Page 25 of Lone Star Country Protector
Without another word, Blakely stood at the same time as Dalton. Chase was too old and too proud to be carried around like a baby. He reminded Blakely of the fact often.
Rather than take the back staircase, Blakely headed toward the front of the house to avoid the bloody scene.
“I’ll talk to whoever is in charge,” Dalton offered. “Do you want to hang out up here or wait for me by the front door?”
“Front door,” she decided, wanting to get out of her house as soon as humanly possible. A shot of rage nailed her for feeling unsafe in her own home. She’d made a promise to herself no one ever got to make her feel that way again.Not for long.
The bastard might have won this round, but she’d be ready moving forward. First and foremost, she had to figure out what to do with Chase.
Greg.
In all the chaos, she’d forgotten to call Bethany’s husband to let him know what happened. With Chase in her arms, there was no way she’d make the call now. Houston PD would deliver the news if she didn’t. Could she make the call without alarming Chase or alerting him to the severity of the situation?
One thing was certain, Chase couldn’t be around her until the perp was locked behind bars. It was too dangerous. The thought a stray bullet could have struck him instead was another shot to the heart.
Keeping calm was her best defense. So she tucked those thoughts away as she walked down the stairs, holding her nephew’s hand. Dalton had gone ahead.
“Thought you might need this,” he said, holding out her handbag. “Phone’s inside.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Mind if I take a bathroom break before we head out?” She could explain what she was really doing once they got on the road.
“Not at all,” he said. In a surprise move, Chase let go of her hand and grabbed Dalton’s instead. The move choked her up a little bit.
“I’ll meet you in the truck,” she said.
“All right then,” Dalton said, acting cool. The catch in his throat said he was affected by the move too.
Blakely excused herself before heading down the hallway to the bathroom. Once inside, she dug her cell out and studied the screen. Tapped her thumb on the side of the device. With any luck, Greg would pick up. If the call rolled into voice mail, she might lose her nerve to deliver the news.
With a deep breath, she located his contact information and made the call.
Greg picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Hey, Greg.”
“Bethany isn’t returning any of my texts or calls,” he said, sounding frazzled. “Is she there?”
“Are you sitting down?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “Why? Is it that bad?” Before she could respond, he asked, “Is she leaving me? Because I messed up royally, and I—”
“Slow down, Greg,” Blakely said as calmly as she could. How did she tell the man his wife had been shot at her house—a house where his son also spent the night? “I have something important to tell you, and I need you to sit down.”
The phone went silent for a moment.
Then came, “Okay, I’m sitting. What is it?”
How did she get him up to speed with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours?
Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she stuck to the facts about what had just happened.
“Bethany is being taken to the hospital right now,” she began.
“What?” The question was rhetorical.
“My life is in danger, and I’m afraid Bethany was caught in the cross fire,” she continued in as calm a tone as she could muster. Hearing those words come out of her own mouth was surreal. Was this really happening? “Bethany was shot, Greg.”
“Oh dear G—”
