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“Yeah.”
“What on earth were you doing here?"
"Making sure that asshole didn’t get his hands on you,” he groaned, his voice slurred. “Putain!Getting shot fuckin’ sucks.”
Tears streamed down my face.
"Elsa," I heard Duncan.
"Duncan, here. We're here," I cried out. "We need an ambulance."
"Bordel de merdé, Els." Fucking hell, Elsa. I heard Thierry before I looked up to see him with a gunandDuncan as well.
Within moments, Duncan was by my side, his face a mask of worry. He quickly assessed Dom's condition and then turned to Thierry.
"How far is the ambulance?"
"Minutes away." Thierry was on his phone, but his eyes darted around to ensure the area was secure.
Dom had passed out, and Duncan was checking Dom's pulse, but his eyes were on me. "Elsa, are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," I whispered, my voice shaking. "Dom's hurt. Dom, that's his name right?"
"He is Dominic Delacour," Duncan told me. He tore open Dom's shirt, checked his wound, and sighed, "It's a through and through."
I had no idea what that meant. I felt nausea rise through me.
Thierry came to me and helped me up to stand.
"It was Pascal," I said to no one in particular.
"I told you to wait. You couldn't do that, damn it," Thierry thundered.
"They got me right outside Délices d'Elsa," I threw back at him, now anger and frustration flowing through me at ramming speed, "like hell you could've stopped them. Instead of Dom, you would've have been shot."
"Dom," Duncan said to his friend, who groaned. Duncan gripped his hand tightly. "Help is on the way. Just stay with me, buddy, okay?"
The police came first, but the ambulance was on their heels. Paramedics rushed to Dom. They quickly assessed his injuries and prepared him for transport.
Duncan draped a protective arm around me. "Call Moreau," Duncan instructed Thierry, "I need this thing buttoned down. That man cannot be left to come after my family ever fucking again."
"I'll call Jean-Luc," Thierry agreed, "but if you want to shut down Pascal,you'llhave to do it."
"What?" I burst out. "Non. Non. Non.You stay away from Pascal Fournier, you hear me, Duncan?"
"Shh. The police are here, so keep a lid on it, will you?" he whispered.
Two uniformed cops came up to us as Dom was taken away in the ambulance.
One of them, a tall man with a stern expression, addressed me directly.
"Name?" he asked, his tone professional but inquisitive.
"This is my wife Elsa Archer. I'm Duncan Archer." He held out his hand and shook it with both cops. He spoke in French. "As you can see, Elsa isverypregnant. This incident has been traumatic for her, obviously. I'd like to get her to a hospital. Why don't you come there to speak with us?"
"She looks fine and—"
"I don't feel so great." I slumped against Duncan in an exaggerated film heroine from the thirties way. I could almost feel Duncan's eyes roll.
