behind him as he studied the way she held the shoulder of her jean coat in severe silence. No screams. No agony of pain. Just startled shock before cognition filtered in.
She’d been shot.
He removed her stiff, sticky hand from where a dark blotch of blood blossomed. At the same time he scanned the area behind the rock. Had the gunman been in the car that drove away? Or was there a second one waiting in the trees to get another shot off when the woman emerged from her hiding place? With the darkness, Wade couldn’t be sure. But he also couldn’t leave her here to bleed to death. The thin jean coat’s fabric was shredded on the arm, but still he couldn’t tell if the shot had been taken in her arm or upper chest. He wouldn’t know until he got her to the house.
The trip called for a calculated plan of action. The driver’s-side window of her car was blown out, but the car should still move. Wade judged the distance to the Beat and made the decision that he could drive her up to the house a lot faster than run her up. Plus, he didn’t need to give the shooter more target practice if he was still in the area.
With his plan set, Wade untied Promise’s bandanna and stuffed it into the woman’s coat. “Hold this there while I lift you.”
“Get away from me,” she said, pushing at him with barely enough strength to shoo a fly.
“All in due time, Ms. Phillips.” He lifted her and made the run for the waiting vehicle.
“I don’t want to go anywhere with you! You killed my brother!”
He ignored her protests and carried out his self-imposed orders. “Promise, to the house,” he commanded the dog. Wade ducked his upper body over the woman’s and charged for the car. He placed her quickly but gently through to the passenger seat from the driver’s side. No more bullets sprayed them, and Wade took that to mean the shooter had been a drive-by and not in the woods. But his plan of action never lost momentum. Mere seconds went by before he had the car in gear and speeding up the inclined drive through the woods that led to the main house.
“I said I don’t want to go anywhere with you. I hate you!” Her head dropped back and he could see her jaw clench. She’d yet to even whimper in pain.
“Hate me all you want. I’m fine with that. It tells me you still have some fight left in you.”
“You’re right, and I’m going to make you pay for what you did.”
They reached the house, and Wade took the circle around the empty fountain, shut down for the season. He pulled up to the front entrance and had barely put the car in Park before he jumped out and ran around to the passenger side. The fool girl already had the door open, trying to exit the car. He scooped her up again, ignoring her struggles up the steps.
“Put me down!” Now she cried, but not from pain. He knew the sound of guilty pain. She hated herself more for having to depend on the man who’d caused her brother’s death.
“You have no choice but to let me help you now, Ms. Phillips. You’re on my family’s property.” He turned the knob to the double front doors and kicked them wide. “That makes me responsible for you, and there’s no way I’m letting another person die because of me.”
A woman who had a few years on Lacey’s twenty-seven and a lot more fashion sense rushed down a long foyer. A green silk scarf wrapped around her neck fluttered behind her along with her flowing red hair. Lacey saw glitz and glamour racing toward her, or maybe it was the crystal chandelier sparkling down on the lady. Either way, Lacey didn’t care who she was as long as she wasn’t Wade Spencer.
Lacey pushed at the man still holding her in his arms. She moaned through the burn at her shoulder but kept her face averted, unwilling to give him even a glint of attention.
“Roni,” he called over her head. “She took a bullet. I need to lay her down.”
Surprise quickly washed away to efficiency on the fancy lady’s face. “It’ll be faster to use Cora’s room down here than to take her upstairs. Follow me.”
They stormed through two living rooms and entered a huge dining room with more crystal bling. An older woman was setting the table with white-and-gold china. Her maid outfit said she wasn’t the mother of the house. She nearly dropped the plate when they stormed through.
“Cora, we’re using your room,” Roni said as she passed down the long table. “Call 911 and tell them someone’s been shot.”
A shocked Cora put the plate down and reached for her phone in her apron pocket. As Lacey was carried past her, she said, “God bless you, my dear.” Lacey could hear her talking to the dispatcher before they hit an enormous stainless-steel kitchen. She wondered where the bedrooms were if they deemed this course faster. The immensity of the place didn’t constitute a house but a mansion.
It would appear her brother’s killer wasn’t hurting.
“What’s her name?” Roni called over her shoulder.
“Ms. Phillips,” Wade said.
“Lacey,” Lacey answered in unison. “And I don’t need him speaking for me.”
“Whoa.” The woman shot a glance over her shoulder, the arches of her red sculpted eyebrows nearly reaching the twelve-foot-high ceilings. “Did you shoot this woman, Wade?”
“Of course not,” he answered.
With a look of doubt, Roni led them to the next room. “Lay her on the bed. Gently. Good. Now, where’s your gun?”
“I said I didn’t shoot her,” Wade retorted over Lacey.
“And I said, where’s your gun?” Roni spoke clearly and forcefully right back at him from the other side.
Wade clamped his jaw tight, but in the next second he reached behind his back and withdrew a .38 caliber from the waistband. He dropped it into the bedside-table drawer with an “are you happy now?” look.
Lacey sensed the argument going on above her was a common one between the two of them. For some reason, Roni didn’t want Wade carrying. Did Roni know about Wade’s past offenses?
Before Lacey could ask, pain exploded from her arm. Roni brought Lacey’s coat down the injured arm.
Lacey hissed in response, then through gritted teeth said, “It doesn’t matter if he carries or not, you know. He goes for a more secretive and calculated way of bumping people off.” She sneered at the man on her right and got her first real glimpse of him in full light.
Jet-black hair in a military cut, electric-blue eyes in a well-shaven face, a dimple on the right cheek even without a smile.
“He knows it’s not other people I’m worried about,” Roni said, pulling Lacey’s attention back to her.
Lacey grew quiet at her remark. If not other people, then who?
Himself?
She took in the six-foot-tall man. His face gave nothing away, but his muscles beneath his black T-shirt tensed and shook. Was it from more than adrenaline?
