Page 94 of Mountain Protector

Lark jerks her head away from him. “No. Ed.” Her voice rises. “Where is he? Don’t let him… he has a gun…”

“It’s okay,” Ronan soothes. “Harrison is tied up. He’s not going anywhere.”

“But…” She starts shaking as shock sets in. “He has a gun.”

“I know, sweetheart.” I press a soft kiss to her forehead as I hug her closer to me. Turning slightly, I gesture with my chin at Ed, who’s flopping around on the snow like an upside down turtle, blood soaking through his jacket, still screeching about how I shot him. “See? He’s not going anywhere, like Ronan said.”

Ronan pulls off his jacket and drapes it over Lark. “Just to help you warm a little, okay? And I want to see this bump you have. Are you feeling dizzy? Nauseous?”

Lark’s gaze bounces from me to Ronan and back again. Her voice is achingly small as she asks, “Is it over? He said… he paid Vinnetti. It was all Ed. He wanted my job. All of it over a job?—”

“It’s okay,” I croon, kissing the damp streaks on her cheeks. “It’s over. The police are on their way, and Enzo and Gage, too.”

And like I summoned them, an engine comes roaring toward us. Seconds later, Enzo’s SUV comes to a screeching stop right beside us. Gage leaps from the passenger seat, followed by Enzo from the driver’s side.

Enzo takes in the scene and lifts his chin at me. “I’ll go watch Harrison.” As he passes by us, he pats Lark gently on the shoulder, his expression softening as hesays, “I’m glad you’re okay. A little banged up, but okay. Winter’s going to be so relieved.”

Gage comes over next, his features stony as he meets my gaze. “I met up with Enzo in Woodbury,” he explains. “But I don’t like being that far from the team when there’s an emergency. When one of us is in trouble. If you’re still willing, I want to move to the GMG property.” Then his voice gentles as he regards Lark. “I’m sorry this happened. But I’m so damn happy to see you.”

Lark stares at him. She sniffs. Then she touches his arm. “I’m glad you’ll be closer to us, Gage.”

“Looks like a concussion,” Ronan reports. “But pupil response is good. And the bleeding has stopped.”

A concussion is still not okay. “I want to get Lark to a hospital. Right away.”

“Go,” Gage says. “We’ll wait for the police.” In the distance, the rise and fall of sirens approaches.

“Okay.” Nodding at Ronan, I head back to my truck.

“So it’s really over?” Lark asks, a wobble in her voice.

Gratitude swells inside me, so big and intense it’s hard to breathe past it.

I didn’t lose her.

“Yeah, sweetheart. It’s over.”

CHAPTER 21

LARK

I’ve never felt more coddled in my life.

And considering how overprotective my dad was growing up, that’s really saying something.

Since we got back from the hospital a few hours ago, my house has been filled with visitors, all intent on taking care of me.

First, Knox and Ronan brought me home—Ronan driving while Knox sat in the back of the cab with me on his lap. I told him I’d be okay sitting by myself; I have a concussion, not a major head injury, after all, but he insisted. A slightly desperate look on his face, he said, “I was terrified I’d lose you, Lark. I’m not ready to let you go yet.”

I wasn’t about to argue. And honestly, it felt better to be held. To feel Knox’s arms around me, a constant reassurance that I was safe, that Ed couldn’t hurt me again.

Ronan was wonderfully sweet, driving at least tenmiles below the speed limit and taking curves like a snail because, as he explained, “I don’t want to jostle your head, Lark. It’s like that old fable. Slow and steady wins the race.”

It was kind of a weird metaphor for just driving back to my house, but okay.

Once we got home, Knox went into full nurse-mode, getting me set up on the couch with my favorite pillows and blankets and a veritable buffet of snacks on the coffee table in case I got hungry. Which I haven’t been; I’m actually a little nauseous from the concussion, but I’m choosing not to tell Knox that so he doesn’t panic.

Then Ronan jumped on board with his medic training, instructing me on how many painkillers to take, how often to ice the bruise on my head, and even how much TV I should watch. “Probably not more than a half hour at a time to start,” he explained, trailing off at my horrified expression. Confused, he looked at Knox. “Is that bad?”

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