Page 136 of Married with Mayhem

“She’s being taken care of,” he assures me. “This is a good hospital to be in if you’re ever shot. I would know.” He points to the bandage on my arm. “That doesn’t look too bad.”

“It’s nothing. The bullet went clean through her and lodged in my arm. They already dug it out.” I clear my painfully dry throat. “The shot was meant for me. Not her.”

He nods, unsurprised. “I saw what happened. I was sitting in my truck nearby, waiting to pick up my daughter. That’s the reason why you’re no longer wearing cuffs. The DA will still take a look at the case and you might be facing a charge for carrying in a prohibited area. But I can vouch for the fact that the shots you fired were very clear self-defense. The guy had no ID but I’ll get a picture from the morgue to see if you can identify him.”

“Fine,” I say, able to feel only hatred for the man I killed.

He folds his arms and raises an eyebrow. “Any clue as to who might want you dead?”

The question makes me want to laugh. There are a lot of men who could think of reasons to want me dead.

But a glance at my bandaged arm leaves me with a sick suspicion. By coincidence, the bullet penetrated an inch below the bottom of my tattoo.

Family is everything.

Five other men in the world wear exactly the same ink. One of them is my brother. The others I don’t want to think about.

“You give it some thought,” Ethan Krull says in a wry voice that suggests he knows I have a pretty good idea who might be responsible.

But I’m far from sure. My uncle had his chance to kill me at the ranch. He could have ordered his sons to take me into the wilderness and make it look like an accident.

On the other hand, Cass Tempesta’s methods are often unpredictable. There’s a notorious story about how he once dismissed a crew boss for suspected theft. Supposedly, theguy had been skimming the profits from a family-owned construction company. When he was caught, he probably expected to get a hole in the head immediately. Instead, my uncle invited him to dinner, sat him down and assured him that two decades of loyalty was worth a free pass. He’d be banished from the family and that’s all.

For a full year Cass let the man believe he was off the hook. The guy moved to Phoenix, started over. Then one of my cousins showed up at his house, found him in the backyard swimming laps, and blew his brains out. For this reason and more, I definitely can’t count out the Tempestas.

“How long have you been married?” Ethan asks in a much gentler tone.

“I married Sabrina on the Fourth of July,” I tell him, which is true and far less complicated than the entire truth.

He nods. “Like I said, she’s in good hands here. My wife and I will pray for her full recovery.” He reaches into the pocket of his thin jacket and pulls out my phone. “Here. I’m sure you’ll want this back.”

The phone had been taken away by the cop who slapped the cuffs on me. Luckily, I managed to place a call to my brother first. Nico was shocked and grim but promised he would inform Sabrina’s sisters.

Ethan rises from his chair and hands over the phone. “I’ll leave you alone for now,” he says. “But if you need to get in touch with me, just call the Cherrytown PD. They’ll pass the message along.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, aware that I owe this guy some more gratitude but unable to summon any feeling besides sick worry for Sabrina.

On his way out, he nearly runs into Dr. Cohen, who skillfully dug a bullet out of my arm a short time ago. The two men, whoclearly know each other, exchange a quick greeting before Dr. Cohen focuses on me.

“I need to see my wife,” I say. “Where is she?”

The doctor doesn’t seem offended by my growly tone. A middle aged man with a modest dark blue kippah on his balding head, there’s a patient, fatherly energy about him. Earlier, as he stitched up my arm, he assured me he’d find out Sabrina’s status.

“Your wife is now in surgery,” he says. “I’m told she was awake and alert and all of her vitals remain stable.”

It’s a good thing I’m still sitting on the gurney because I’m instantly weak with relief. “How long will she be in surgery?”

“That depends. I’ll make sure you stay updated. As her husband, you’ll be able to see her when she’s taken to recovery. It seems she’d been asking for you nonstop.”

My throat is still dry as hell and now a sour sense of regret threatens to choke off my air supply. Sabrina, frightened and hurt and surrounded by strangers, had been asking for me and I wasn’t there to comfort her.

Dr. Cohen briefly disappears and when he returns, he’s carrying a clear plastic cup filled with water. He offers it with a kind smile. “This hospital is full of good humans,” he says. “Your wife is receiving the best care. But if you’re inclined to pray, you can follow the arrows pointing to the hospital chapel. All are welcome.”

I gulp my cup of water and reach for my shirt. It’s covered with blood, both mine and hers, but I don’t have anything else.

Dr. Cohen reads my mind and says, “A nurse will bring you a clean shirt.”

“Thanks, Doctor,” I say.

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