Dade. Delores Fossen
only watch with her breath held and her heart pounding so hard that it might come out of her chest.
The man on the porch fired.
She yelled to warn Dade, but her warning was drowned out by another shot and the sounds of the approaching sirens. She heard Dade curse as if in pain, but what he didn’t do was get down. He raced toward the door, threw it open and fired again.
But so did the gunman.
Oh, God.
She realized then that if this assassin managed to kill Dade that he would come after Robbie and her next. Of course, Kenneth was down there, somewhere, but if the gunman got past the bodyguard, then Kayla would have no way to defend her baby and herself.
Kayla cursed herself for not bringing some kind of weapon with her. But she wouldn’t need a weapon if this goon tried to get to her baby. No. Pure raw adrenaline and the need to protect her child would give her the strength to fight whoever came through that door.
She stood, preparing herself for whatever she had to do, but instead she saw the blue swirls of the lights from a police cruiser. Red lights, too, maybe from an ambulance. The vehicles tore across the lawn and screamed to a halt. There were no more shots, just the noise of the men who scrambled from those vehicles.
Kayla waited, the seconds clicking off like gunshots in her head, and when the waiting became unbearable, she began to make her way down the stairs. The foyer was still dark, and the only illumination came from the jolts of red and blue lights from the responding vehicles.
“Kenneth?” she called out, her voice hardly more than a hoarse whisper. He didn’t answer. “Deputy Ryland?” she tried.
No answer from Dade either.
Kayla inched down the steps, praying this ordeal was indeed over but also bracing herself for whatever she might see.
She didn’t brace herself enough.
There was blood on the floor of the foyer. In the darkness it looked like a pool of liquid black, but she instinctively knew what it was.
And there, slumped in the doorway was Dade Ryland.
Chapter Three
Dade looked down at his left arm and cursed. This was not a good time to get shot.
Hell.
Using the doorjamb for support, he got to his feet and tried not to look as if his arm was on fire. He figured he’d failed big-time when he saw Kayla. Her eyes were wide, her face way too pale.
“You’ve been shot,” she said, the words rushing out.
Was that concern he saw and heard? He had to be wrong about that. No, this was probably just a reaction to the blood. And there was no doubt about it, there was blood.
“Check on your bodyguard,” Dade barked, and he pulled back his shoulders so he could face the responders who were coming right at him.
First, there was his brother, Sheriff Grayson Ryland. Tall and lanky like most of his five siblings, Grayson might not have been the biggest of the half-dozen people who came out of the cruisers and ambulance, but he was automatically the center of attention and the one in charge. Grayson commanded respect just by stepping onto the scene.
Another brother, Mason, stepped out from a vehicle, too—a weathered Ford truck that had been red once, maybe twenty years ago. Mason, like Dade, was also a deputy sheriff but worked only part-time because he also ran the family ranch.
Dressed in his usual black jeans, black shirt and equally black Stetson, Mason made his way toward the estate. Not with Grayson’s speed, authority or concern. Mason always looked as if he were stalking something. Or headed to a funeral.
“You’re hurt,” Grayson said, and he used his head to motion to the medics so they’d hurry to Dade. Grayson also kept his gun trained on the man sprawled out on the porch.
The dead man.
Dade had managed to take the guy out, but not before the SOB had fired a shot into Dade’s arm. Talk about a rookie mistake, and he hadn’t been a rookie in fourteen years, not since he’d joined the Silver Creek sheriff’s department on his twenty-first birthday. Considering that being a cop was his one-and-only desire in life, he always seemed to be screwing it up.
Like now, for instance.
The gunman who could have given them answers was as dead as a doornail. Added to that, Dade had nearly let Kayla Brennan be gunned down, her bodyguard had been shot, or worse, and the jagged slice on his arm from the bullet graze was hurting like hell.
Grayson stooped down and put his fingers to the gunman’s neck. “He’s dead.”
Yeah. No surprise there. “You need to check on Kayla’s bodyguard,” Dade let his brother know. He would do it himself, but he wanted a chance to catch his breath and get ahead of the pain.
“Kayla?” Grayson questioned, standing upright. He aimed a questioning glare at Dade, and Dade knew why. Kayla was way too personal to call someone who might be responsible for a family member’s death.
Grayson was right, and Dade silently cursed that, too. He was a sucker for a damsel in distress, and while he wasn’t sure about the damsel part, Kayla was definitely in distress.
And so was her baby.
With his glare morphing into a disgusted scowl, Grayson flipped on the lights and walked past him and into the foyer where Kayla was kneeling down next to Kenneth.
“He’s still breathing,” Kayla announced, and that sent two of the medics scurrying in the bodyguard’s direction.
One medic, however, Carrie Collins, a leggy brunette in snug green scrubs made a beeline toward Dade.
“I’m okay,” Dade tried to tell her, but she latched onto his arm to examine it.
“I’ll decide if you’re okay or not,” Carrie answered.
Like Kayla, there was way too much concern in her voice and expression. In this case, though, Dade knew why. Carrie and he had once been lovers, but that wasn’t just water under the bridge. The water had dried up nearly a year ago. Too bad Carrie didn’t always remember that.
“You need stitches,” Carrie mumbled, her forehead bunching up. “And probably a tetanus shot.”
But Dade tuned her out and put his attention on Kayla, Grayson and the unconscious bodyguard. Grayson caught onto Kayla and moved her away from the man so the medics could get to work, but it was obvious Kayla had tried to help her employee. Her hands and dress were covered with blood.
Kayla looked down at her palms, which were shaking almost violently, and she shuddered. Now that the lights were back on, Dade also saw the tears well up in her eyes.
Dade’s feet seemed to have a mind of their own because he started toward her. So did Mason. Mason grunted and glanced down at Dade’s arm.
“You scratched yourself,” Mason remarked with zero sympathy in his tone. “Don’t expect me to do the paperwork for this goat rope.”
It was just what Dade needed to hear. Sarcasm without sympathy. He knew his brother loved him. Well, Dade was pretty sure of that anyway. But Mason wasn’t the sort to cut anyone any slack.
Unlike Kayla. Blinking back tears, she made her way toward Dade with her attention fixed on him. “I thought you’d been killed.”
Dade was aware that both his brothers were watching and listening. “No. You didn’t get lucky this time.”
She flinched as if he’d slapped her, but quickly regained her composure. “Lucky?” she challenged. “Right. Well, let’s just say I’m grateful you did your job and put yourself in front of bullets for me.” Her voice trailed off to a whisper. “Thank you, Dade.”
Dade was one-hundred-percent