Page 92 of Finding Home with You

Even in this moment of gratitude, I don’t know what to think.

I hear my name being called, as the paramedic wraps my now uncasted hand in gauze, covering the small hole that was ripped into my skin. “She’s going to need stitches,” the paramedic tells Ryan, but his words are lost on me as I watch Finn walk over.

“Erin,” he says, and his face doesn’t look like his. His eyes are wide, his cheeks void of any color, like he’s seen more than he ever should.

“Was it you?” I ask, again that shock and horror feeling returning, the vomit rising in my throat, my stomach tightening into a knot.

How could I have gotten all of them involved in this mess?

The guilt tugs at my insides, pulling me into an abyss of darkness and near hysteria.

“It was none of us,” Finn defends, his eyes flicking to Ryan and then to the team of officers scattered all around. “It was a sniper, someone who wasn’t part of the set up.”

Before anyone has a chance to respond my tears cease, I react immediately, my heart racing, the blood pulsing loud in my ears. “It was my father,” I practically shout, my words ringing out loud over the sound of sirens and roaring voices.

“Your father’s in prison, Erin,” Finn says with Ryan nodding in agreement. “It couldn’t have been him.” It’s like they’re trying to assure me that my father couldn’t be involved, as if they’re protecting me from the fear I have of him. But right now, what they don’t realize is that I’m thankful for him.

He saved my life.

“He set it up. He had someone kill Anthony.”

“You think so?” Finn asks and before I realize it Ryan’s gone.

“Stay with her!” Ryan shouts over his shoulder at Finn, and I watch him race off nearly colliding with his captain.

Chapter Thirty-One

Ryan

“RYAN!”

I hear my name called by at least three different people, but I ignore it, running for a car as my brain tries to play catch up and process exactly what the fuck just happened.

I’m halfway down the pier when I feel a hand on my arm, fingers digging in as though they’re not trying to stop me but rather rip my arm off.

“Let me go,” I half shout, turning as I attempt to throw the person off me.

“STOP!” Finn shouts, tightening his grip.

I yank on my arm again, but Finn doesn’t budge, his other hand curling into a fist by his side.

“Let me go,” I scream at him, pulling again on my arm.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he says, stepping closer and getting right up in my face.

“I need to see Fitzgerald,” I say, leaning closer, daring him to challenge me on this.

“What you need to do,” Finn bites out, his jaw clenched, “is get the fuck back there and make sure your girlfriend is okay.” A vein now throbbing at his temple. “She just witnessed a murder, Ryan. Copped a stray bullet fragment in the hand. You need to get your ass back there and make sure she’s okay. Fuck!”

Time seems to slow down, even as my body refuses to comply. Inside, my heart feels like it’s pounding inside my chest at a million miles an hour. My body is covered in sweat, every second that Anthony had Erin in his grip playing on auto-repeat inside my brain.

God, that fucking shot. Right between the eyes. Cold, deadly and expert. It came out of nowhere too, none of us expecting it or remotely prepared for it. And watching him collapse in a bloody heap on top of Erin, unsure whether she’d also been in the firing line, was more than I could take.

At least I thought it was. Then I’d pulled him off her. Seen the blood covering her face and arms. The bits of grey matter in her hair. It took everything in me not to throw up.

“Ryan,” Finn says, his voice quieter now as he ever so slightly loosens his grip on my arm. “Erin needs you right now,” he says, stepping to the side so I can see her as they load her into the ambulance. “She’s scared and traumatized and needs something familiar, someone who loves hers,” he continues. “Fitzgerald can wait.”

I shake my head, trying to clear the images of the last ten minutes from my brain. Finn shoves me a little and it’s enough that I finally get with the program.

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