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  “Ballsy move, I’ll give you that,” he said. In the night, his wide toothy grin made him look like the Cheshire Cat. He took a few steps backward, his feet sliding on discarded shingles, making for uneven footing. He’d put about five feet between them, still clutching tight to Shel. “You must really not give a shit about your girl here.”

  Addison behaved like it was business. “You shoot her, I kill you.”

  “Fortier was right—you are one stupid bitch.”

  “Now,” she said, ignoring his jab. “Drop it.”

  “Stupid,” he repeated, chuckling. “You really think you can hit me with a single shot from a snubby? Let me explain something to you, sister—that’s a mere toy compared to what I’m holding. Inaccurate as hell even for a seasoned shooter.” He momentarily lifted his gun away from Shel’s temple, looked at it admiringly. “Now this here is a real gun. One shot, she’s dead.” He replaced the gun against Shel’s temple, nodded at Addison. “How fast is your recovery? Mine is record breaking. Then my second shot is for you.”

  Addison still stared at him without budging. Close as they stood, her eyes showed clear signs of concern. It was all he needed to know he’d won. Buchanan quickly upped the ante by cocking his gun while it was still pressed against Shel’s temple. It was the loudest, most dramatic sound she’d ever heard. She clenched her eyes shut and when she reopened them, Addison looked thoroughly rattled.

  “Drop it, now,” he demanded.

  “Honey, listen to me,” Shel quietly begged of her. Her voice cracked when she explained, “I’ve seen this before. He’ll shoot me anyway. Don’t put down the gun.”

  Addison’s gun lowered a slight bit, but her confidence was rapidly disintegrating. She shook her head, tears sprang to her eyes. “No.”

  He seemed to be enjoying the exchange. “I would say do put down the gun, but that’s just me.”

  His words caused Shel’s head to buzz; she’d heard the same threat years ago, only there was a different hostage and it was she holding the gun.

  “Don’t listen to him—I’m telling you.” Shel’s words were firm as she earnestly looked into Addison’s eyes, sending her an unspoken warning to hold tight to her gun. Her soft words sliced through the night. “He will kill me anyway. Just get out of here.”

  “All this talk about me—like I’m not here.” Buchanan laughed and pulled Shel close, giving her arm a twist that caused her to flinch in pain. “Are you willing to find out? Are you willing to watch me put a bullet through your girl’s head?”

  Addison meekly raised her gun in surrender. Shel’s legs suddenly felt too weak to hold her. It would be just as she said: he’d first kill her then Addison. It would be over with inside of two seconds, and who would protect Harper…?

  “Drop your gun, dirtbag.”

  The familiar voice bore an unfamiliar intensity. Eyes wide, Shel scanned the dark backyard for its source. Officer Milford’s short, shadowy form could be seen emerging from the side of the house, gun out in front of her.

  Buchanan was as surprised as anyone. He thrust his gun out before them, nervously firing a round in the direction of her voice.

  Milford wasted no time returning fire. He ducked, pulling Shel down to the ground with him. She landed hard. In her peripheral vision, she was aware that Addison was also on the ground, hands scanning the surface for her discarded weapon. Buchanan got off two more shots as he dragged his hostage with him behind a low pallet of shingles. He leaned out and fired again. Shingles exploded, raining asphalt dust onto them. With her face forcibly pressed against the ground, Shel’s movement was restricted. She blindly reached out her arm, feeling the grass and crumbled shingles for anything that would help. She tasted the tarry dust in her mouth, felt dry crumbs in her eyes, but her focus was on something out of reach, gleaming in the light from either a sliver of moon or a distant streetlamp.

  Another shot and she heard him grunt and she wondered if he’d been hit. His momentary release of her was all she needed. She rolled away from him, grabbed the handle of a rusted shingle hatchet and gracelessly scrambled to her feet.

  “Milford!” she shouted, hoping not to be mistaken for Buchanan as she rounded the low piled pallet. In the darkness, she slipped on shingles, making very little progress toward safety. She didn’t know where he was, could feel him everywhere…

  At more gunfire she dropped into a squat. Her adrenaline had peaked and the sound of her heavy breathing filled her ears as she crawled toward the house. The sound was loud, and then she realized it wasn’t entirely her own. Buchanan grabbed her foot, pulling her back toward him like the monster he was. She dug the hatchet into the ground, attempting to anchor herself. More shots said Milford was zeroing in on them. She hoped Addison had gone to Harper…

  She attempted to get on her feet, but he pulled her back to him. In her awkward position, she put her full weight behind the effort, and jerked the hatchet from the ground as he pulled her upright. She spun in his hold, nailing him squarely in the forehead with the crude tool. His maniacal expression didn’t alter right away, but his gaze somehow drifted upward toward the weapon lodged in his head. It was as if Buchanan himself couldn’t believe he was dying.

  He emitted a horrible gurgling death sound to the background of continued gunfire coming from both directions of the yard. Momentarily supercharged with adrenaline, she held tight to the hatchet handle, keeping his body in front of her as a shield against wildly flying bullets. His body flinched with the hits until she couldn’t hold his weight any longer.

  “Hold your fire!” Milford screamed.

  As Shel released her grip on the handle, the heavy body fell against her, dropping them both into the pool with a splash that felt more like a tidal wave. Exhausted and with hurt emanating from everywhere, Shel heard faint sirens amidst frantic above-water screaming. She was helpless under the dead weight pushing her downward, dragging her like a stone to the pool’s bottom. Her mouth tasted of blood, her eyes sparkled blackness and then nothing.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Shel drifted in and out of consciousness, aware that she’d been fished out of the dark pool, fretted over then transported to a hospital. She’d come around some when the doctor checked her over, moving limbs that didn’t feel like they should be moving, causing her an unbearable amount of pain before they mercifully induced temporary sleep.

  When she awoke again, she was groggy. Her arm had been immobilized in an elaborate sling, and she knew she’d been shot, but to her relief her body appeared to be otherwise intact. Her gaze roved the very limited view of the patient bay: dim lights, a clock illuminated with 4:42, a white board listing contents of her IV, and thankfully beneath the board, Addison, sleeping in a chair, Harper cradled in her arms.

  Shel attempted to sit up, but fell back in pain. At this time of night, they didn’t need to be awakened anyway. Behind them, a rotund outline could be seen through the milk-glass door. Milford entered the tiny room and quietly went to Shel’s side.

  “I’m awake,” Shel told her in a low, grumpy tone.

  “Just wanted to check on the patient.” Milford’s shock of red hair wildly bounced as she shook her head. She kept her voice low. “You look a sight. How bad is it?”

  “Just a nick. I’ll live.”

  “Scott Buchanan,” Milford said. “I take it you’re familiar.”

  Even nodding caused Shel pain.

  “Must have surprised the heck out of you, given your history.” Milford tipped her head slightly, looked contemplative. “Must say, he didn’t look nearly as suave with a little hatchet sticking out about right here.” She pointed to her forehead. “You got him, all right.”

  Shel was still struggling to connect the dots. “He was in prison. I saw him go with my own eyes.”

  “Sprung during Katrina, just like Fortier.” Milford tossed a look over her shoulder at Addison and quieted her voice. “He tracked down his defender, took his life then assumed his whole identity. Fortier’s former inmate b
ecame his lawyer and partner in crime.”

  “Nobody seemed to notice that the lawyer looked altogether different?”

  “They didn’t look all that different to begin with. Little work here and there made up small differences. Attorney Dubois wasn’t married and had no family. Buchanan told everyone he’d been in a car wreck and had some short term memory problems.”

  “These guys had an answer for everything.”

  “Had is correct. It’s over.” Milford settled down, looked thoughtful. “I’m sorry it happened to you, but it’s like I told you, nobody’s bigger than the law.”

  Shel leaned forward and attempted to get her water cup. The pain in her shoulder stopped her short. Milford motioned for her to lay back and handed her the cup. Shel took careful sips before handing it back. “Where’d she get the gun, anyway?”

  “Me—where else? I didn’t think she’d actually use it. It was more for confidence.” Milford smirked. “Twice in a week one of my personal pieces is in official custody. Now, how’s that make me look?”

  “Like someone dumb enough to loan out her gun.”

  “And just how was I to know you two were going to keep shootin’ people with ’em?”

  Shel’s eyes flitted toward the chair where Addison slept. She touched her shoulder, whispered, “I’m lucky this is the only place she got me.”

  “About that part…” Milford replaced the cup on the rolling patient tray. She took a small backward step looking guilty as hell.

  “What?” At first Shel didn’t follow then at once her eyes went wide. “Wait—you shot me? Milford, did you shoot me?”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose, for the love of Mike.” It was Milford’s gruff attempt to calm her. “I was just trying to neutralize the situation. It was you who was swingin’ a guy around on a stick.”

  Milford made a rough pantomime and beneath Shel’s grim expression was laughter she could barely contain. “I will remember you shot me.”

  “What—you want to shoot me now?” Milford turned slightly more serious. “I’ve never seen anyone do that with a roofing tool.”

  Shel managed a tight grin. “Face it, Milford, I’ve made your life a hell of a lot more interesting.”

  “You picked up the pace around here, that’s for sure.” Milford stared at the bulging gauze wrap on Shel’s shoulder. “They do a good fix-up job on you?”

  “It’d be better with some real pain meds instead of whatever they’ve got me on.” Shel winced. A new thought occurred to her. “Why’d you come back to the house?”

  “Went to Stopwatch Diner for a bite and decided to take a spin down to the beach.” She gave a nonchalant shrug. “Rode past your place, baby’s in the front yard, I called for backup.”

  “Thank you,” Shel told her. “I’m saying that a lot lately. I’m starting to feel indebted.”

  “Don’t think of it that way. Think of it as being beholden.”

  Shel painfully shifted, drew in a sharp breath. “That means the same thing.”

  “Does it?” Milford brightened, heading for the door. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that, hotshot? See ya around.”

  At the sound of the door closing, Addison awakened. She rose and carefully placed the blanket-wrapped tot on the chair. Coming to Shel’s bedside, she clasped her hand, smiled. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I want to get out of here.” Guarding her sore shoulder, Shel scooted over in the bed. Addison carefully lay down next to her. In seconds she was tearful against Shel’s good shoulder. “It’s okay. Everybody’s all right.”

  After a bit Shel said, “Funny.” Her lips flinched into a momentary smile as she looked for words. “All I wanted to do was save you. Get you away from that life and that terrible person. But it turned out to be you who saved me.”

  Addison was still tearful and her voice was tiny, childlike, “I heard you say you thought I shot you.”

  “No way,” Shel quickly told her, patting her back. She reupholstered the statement. “Well, I thought you shot me a little.”

  Addison’s mouth flinched into a quick smile and they shared a soft laugh. After the moment, she again turned serious.

  “There’s still so much to do. There will be hearings and testimony and the press will be a nightmare.” Addison’s sparkling eyes locked on hers. “Will it be too much for you? I wouldn’t blame you if—”

  “We’ll do it.” Shel clasped Addison’s warm hand, raised it to her lips, and kissed it. “We’ll do every bit of it together.”

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