Page 86 of Crosshairs

Time slowed to a standstill. Sound ceased except for the pounding of his heart in his ears. “Get down!”

His own voice sounded like a record slowed to half speed as the crack of a rifle echoed. Ainsley turned in slow motion, her gaze raising to the veranda, eyes widening just as Linc tackled her.

He covered her with his body as another report broke the silence, returning everything to normal time. Screams came from different directions.

“On the veranda!” he shouted to the security guard who raced to them.

Then he noticed Ainsley wasn’t moving.

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Ainsley’s chest throbbed. A weight held her pinned to the ground.

“Are you all right?” Linc’s anxious voice in her ear penetrated the fog in her head.

“Can’t move,” she whispered.

Suddenly the weight lifted as Linc shifted his body, and her memory flooded back. Gunfire, Linc tackling her, screams—everything muddled together in her head.

“Sorry,” he said, helping her sit up. “Someone just took a shot at you. Are you okay?”

Her ribs ached. Her head felt as though it would explode. “Good question.”

Ainsley felt her chest, her fingers finding a tear in her dress where the bullet sliced across her body. The vest had saved her life.

His jaw clenched. “I saw them, but—”

“Are you all right?” J.R. Beaumont’s voice cut off Linc, and Linc moved out of the way as her father knelt beside her and rubbed her hand.

“I think so.” She’d never heard him this concerned before. Multiple sirens drew near. “Was anyone else hurt?”

“I’m not sure, but no one around us was hit,” he replied.

“Did they get the shooter?”

“No.” Her father looked grim. “The security people are looking for him now, but they did find the rifle he used.”

Ainsley looked past her dad as one of the security detail rushed up.

“Mr. Beaumont, we have another casualty.”

“What? How bad?”

“Possible concussion. That reporter was inside the house when the shooter ran past her. He shoved her, and she hit her head on the doorjamb.”

“Can she describe him?”

“Said she didn’t get a good look at him.”

Linc stepped forward. “I’ll check on her.”

“Thanks.”

The side of Ainsley’s head was sticky when she touched it. She must have hit the walkway when Linc tackled her. Her dad turned back to her and pressed his handkerchief against her forehead. “Somebody get me some ice,” he called over his shoulder.

She struggled to stand, and her dad turned back to her. “Don’t try to get up. An ambulance is on the way.” One of the security guards handed him ice wrapped in a towel. “Let’s see if this stops the bleeding,” he said.

The ice felt good on her head, but it was hard to fathom this was her dad taking care of her. He’d always been a Beaumonts-don’t-show-pain type of guy.

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