Page 104 of Long Gone

“And if I shoot them on the street, I’ll be charged with murder. No thanks.”

“Then I’ll go after them.” I made a move to the staircase, then wobbled, suddenly feeling light-headed.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, his voice hard. “You’re bleeding.”

Chapter 24

“What? Where?” He pushed me against the wall and pulled a flashlight out of his pocket, shining it on the front of my shirt. I glanced down and saw the front of my shirt was soaked with blood.

“Were you shot?” he asked, his voice tight.

“I don’t think so.”

“Can you walk?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” But he was already dragging me across the backyard through my mother’s back door. He flicked on the switch, flooding the kitchen with light.

He pushed me down on a chair and turned toward the cabinets. “Where are the towels?”

“Use a paper towel. My mother will have a cow if you use one of her dishtowels.”

He was opening and closing drawers, and when he found the dishtowel drawer, he surprised me by grabbing a handful of towels and dishrags.

“That seems like overkill.” I glanced down at my shirt, slightly alarmed by the amount of blood. The fabric was plastered to my chest and abdomen. But how had I gotten hurt, and why couldn’t I feel it?

But I already knew the answer. Adrenaline.

He dumped the towels on the table and found a bowl on the counter. Setting it in the sink, he turned on the faucet. “Are you sure you weren’t shot?”

“I already told you. I don’t think so.”

He knelt in front of me, and before I could process what he was doing, he grabbed both sides of my shirt and ripped it down the front. Some of the buttons popped off and bounced on the ceramic tiles.

I nearly protested, but I understood why he was doing it. Besides, I was wearing a bra, so it wasn’t like he was getting a peep show.

“A two-inch-wide piece of metal is sticking out of your chest,” he said in confusion. “How did that happen?”

“It must have come from my front door,” I said, realization dawning.

“How the fuck did you get hurt by your front door?” he asked, shaking his head.

“I tried to contain them by tying the doorknob to the porch railing. It did the job, because they couldn’t get it open, so they shot at the door. I was still on the porch when that happened.”

His eyes went wide with concern. “Fuck, Harper. They could have killed you.”

“I needed to know who they work for. I had to do something.”

He rocked back on his heels, staring at my chest, but I knew it wasn’t out of lust.

“How bad is it?”

“I don’t think it’s deep enough to puncture a lung, but it’s deep. You’ll need stitches. And antibiotics.”

I shook my head. “No. I’m not going to the hospital. I’ll have to explain what happened, and I don’t want to alert the police or the sheriff that I’m on to something.”

“And you don’t think the police are going to show up after the gunshots?”

“Maybe the neighbors didn’t hear them. I’m sure not reporting it.”

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