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Every radio went silent.

Then Dad said, “Nobody takes a dirty shot. Nobody.”

Mom stepped sideways. Trying for an angle.

Wade moved with her.

Using me.

Her gun lowered another inch. She looked at me.

Then at the blood visible beyond the doorway.

I saw the decision tear through her.

“Declan,” I said. “Please.”

Mom moved. Not toward us. Into my room.

I nearly sobbed with relief.

Wade walked me down the hall.

Behind us Mom’s voice hit the radio. “I’m with Chief. He’s breathing.”

Everything inside me loosened at that.

“Pulse is good. Gunshot to the leg. Head injury. He’s unconscious.”

Alive.

Declan was alive.

Wade tightened his hold as though he knew exactly what that did to me. His thumb stroked slowly over the hollow at the base of my throat.

When some of the tension went out of me at the sound of Mom’s voice, his fingers flexed against my chest. Slowly. Almost absently. Like he could feel the relief moving through me and wanted me to know he felt it too.

That was worse than if he’d hurt me. There was nothing frantic in the way he held me. Nothing uncertain. His touch was calm. Assured.

Familiar.

Possessive.

His hands knew me.

My skin crawled everywhere he touched.

We reached the living room.

Marion appeared at the side entrance. Pistol up. Her eyes landed on me.

Then Wade. Then the gun against me.

“No shot,” she said into the radio.

Riot answered from outside. “Same.”

Rook’s voice came farther away. “Nothing clean.”