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“Finish that sentence,” Felicity said, turning now, her voice calm in a way that wasn’t calm at all. “And I’ll be the one to put you down.”
Ronan moved, making a low growling sound.
Felicity shoved Ronan back onto the stool with more force than strictly necessary. “Stand down, Marine. I’ll handle this.”
He dropped heavily, muttering under his breath.
Felicity exhaled slowly, steadying herself, as the EMT moved back in to work on his eyebrow.
Beau’s gaze swept over the room. “We’re done here. Brianna, finish getting statements. Carson, help Ian get this place sorted.”
The two deputies nodded and moved.
“Mercer. My office. First thing tomorrow.”
“Not on duty, Sheriff.”
“Don’t give a shit. My office. Seven sharp. And get a fucking rideshare home.”
Mercer muttered something under his breath, but his boss’s sharp look cut him off. “Yes, sir.”
With a sigh, Beau turned back to Felicity and Ronan.
“I know what day it is, Murphy. And I know what a moron Mercer can be. That’s the only reason I’m letting this slide. But you’ll compensate Ian for any damage. Hear me?”
“I will. And … thanks.”
“No thanks needed.” His gaze shifted to Felicity. “Graham. Get Murphy home safe.”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.” Then, to the EMT, “He good to go?”
The woman nodded. “Just keep an eye out for concussion symptoms. I don’t think it’s that bad. Most likely just a hell of a headache.”
Makes two of us.
Felicity grabbed Ronan’s arm and tugged. “Come.”
Then the sheriff’s words caught up with her. I know what day it is…
Her steps faltered. She glanced at Ronan. “What’s significant about today?”
He looked at her — really looked this time. Something in his expression shifted, gone a little distant. “Violet and Harlan died.”
A cold shiver slid down her spine.
Fucking hell.
*
Fuck, his head throbbed. He turned over, and—
Thunk.
His body jolted as he hit something hard. Floor. Definitely floor.
Ronan lay there for a second, eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the world to stop tilting. It didn’t. If anything, it got worse — his skull pulsing in time with his heartbeat, a dull, relentless hammer behind his eyes.
“God dammit—” he rasped, voice like gravel.
