Page 21 of Outlaw Ridge: Griff
The man looked at her, eyes wild with pain. Then he grabbed the doorframe for balance, swayed once, and blurted out, “I’ve been shot.”
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Chapter Five
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Lily rushed forward as Rhett swayed, blood running down his arm in a dark, steady stream. Griff was already at his side, catching his elbow, guiding him to the nearest chair with a calm, practiced hand.
“Get me some paper towels,” Griff said, his voice cutting through the startled silence.
Lily sprinted to the break room sink, grabbed what she could, and returned just as Griff crouched beside Rhett, applying pressure to the wound with a cloth pulled from the first aid kit on the wall.
“EMTs are on the way,” Griff said over his shoulder, reaching for gauze. “I called it in.”
“Damn it,” Rhett growled, grimacing as Griff tightened the pressure. “Hurts like hell.”
“You said you’d been shot,” Hallie repeated, coming up beside them. “What happened?”
“I was parked a block up by the florist,” Rhett bit out, jaw clenched. “Got out of my truck and was nearly here when bam—gunshot. Didn’t see who it was. I just ran inside here.”
Lily turned, already moving toward the front windows. She scanned the street outside, eyes sweeping over every car, shadow, and building.
Nothing.
Whoever had pulled the trigger was long gone. And worse, the florist was closed this time of morning. Ditto for the other businesses surrounding it and across the street. So, it’s possible no one had seen anything because if they had, someone would have already reported it by now.
She turned back, stomach tight with frustration. Griff had Rhett settled in the chair now, his jacket peeled back to reveal the wound—clean, through the bicep, bleeding some but not certainly not life-threatening.
“You’ve done this before,” Rhett muttered, sweat beading on his forehead as he watched Griff clean the wound. “That med training from Strike Force?”
Griff gave a nod, already wrapping the bandage. “Hold still.”
Lily watched the scene unfold, her heart hammering with a mix of anger and dread. Someone had tried to stop Rhett from talking, tried to kill him.
Griff worked fast, his hands steady as he tied off the bandage with a strip of gauze, checking the pressure and the bleed. Rhett hissed through his teeth but didn’t complain beyond that.
When Griff stepped back, his eyes lifted. Met hers.
Lily felt it then—something shift in the air. A flicker of something unspoken behind his gaze. It wasn’t concern. Or at least not just that.
She moved toward him, brushing past Jemma, and touched his elbow. “Come here,” she murmured.
They stepped away from the others, just enough to speak without being overheard. Near the end of the hallway, out of Rhett’s line of sight, Griff leaned in slightly, voice low.
“You think it’s possible,” he said, “the injury’s self-inflicted?”
Lily blinked. “What?”
“The angle,” Griff said, nodding toward Rhett. “Entry’s clean. High on the outer bicep. Bullet passed through soft tissue, no bone, no tendon. It’s the kind of shot someonecouldgive themselves, especially if they know what they’re doing.”
She stared at him, stunned. “You think heshothimself?”
“I’m not saying he did,” Griff said calmly. “But I’ve seen self-inflicted wounds. I’ve seen guys do it to avoid combat. Fake an injury, get reassigned. This isn’t impossible.”
Lily folded her arms, jaw tight. “I didn’t expect that theory.”
“Neither did I,” he admitted. “But we can’t ignore it.”
