived for Phelps, who crumpled into a motionless heap on the ground.
A uniformed officer strode onto the scene, pistol in hand.
And as fast as it all began, the whole thing was over.
Shaking worse than the leaves fluttering in the breeze around her, she lowered the rifle. She was still standing, so Phelps had missed her . . . right?
“Dana!” Finn croaked out her name and limped toward her. “Are you okay?” His hands grasped her shoulders—strong, warm, reassuring.
She tried to speak. Failed. Settled for a nod.
He crushed her against him, nuzzling her hair.
It felt like heaven.
Far too soon, though, he ended the embrace. “Sit here while I see to Burnett.” He urged her down, keeping a firm grip on her until she was on solid ground.
After exchanging a few muted words with the uniformed officer who was dealing with Phelps, he lowered himself beside the chief, laid the man flat, pressed his fingers against his neck.
Dana forced her lungs to keep inflating and deflating. Managed to slow her pulse from furious to fast. Then crawled over to see what she could do to help with what appeared to be a serious medical emergency.
“. . . radioed for assistance.”
“We might need to begin CPR if . . .”
“. . . thready, and color is . . .”
The words ping-ponging over his chest faded in and out, but Roger knew the discussion was about him.
If he had the strength, he’d tell them not to fret. There was nothing they could do to save him. After all his years in the field, he knew it was too late.
He was dying—and the kind of help he needed would never arrive in time.
The voices grew more distant. Muffled. As if a door was slowly closing. The hard ground beneath him also fell away, and he began to drift, suspended between earth and sky. Like the moment on that high jump at the pool when he was a kid, after he took the leap and hovered for an instant between air and water.
He tried to hold on, to keep from falling, but it was futile. His fingers were weak, and there was nothing to grasp but air.
Expelling a final breath, Roger let go with a simple prayer.
Please, Lord, take care of Leah.
And have mercy on my soul.
“He’s gone.” Finn looked across the chief’s body at the highway patrol officer on the other side, who’d helped him administer CPR.
“Yeah.” The man sat back on his heels. “I think it was a lost cause from the beginning, to be honest. If we could have gotten an EMT team here sooner, he might have had a fighting chance.”
“I don’t think so. He’s been in severe cardiac distress for quite a while.”
The trooper scowled at Phelps’s body. “No thanks to him.”
“No.” Finn eased the weight off his throbbing leg, trying not to wince.
But Dana picked up on his pain, moving in from the sidelines where she’d retreated as the two men worked in unison to try to keep the chief alive. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m okay.”
The trooper homed in on his temple. “You have a big bump on your forehead. Did you lose consciousness?”
“Briefly.”
“The EMTs can check you out. You may have a concussion.”
“What about your leg?” Dana touched his arm.
“It’s not an issue.” He shot her a let’s-not-discuss-that-now look.
She fell silent.
“Do you feel up to telling me what happened?” The trooper rose.
“Yeah. Why don’t we talk over there?” He indicated a shady spot away from the two bodies.
Without a word, Dana stood and reached down to offer him an arm.
He took it—and needed a lot more help than he wanted to admit to regain his footing.
The trooper led the way, and Dana slipped her arm around him in a subtle invitation to lean on her as he limped after the man. He took it.
By the time they’d answered all the trooper’s questions, the distant sound of sirens wove through the forest.
“The reinforcements have arrived.” He pocketed his notebook.
“Do we need to hang around?” Finn shifted his weight, hissing out a breath. What he wouldn’t give for a Vicodin. Or two.
“You might want the EMTs to do a quick assessment.”
“Not necessary.”
“Finn . . .” Worry pooled in Dana’s eyes. “It might not be a bad idea.”
“I’ll be fine.” He managed a smile. “What I need is to sit down next to you on the porch with a glass of lemonade and chill.”
“Your call. I assume I can find you there if I have any more questions?” The trooper slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses.
“Yes.” He tugged Dana closer and draped his arm over her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
She wrapped her arm around his waist as they left the scene, not once looking back toward the lab and the bodies. When they met a bevy of troopers and a paramedic crew thrashing through the woods, they paused only long enough to point them toward the crime scene.
But once they were alone again, Dana stopped. “I have an idea.”
“I do too.”
Ignoring the pain shooting up his leg and radiating through his head, he pulled her close and gave her a kiss so thorough and fierce it left them both breathless.
“Wow.” She clung to his tee, the fabric bunching in her fingers.
“When I saw you standing there with that gun . . .” His voice hoarsened. “You could have been killed.”
She swallowed
—telling him she was as aware as he was about how close they’d come to tragedy. “But I wasn’t . . . despite my slightly off timing. I should have let Phelps get closer to you before I stepped out.”
“You’re being way too hard on yourself.” He brushed the hair back from her forehead. “What you did was amazing . . . and brave . . . and incredible. Now what’s your idea?”
“I liked yours better.” She squeezed his fingers, then angled toward the lake. “We’re almost to the place on the bank where you spotted the chief diving that night. Why don’t you wait there and I’ll go get the boat? Treat you to a row across the lake.”
A refusal sprang to his lips, but he bit it back as common sense took over. The mere thought of fighting through the overgrowth on the circuitous route around the lake was daunting. Dana’s idea had merit. She wouldn’t get lost, the place was safe now, and he could row them back. His ego might take a hit, but it was a logical choice. And no one but he and Dana ever need know he’d reached his limit.
“That’ll work.”
Her eyebrows rose. “That was too easy. You must really be hurting.”
“I’ve hurt worse.”
She looked as if she wanted to say more . . . but instead transferred her attention to the lake. “You want me to help you over there?”
“No. Go ahead and get the boat. I’ll be waiting.”
He remained where he was until she disappeared . . . but as soon as she was out of sight, he grabbed a nearby tree limb to steady himself. Okay, maybe he was hurt a little more than he’d let on. But why worry Dana? If he still felt rocky after they sat on her porch for a while, he could always ask her to have one of the Beaumont police officers drive her to fetch his SUV, then take him into the city. She was planning to get behind the wheel again next week, anyway.
But for now, he just wanted to sit by a placid lake, breathe—and thank God the two of them had survived an explosive situation that could easily have cost them their lives.
24
As Dana emerged from the woods on the cabin side of the lake, a vehicle roared up the drive, spewing gravel in its wake.
Must be more law enforcement people arriving. Perhaps they were using her place as a staging area.
But as she approached the dock, she knew the two men who appeared around the corner of the cabin weren’t here in an official capacity.
They were here as brothers.
The instant Mac and Lance spotted her, they broke into a jog.
“Did you find Finn?” Mac was a step ahead of his brother.
“Yes.” She briefed them on the events of the morning, watching their expressions morph from grim to ominous. Thank heaven she was on their side; otherwise, she’d be downright intimidated.
“So I’m going to row over there now and get him.” As she concluded her story, the furrows on Mac’s forehead deepened.
“How badly is he hurt?”
“I don’t know. He’s upright, but the bump on his temple is big and he’s limping. He refused medical attention, though.”
“Yeah? We’ll see about that.” Mac marched toward the dock.
“Wait! I promised I’d pick him up.” Dana trotted after him, Lance at her side. Finn did not need a take-charge big brother pushing him around—no matter Mac’s good intentions.
“You’ve had plenty on your plate today already. Plus, I can get there faster.”
“I’ll go too.” This from Lance—and the determined jut of his jaw said that point wasn’t negotiable.
“There’s no room. It’s a small boat.” Dana jogged after them onto the dock.
Mac was on board, oars in hand, before Lance could protest. “Where am I headed?”
Dana gave up the fight. No way were either of these McGregor men going to let her row across the lake alone. “On the far side, straight across. You’ll see a very small clearing as you approach.”
“Got it. Lance, take care of Dana.”
“I’m fine.” Not exactly true. Her legs felt like rubber after her trek around the lake—not to mention all the trauma. But she didn’t need anyone to take care of her.
Except maybe Finn.
“Then he’ll keep you company.” Mac untied the mooring line and pushed off. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
With several strong strokes, he pulled away from the dock.
“You want a glass of water or . . . something?” Lance watched the rowboat skim across the water.
“No thanks. I’ll wait here.”
“Yeah. Me too.” He folded his arms, adopted a wide-legged stance, and directed a fierce look at the far shore. “And even if I have to drag the runt to the hospital by the hair, he’s going to get checked out. ASAP.”
Dana didn’t argue. Nor did she take issue with Lance’s concern.
But it was doubtful Finn would agree—and he didn’t like being bullied.
Sighing, Dana dropped down onto the dock, let her legs hang over the edge . . . and prepared for another round of fireworks on this Saturday that had started out so peaceful and quiet.
Squinting at the approaching rowboat, Finn pulled himself to his feet.
Why was Mac manning the oars instead of Dana?
Plus, when his oldest brother looked over his shoulder, he had that don’t-mess-with-me demeanor—hard jaw, flat mouth, steely stare—Finn had seen too often to count.
It was never a positive omen.
Mac locked gazes with him when he reached the bank, then gave him a thorough once-over. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Where’s Dana?”
“Waiting on the dock with Lance.”
Oh, great. Both of his overprotective brothers were on hand.
“What are you guys doing here?”
“Dana left me a voicemail. It sounded like trouble was brewing.” He steadied the craft against the bank with an oar. “You need a hand?”
Finn eyed the boat. Considering the pain in his leg, the odds of boarding gracefully were miniscule.
But he was not asking for help.
“No thanks.”
“Then get in.”
He edged closer. If he distracted Mac, it was possible his brother wouldn’t notice the sure-to-be-awkward maneuver.
“Did you talk to Dana by phone before you drove down?”
“No. When I returned her call, she was out of range.”
“How come you didn’t answer her call, anyway? I thought that cell phone of yours was permanently attached to your body.”
Mac gave him a shrewd appraisal. “Why are you stalling? Is your leg hurting that much? Are you dizzy?”
How much had Dana told his brothers about his condition?
“I’m not stalling.”
“Then get in the boat.”
“I’ll get in if you answer my question.” Another attempt at the best-defense-is-a-good-offense strategy might be worth trying. “This wasn’t the most opportune day to decide to disconnect from the world, you know.” He stepped into the boat with his sturdy leg.
Mac sent him a level look. “Lisa and I were getting an early start on my birthday presents, okay?”
“Oh.” Not much he could say in response to that.
Gritting his teeth, he swung his other leg in. It banged against the edge, setting the boat rocking, and he sat down fast. Too fast. He had to grab the edge of the seat to steady himself.
Not the most convincing proof his leg was sound.
“We need to get you to a hospital.” Mac aimed the boat back toward the cabin and picked up speed with a few powerful thrusts of the oars.
“I’m fine.”
“Right.”
The remainder of the trip passed in silence.
But as they approached the dock and Lance’s rigid shoulders came into view, Finn geared up for a second blitz.
Not that he took issue with their logic. It was their high-handed approach that rankled. Would they ever realize he was grown up and could make his own decisions about stuff like this? He already had a plan in place; if hi
s leg and head didn’t feel a lot better in an hour or two, he’d get medical help.
First, though, he needed some downtime with Dana to take a deep breath and unwind.
Maybe if he explained that to them in a calm, reasonable tone, they’d back off.
The boat nosed into the dock, and Mac tossed the line to Lance. “Help him out.”
“I don’t need help.”
After sending him a disgusted look, Mac vaulted onto the deck and nodded to Lance. An instant later, they both leaned down, grabbed his arms, and hauled him out of the boat in one swift, smooth motion.
Once he was on his feet, Mac kept a tight grip on him.
“Are you okay?” Lance repeated the thorough scrutiny Mac had given him.
“Fine.”
“Not.” Mac glared at him. “And stubborn as ever.”
Forget about calm and reasonable.
“Look who’s talking about being stubborn.” Finn slammed his arms over his chest.
“Dana.” Mac was clearly holding on to his temper by a fast-fraying tether. “Would you talk some sense into him, please? We’ll give you five minutes. Come on, Lance.” Grabbing their middle brother’s arm, he tugged him toward the porch, Lance protesting all the way.
She waited until they were out of earshot, then moved close and spoke in a soft voice, her hand on his arm. Where it belonged. “Sorry about that. They kind of ganged up on me. Your brothers are . . . formidable.”
“No kidding.”
“But I think they’re also right.” She laid her fingers beside the bump on his temple. Despite her light touch, he cringed. “This needs attention. And after all you went through to get your leg back in shape, why take chances with it now? If there’s any damage, wouldn’t it be better to address that as soon as possible rather than let it get worse? I know you don’t want that limp for the rest of your life.”
Funny how her soft touch, tender tone, and caring manner were a thousand percent more persuasive than his brothers’ overbearing high-handedness.
“I can’t argue with a word you’ve said. I just wanted a few minutes alone with you first.” He surveyed his brothers. Both had their arms folded and were in a deep, heated discussion—about him, no doubt. He exhaled. “Doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen for a while, though.”