Two steps closer, the male cop said, “Arthur?”
I recognized him from somewhere, the shelter maybe. I repeated, “In the house,” my voice setting up shrill echoes in my skull.
He waved urgently at us as they headed for the back door. “Stay down.”
Sagging to my back on the grass was all too easy.
Something crashed over by the house, and Brooklyn launched himself to lie over me, tucking my head against his neck. Like he could cover me and protect me, though I was twice as wide as he was. Should be me protecting him. But I hurt and there was something so safe, so warm despite the chills racking me, in that moment, in having Brooklyn blanket me away from the world. I lay there through several people shouting and another crash, but no gunshots, with the clean shampoo-scent of Brooklyn’s short straight hair in my face.
Another voice, this one female, snapped, “Who’s injured?”
Brooklyn scrambled off me. “He is. Arthur.”
“Damn it, Bjornsson, what did you do?” The paramedic knelt by me. Her face was familiar. Lori? No, Lauren. I think. I was crappy at names. She’d adopted a pair of male tuxedo kittens, that I did remember.
“Got shot,” I told her without moving. I didn’t want to know.
“So I see.” Her tone gentled. “Max and I are going to take care of you, okay? Just lie still and let us help. Anything else, or just the leg?”
“Kevin,” I remembered. “He’s probably scared. You should help him.”
“Is he injured?” she asked.
I couldn’t remember. A gun was pointed at him, right? Before I could stress out, I heard Brooklyn say, “No, Kevin’s fine. Just, like Arthur said, probably shocked at seeing him get shot.”
Lauren began cutting up the side of my jeans with shears, starting by my ankle. They were a favorite pair, but I’d probably never get the blood out anyway.
My head spun. “Brooklyn, you’ll take care of Kevin, right?” I didn’t know the guy at all, but he’d run with me to find the gunshot. He’d covered me with his body. That made him a good guy, didn’t it? “Call his dads, and…and… yeah, the shelter. Tell them I’ll be late for evening feeding.”
The guy with Lauren chuckled at something, not sure what. My vision swam as he felt around my head and neck with gloved hands. “Can you move your toes? Your fingers?” I think I did, but they wrapped a padded collar around my neck anyway. Then they said more stuff and began lifting me from the grass to the lowered stretcher beside me. Damn, new and exciting levels of pain. I tried to breathe through it, tried to think. All I came up with was, “Kevin. And my dogs. They’ll need a walk.” A thought came to me through the pulsating darkness. “Brooklyn, the dog. The yellow one? Is she okay?” I tried to sit up to look for her.
Somehow, even though I’d barely moved and my eyes had drifted shut, I recognized his hand on my shoulder. “Hey, stay put and listen to the paramedics. The dog’s fine. She ran away at top speed.”
“Have to catch…catch her,” I mumbled. “Ask Kevin…”
Then the paramedics raised the stretcher with a swoop that almost made me lose my lunch, and I was rattling over the grass, clinging to awareness and clenching my teeth not to scream. Screaming was bad. It’d scare Kevin and Brooklyn and the dog. I repeated that thought over and over in my head, till I was safely in the ambulance and the doors closed behind us.
There were things that needed to be done back there, but all I could do was breathe and answer the paramedics’ questions and trust that Brooklyn, whoever he was, would figure out what those things were.
CHAPTER 2
BROOKLYN
So many flashing lights.
I’d let go of Arthur—albeit reluctantly, though he was in good hands—and come to find Kevin. Because that felt like a vaguely logical thing to do.
Smart kid had finally run when Arthur ordered him to. Well, after multiple attempts, but yeah, when the shot went off, the kid ran. He’d apparently sent the sheriff’s deputy and her partner around to the back. While she and the other officer dealt with Frank, Kevin had then flagged down the paramedics and, once Frank was secured, they’d hustled to get to Arthur.
Now the teenager paced back and forth on the sidewalk, phone in hand, glancing from the side yard to the house behind us. “I can’t believe the guy shot Arthur. Did you see that? Arthur has to be okay. Right? That Frank guy would’ve shot the dog, too. That dog was not a coyote. Sure, they sometimes come to the river, but they mostly stay in the forest over by the base. And there was a fence. I doubt the dog was even attacking his chickens. Something else probably did, so he had no reason to shoot at her. Or him. I didn’t get a good look. Did you?”
Before I could answer, he drew in a breath.
“I still can’t believe?—”
I held up my hand. “Have you called your dads?” Dads…right? That’s what Arthur had said? I’d been a little focused on the man who was putting himself between the gun and the kid with the dog. “How old are you?”
“Thirteen. And yes, I’ve called my dads. Well, I called Alec because I hoped he’d be a little less angry. When I realized I’d miscalculated, I hung up and called Dad.”
