Chapter

47

“Charlotte,” Brodie yelled from somewhere outside. “Answer me, Charms.” His tone was filled with desperation and fear. Much the same feeling that kept me silent and practically curled into a ball on the floor. “Damn it, Charms,” he yelled. “What did you do now …”

That got me. “Seriously?” I shouted back. “You’re going to blame me for this?”

He chuckled. “Figured if you weren’t dead, you’d pipe up at that.” His boots moved through the busted glass and wood shavings by the door. With each crunch, I gave an internal cringe. “You okay?” he asked.

“Just peachy,” I said, still tucked into a ball. “You might want to get down in case the shooter is still there.” I stopped, realizing a very scary truth. What if Brodie was the shooter? The gunshots had carried the same healthy crack as a .38. The same kind of gun as he had shoved in his glovebox. What if, after he supposedly left, he backtracked to shoot me. The words “Take care of our guest” filled my head.

The door opened slightly.

I kicked it closed.

“Hey,” he yelped. “I’m trying to help.”

“Great. Help from outside.”

“Charms,” his voice lowered. “Do you really, in your heart of hearts, think I’d hurt you?”

Did I? I thought about it. The Brodie Gett who I’d known in high school, yes, but this one? The one who stood protectively by Mary? The one who went with me to Boone’s? The one who sure as hell wouldn’t knock up a woman and walk away?

How stupid could I be?

I shook the glass out of my hair and slowly rose to open the door. There, I stood, face to face with Brodie Gett.

He gave me a small smile.

But my gaze was focused on the gun so naturally held in his hand.

A little less than an hour later, Lester stood over me, his hands filled with bandages and antiseptic. He tried to dab at the cut on my shoulder, but I jerked away as soon as his cotton ball touched the wound. “Stay still,” he ordered. “You sure are lucky, Charlotte. None of the cuts are too deep.”

“No stitches then?”

“No,” he said. “But I would like you to go to the hospital.”

“For the last time, no,” I said. “I am not leaving Jack alone for a few cuts.”

“I understand.” He waved to Brodie, who stood talking with his older brother. Behind them, in the backseat of Danny’s cop car, sat an unhappy Willow Jones. Every once in a while Danny would shoot her a glare, and then turn back to his brother. For a second, I wondered what Willow had done, but the sight of Jack barreling out of the house ended my curiosity. “Lucky Brodie scared away whoever was taking shots at you,” Lester finished.

“Yeah, I feel so lucky,” I said, deadpan.

Jack gripped a shotgun in his arms, heading straight toward the sheriff. Not good when a main condition of his bail was avoidance of all firearms. If I didn’t intervene, Jack would surely end up back in jail. “Can this get worse?” I mumbled under my breath.

Apparently it could, for Danny snatched the shotgun from Jack in one fluid motion. Jack started to sputter until Brodie but his hand on Jack’s arm. I hoped he was reminding Jack about his blood pressure, but from the way the two squared off, I had my doubts.

I jumped from Lester’s ambulance without permission. Jack’s face had turned red and I worried it would all be too much for his damaged heart. But by the time I arrived by his side, Brodie had calmed him. “I won’t let you down, Jack,” Brodie was saying.

“Let him down?” I asked.

“Get inside, girl,” Jack yelled, pushing me behind his back.

“Granddad,” I said with a grin. “I’m fine. No one is about to start shooting with all of Collier County’s finest standing around.”

Danny straightened. “Are you being insulting?”

“Of course not,” I lied. “Response time of fifty-two minutes. I, for one, am glad we pay taxes.”

“That’s it.” He moved forward, Jack’s shotgun still in his hand. Before he reached me, Brodie held out his arm, stopping his brother.

“She’s been through a lot tonight,” Brodie said.

Danny looked to me and then at his brother. “Don’t come crying to me when she gets you killed,” he said, his tone conveying his loathing.

“How can—” I began, but Brodie cut me off with a glare.

“Did you find any casings?” he asked his older brother.

Danny glowered at me but answered Brodie. “Yep. Like you suspected, a .38.”

Brodie’s face grew icy. “We need to find him and quick.”

I held up my hand. “Wait a minute. What? You know who did this?”

Brodie reached for my hand, then pulled back before making contact. “I thought he’d go after me. I’m sorry, Charms.”

“Sorry? For what?” My voice rose to a screech. Even Jack, who was half deaf, winced. “What the hell is going on? Do you know who shot at me?”

“Easy, girl.” Jack patted my hand. “No one knows nothing for sure. But Brodie thinks Boone Daniels set the fire at the rackhouse—”

“You know that wasn’t an accident?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Course I do, girl. I ain’t stupid. But we don’t have time to get into your keeping things secret. Brodie also thinks Boone just tried to kill you.”

“For the second time,” Brodie snarled.