Page 172 of Dead Man's List

Sam had replied every time he’d been spoken to. He’d been articulate and composed. But Kit had known him long enough and well enough to know that Sam Reeves was not okay.

She’d found him staring at his hands, his gaze unfocused as conversation had gone on around him, and she’d known where his mind had gone. To that moment he’d pulled the trigger.

For me.

Killing someone was a trauma. Even a bastard like PeterShoemaker, who’d deserved a bullet to the head and so much more.

It was traumatic for the cop. Or, in this case, the police psychologist.

He’d done it to save Kit. Knowing this made her want to turn back time and tell him not to shoot. That she’d do it. That Navarro would do it.

That even Connor would do it.

Because they’d all shot Shoemaker there in the woods. Kit had dived for her gun as soon as Shoemaker had gone down after Connor’s first shot had hit the bastard’s hip. She’d seen Shoemaker aim for her again and she’d shot without even thinking.

Navarro had shot him with his rifle—and that was the shot that had blown Shoemaker’s head apart like a smashed melon.

Connor had even managed to fire again, hitting Shoemaker in the chest. Connor had lost consciousness right after that, and Kit was so glad he was going to be okay. They’d gotten him to the medical center in Julian just in time to be airlifted to the hospital in San Diego with a level one trauma unit.

That Connor had needed a level one trauma unit still freaked Kit out. But Connor was out of the woods. He’d be okay.

Kit glanced up at Sam as they exited the elevator in the ICU ward. He was pale and seemed shaken. She reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. “You with me, Sam?”

He looked down at their joined hands, then met her eyes. “Yeah. I’m with you.” His hand tightened around hers, just enough that she couldn’t let hers drop away.

Which she’d been about to. But he needed her and she wasn’t going to let him down.

“He looked pretty good when I was here last night,” Kit said, speaking of Connor. “CeCe was with him, and his parents, too.”

The nurses had made an exception to the two-visitor rule.

“I know,” Sam said. “I was here yesterday, too. After they were done grilling me.”

After he’d finally been released with the knowledge that he wouldn’t face any legal consequences from his actions. He’d been prepared to do so, had that been the case, and had said several times that he had no regrets about pulling that trigger.

But he was a civilian, not a cop, and Kit had been unsure what the repercussions of Sam’s part in Shoemaker’s death would be. So far, they’d kept it from the press. The SDPD had said that they would not be releasing any statement about his involvement and they suggested he not as well.

Sam had been good with that. He hadn’t fired that shot to get attention. Despite his Clark Kent glasses, he had no desire to be a Superman.

Even though he really was.

Kit paused at the doorway to Connor’s room, poking her head in. “Hey,” she said quietly.

Susan Robinson came to her feet with a smile on her face. “Kit. And Sam. I’m so glad to see you.”

The woman enfolded Kit in a hug, which Kit was expecting, as she’d gotten a similar hug the night before. Kit patted Susan’s back awkwardly, but it was worth it because Sam’s lips were twitching.

He knew hugs were difficult for her.

Finally, Susan let her go, grabbing Kit’s hands in an extension of the hug. “You saved my son’s life.”

Kit almost hadn’t. It had been close. But she’d done her best to get him to help as soon as she’d been able to. “He saved mine, too.”

“Let her go, Mom,” Connor said from the bed. “We talked about this.”

“Pssh,” Susan said, waving her son’s objections away, but she let Kit go and turned to Sam.

Leaving Sam in Susan’s capable hands, Kit turned to Connor. “You look better.”

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