Page 69 of Protector

I don’t want to spook either one of them, so I stop fifteen yards away and call out. “Aaron.”

He turns, Shay blocking most of his body, his gun pressed into her bare side. “You…”

“Oh, God, Brooks… No…” Shay’s eyes lock with mine, the plea in them sharing a cocktail of emotions. I know she needs me, but at the same time, she’s telling me to back off.

There’s no way in hell I’m doing that. “You have to know you won’t get away with this, man.”

“I’m the only one who can keep Shay safe.” He shakes his head, his eyes darting around. “You couldn’t even protect her from me.”

“Please, Aaron, don’t do this,” Shay says, her voice soft but strained.

“He’s right, Shay.” Her eyes widen, but I do everything I can to relay confidence and trust in me. I pray she doesn’t do anything crazy while I stall. Harvey must have called for backup, and I’m sure he’ll be coming through that door any moment, which could either make Aaron surrender or send him over the edge. I take a couple slow, measured steps toward them. “I know you don’t want to hurt Shay. You’re the only one who’s protected her, kept her safe.”

“That’s right…” he says, pushing back against the van door as if he’s going to open it. “But I can’t continue to do it unless we’re together.” He head gestures to me. “Drop that gun or I’ll kill us both. I won’t live without her anymore.” He turns his head, their faces inches apart. “You have to know that, Shay… It’s because I love you.” He turns back to me. “Now!”

Not willing to risk it, I lower my weapon to the ground but within reach, then slowly return upright, my hands up by my shoulders.

“See, Shay, everything’s fine. But we have to go now.”

Shay shakes her head, and her chest heaving tells me she’s fighting panic or tears or worse—anger.

Sirens blare in the distance, and Aaron shoots a look across the lot. Then I hear shuffling, Harvey’s voice behind me.

“Stay back,” Aaron yells.

I chance a look at Harvey over my shoulder. He complies as he quickly assesses the situation.

“Open the door,” Aaron commands to Shay.

Helplessly, she looks to me, and he jabs her harder with the gun. She doesn’t budge, so he points it at me. “Get in the goddamn car, now, or I’ll shoot him.”

A strangled cry slips from her mouth along with, “Okay, please…” Shay reaches for the door, her head turning to me over her shoulder, and in an instant, I see it, know it’s coming. I dive for my gun just as Shay slams open the door, hitting Aaron in the head. He stumbles back away from her, and as soon as my hands are on my weapon, he steadies his aim on me. I hear Harvey yell, “Stop! Don’t Move!” a second before a shot rings out, and I go down. I barely get a hand on my gun and aim it at Aaron before I hear another shot ring out along with my own. Then more shots. The last thing I see before all goes black is Shay rushing over to me.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

Shay

I follow the smell of tomato and garlic to the kitchen and find my mother standing at the counter, chopping lettuce. I stop in the doorway, watching, willing myself back to a time when I felt safe and calm and happy to just enjoy life. That was probably back when I had a regular family…before my dad and brother left. Before I turned into the obsession of a disturbed man who is now dead, shot in front of my eyes by Brooks and the officer who came up behind him. It’s only been a few days since that happened, and I haven’t spoken to Brooks. Maybe if I did, I wouldn’t be feeling this great sense of loss when I should be relieved. Of course, I called to check up on him in the hospital, left him a voicemail, apologizing for everything. It was my fault Aaron got me, my decision to chance slamming that door into him, and my fault Brooks got shot. I don’t blame him for not wanting to see me, but I thought at least he’d send me a text or something.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Mom’s voice draws me from the downward spiral.

“What are you doing?” I ask, moving to the other side of the island.

“Making a salad. What does it look like?” Then she grins, so I’ll know she’s just playing around.

“Mom, I told you. I don’t need you to cook for me.”

“I want to.”

I walk over to the opened bottle of wine and pour a glass. “Want one?”

“Please.”

I set the first one down next to her and pour another. I’m not a huge wine-drinker, but for some reason, it’s all I want right now. Something to sip on, to savor, the way one should savor their life. Maybe it’s time I slow things down a bit. Taking my wine back to the island, I slip into the seat across from her.

“I wanted to tell you I’ve decided not to do that T-shirt deal.”

“Oh?” she says without looking up from her chopping.

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