Thirty-four

Zoe had parked a hundred or so yards short of the Krolls’ barn from which lights blazed. The last thing she wanted was the crunch of her tires on the red-dog gravel lane to freak Jason out and force his hand. If she could ease inside—talk to him—she knew she could convince him to stop whatever he was doing.

She’d closed about half the distance when the shot rang out.

She froze for one horrible moment, paralyzed except for her brain. Who had shot? Who had been shot? Neither possibility offered a favorable outcome.

Zoe blinked. And launched toward the barn. Fifty yards felt like a million miles. And in spite of her pounding strides, the structure stubbornly seemed to grow no closer. The thud of her boots and the bass drum of her heart overwhelmed all other sounds of the night.

By the time she reached the barn and red Cobalt parked outside, exertion and panic sapped her ability to draw an effective breath. But there was no time to stop and catch it.

She slammed through the door—and cried out at the sight in front of her.

Pete lay on his side in a bed of hay, his back to her. And blood. Pete’s blood. Everywhere. The unmistakable tang of gasoline further sapped her breath.

Jason spun toward her, a gun shoved in the waist of his jeans, a gas can in each hand. “Zoe?”

Pete groaned. And moved.

He wasn’t dead.

She started toward him, but Jason, still holding the gas cans, took two long strides to cut her off. “Don’t,” he said.

Pete struggled to roll toward her but floundered. Zoe inhaled to clear her mind and her vision only to choke on the fumes.

He was handcuffed, his arms behind him. Blood streamed from one thigh. That leg appeared useless, the femur likely shattered from the bullet.

With her gaze locked on Pete, Zoe started forward, intent on passing her brother. But he once again stepped in front of her.

“No,” he said. “Zoe, just leave. Now.”

She pried her gaze from Pete to meet Jason’s eyes. Eyes that she’d come to love and trust. Eyes that now pleaded with her.

“Zoe. Go. Forget you were ever here.” He swallowed. “Please.”

Pete moaned. “Do what he says.”

“No.” She tried to step around Jason.

As if locked in some horrible dance, he moved with her, blocking her from reaching Pete. Only now, Jason was so close she could feel his breath. He maintained his grasp on the gas cans but bumped her with one shoulder. Lowered his face to touch foreheads with her. The overhead light caught the gleam of tears welled in his blue eyes—the eyes that always reminded her of their father.

She wanted to ask him why. She wanted to beg him to stop this. The gun in his waistband. The gas cans. The stench sickened her. Took her back to last summer when she’d been trapped in the basement of a burning farmhouse.

But all that really mattered in that moment was saving Pete.

Jason must have realized he wasn’t changing her mind. This time he didn’t get in her way when she sidestepped around him.

Zoe circled Pete and dropped to her knees in front of him. His jaw clenched in pain, his skin pale. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “I’m here,” she said.

“You shouldn’t be.” His teeth chattered.

She studied him. Saw the dread in his face. In addition to the pain, he was afraid for her. But the only thing she feared was losing him.

From the corner of her eye she saw Jason set the gas cans down.

She moved to Pete’s thigh and the hole that spewed more blood with every heartbeat. The bullet had struck the femoral artery.

Zoe stripped off her jacket and draped it over him. With no first aid gear, she unbuckled her belt. Yanked it from the loops on her jeans. Her hands trembled as she slipped the makeshift tourniquet around Pete’s thigh above the wound, threaded the end of the belt through the buckle, pulled it snug. Muscled it tighter. Tighter. She watched the wound as the volume of blood abated. Straining, she cranked down on the belt even more. The blood flow lessened. Dwindled.

And stopped.

She blew out a breath. But quelling the flow was only the start. She kept her firm grip on the belt and looked at Pete’s eyes, glazed in pain, and his arms, bound behind his back. “Jason, take these cuffs off,” she ordered. She looked at her brother, hoping her stern expression would bolster her demand.

Instead of reaching into his pocket for keys, he reached into his waistband and pulled the gun. He raised it toward her, his hand shaking. She looked beyond the muzzle to his eyes glistening with tears.

“Don’t make me do this,” he said, his voice soft, ragged.

Her own eyes burned as she held his gaze rather than looking down the muzzle of the gun. “You’ll have to. It’s the only way I’ll let you kill Pete.”

Jason tipped his head slightly and choked a sob. “I am so sorry.”

The gunshot rang through the barn, echoing from the rafters.

Zoe’s breath caught in her throat. She’d expected pain. Getting shot should hurt. There was none.

Jason’s eyes widened. His expression changed from regret to surprise. Without a sound, he crumpled like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Zoe wasn’t sure if she screamed out loud or if the anguish stayed locked inside her chest.

Movement at the barn door drew her attention to two police officers who flanked it.

Seth. Still scruffy, but in uniform. And a woman. Wayne’s sister?

Zoe’s ears rang from the echoes of the gunshot—or was it two?—leaving her deaf, unable to hear what Seth said to the young female officer. He gestured toward Jason. The woman kept her sidearm aimed at Zoe’s fallen brother and approached him. Seth holstered his weapon and broke into a jog toward Zoe. He reached into his pockets, coming up with a tactical tourniquet, which he tossed to her, and a handcuff key.

Once Seth had released Pete’s bound arms, Zoe ordered the young officer to hold her belt while she applied and secured the tactical tourniquet. The muscle memory of the much-practiced technique steadied her hands. Focusing on the task of treating the wound diverted her brain away from the reality she didn’t want to face. “Okay, let it go,” she told Seth.

He released the belt, and Zoe breathed a sigh of relief when the bleeding didn’t start again.

“We need an ambulance.”

Seth nodded. “Already on its way. We tracked your phone and when I saw where you were, we figured out what was going on and called for backup and EMS.”

“Do you have a blanket in your vehicle?”

He looked toward the other officer. “Abby, get a blanket from the trunk.”

She waved and took off at a jog.

Zoe looked at Seth. “So, that’s Abby Baronick?”

“You’ve never met?”

“We spoke on the phone earlier.” Zoe refused to steal a glance in Jason’s direction. Although she’d been vaguely aware of Abby securing the gun used on Pete, there had been no sound or movement, no attempts at first aid.

Together, Seth and Zoe eased Pete onto his back. She noticed him watching when she caught his wrist to check his pulse. “I’m so sorry my brother did this to you.” She hiccupped back a sob. “You’re going to be okay.”

Pete didn’t look convinced. “I’m cold,” he said through bluish lips and chattering teeth.

Seth adjusted Zoe’s jacket to better cover Pete’s shoulders and then slipped out of his coat and added it on top of hers. “You got this?” he asked her.

“Yeah.”

Seth rose and moved to Jason’s side.

Pete’s heart rate beneath her fingers was rapid, but stronger than she expected considering the amount of blood soaking his pants and the hay around them. Despite her best efforts to resist, she looked over at Seth, who rested his fingers on Jason’s neck. Seth spotted Zoe watching and shook his head.

Reality slammed her. In the space of a week, she’d found a brother she never knew she had, and now she’d lost him. And after what she’d learned and experienced this day, she realized she’d never actually known him at all. She took a couple deep breaths, forcing down the agony and the tears.

The distant wail of sirens signaled help was on its way.

Pete reached over with his free hand to grasp hers. Zoe brought her gaze back to him. “I’m okay,” she lied.

She could see in his eyes that he didn’t believe her.

“Zoe—”

She shushed him. “Save your strength. We can talk once I get you to the hospital.”

Pete shook his head. “You need to know this. Jason…isn’t…” He took a labored breath. “…wasn’t…your brother.”