Colton Storm Warning Page 19

  Another shot rang out. And in one smooth, practiced motion, Ty adjusted his aim and fired. Once, twice. She heard a yelp from the direction of the trees across the clearing. A moment later came the sound of something—someone—running through the trees and underbrush.

  “Run, you bastard,” she heard Ty mutter.

  But he didn’t move for a moment, and she understood he was waiting to see if there had been more than one shooter. Standing there in the open, a target. And again she wanted to scream at him. And when no further shots came, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  But then she saw the way his shirt was clinging to his side, as if wet. And her thoughts started to tumble in rapid succession. She looked down at her blouse, where it had been oddly clinging. Saw the wet red smear. Touched it, but felt no pain. Looked back at Ty.

  His blood. It was his blood. God, he’d been hit. Shot. And since there was blood on her, it hadn’t been now, when he’d stepped out from behind the car.

  He’d been shot when he’d thrown himself over her to protect her. He’d been shot then, but he’d just kept going.

  Even as the pieces fell together for her, he swayed on his feet. He reached out and touched the back of the SUV for balance. She wondered if he even realized yet. He’d probably been running on pure adrenaline, and when the crash came, coupled with being wounded, it would be ugly.

  She ran to him. “Let’s go inside.”

  He looked at her, shook his head. “I should go after him.”

  “In what?” she asked, gesturing at the pinned, damaged vehicle. “We need to make contact, like you said. They can look for him.” He wasn’t moving. Stubborn, stubborn man. So she pulled out the one tool she was certain of. “Please, I’d like to go inside. I’d feel safer.”

  “Oh. Sure.”

  He was starting to sound a little foggy, and she knew the crash was imminent. And yet he put an arm around her as if to support her, when at any moment he was going to go down like the proverbial ton of bricks. And when he did, he’d be stuck where he was, because there was no way she’d be able to move an unconscious six feet two inches of pure muscle.

  She let out an inward sigh of relief when they made it back inside. She kicked the door closed behind them, very aware he was leaning more heavily on her with every step. It was then that he looked downward, touched his side with his free hand. Looked at his bloody fingers. Then he glanced at her, saw the blood on her blouse. His eyes widened, and there was pure distress in his voice when he said her name.

  “Ash? You’re hurt?”

  Was it possible he still didn’t realize? “It’s not mine, hero.”

  She grabbed a towel within reach from the kitchen counter and folded it quickly, then pressed it against his side to at least slow the bleeding that seemed frighteningly severe to her. He swayed, and she abandoned any idea of getting him to the closest bed. The couch was only three feet away. It would have to do.

  “You’re all right? You’re sure?”

  She didn’t know what to think. Was this just professional concern? It didn’t seem like it. It seemed a lot more personal. Especially from a guy with morning-after regrets.

  “I’m sure. Sit down—actually, lie down before you fall down.”

  “I need...to...”

  “Down,” she repeated firmly. He was getting so vague it was scaring her even more. Once he was on the couch, she was swamped by the realization it was all up to her now. She was aware on some level that this was not something that normally bothered her, and on an even deeper level why it was bothering her now. She really had let herself fall for this man, and angry as she’d been at him this morning, she couldn’t just shut that off.

  “Call,” he began, but his voice was getting fainter.

  “I will,” she said. “Bleeding first. I’m going to go get the first-aid kit.”

  She ran down the hall to the safe room, grabbed the white box that was a duplicate of the one on the shelf in the bunker. The bunker...the bed. She fought off a flood of memories from last night. There was no time now, even if it had been the most amazing night of her life.

  Back at his side, she opened the lid. The briefcase-sized kit was well organized and equipped.

  “Pack it,” he said, his voice fainter yet.

  “I know.” She’d never actually dealt with a gunshot wound, but she’d helped Alaskan Dr. Kallik with a knife wound and a deep accidental stab with a spear, and figured the principal would be similar.

  Except for the bullet part.

  She’d deal with that later, right now getting the bleeding stopped was paramount. The bullet, infection, all of that had to wait. She dug into the first-aid kit and spotted what she’d hoped would be there. She should have known Elite—and Ty—would have the latest advances for emergencies; her father would settle for nothing less. She knew about the new purpose-specific packing gauze that held small specially designed sponges that expanded and put deep, solid pressure throughout a deep puncture wound. It was better at stopping bleeding than anything else she’d heard about. It was not a pleasant process, for either the person doing it or the victim, but it worked, and nothing else mattered.

  And if he bled out and died, she would never get over it.

  He groaned the moment she started, but bit it off and clenched his jaw.

  “Hang on, Ty,” she whispered, as she proceeded with the ugly job of stuffing gauze into a deep open wound. Damn, she could feel the bullet. It wasn’t really that deep, and it felt...misshapen somehow. And she could feel a sharp edge, doing more damage even now.

  She swore, something she rarely did. Even in his condition, Ty noticed. “What?”

  “I can feel the bullet. It’s... It feels mashed.”

  “Ricochet,” he got out through gritted teeth. “I heard the smack when it hit the car.”

  “The edges are making it worse,” she said. “Every time you breathe.”

  “Just as...soon...keep doing that,” he said, and Ashley felt a wave of emotion for this man who could joke even now.

  “I could get it out, if I just had something bigger than tweezers to grab it.”

  “The kit.”

  His voice wasn’t nearly as strong as it had been just a moment ago. Hastily Ashley dug into the first-aid kit. Found, amazingly, small forceps. When she turned back, his eyes were closed. And he looked ghastly pale.

  “Stay with me.” And she didn’t even care about all the ways those words could be interpreted.

  His eyes fluttered open. His right hand moved, and lightly grasped her wrist. Her gaze shot to his face. He held her eyes. “I trust you.”

  The words echoed in her head. I trust you. Even after this morning, when she’d been so furious with him, when just an hour ago she’d been yelling at him, he trusted her. Trusted her to do what was necessary, even if the task was ghastly.

  Which told her he knew her better than she thought he did.

  Then his fingers tightened a little. “Last night...still should never... But I’m not sorry.”

  He said it with more energy than she would have thought he had. And apparently it was the last he had, because the moment the words were out, his eyes rolled up a little and he passed out.

  Chapter 31

  It was way too bright in here.

  Ty’s first thought when he tried to open his eyes floated around in his head for a moment before things settled. He tried raising his eyelids again, wondered why they were resisting, and if he’d have to pry them open manually.

  “Come on, honey, come back to us now.”

  The soft coaxing voice was loving, and familiar.

  Mom.

  He smiled before he managed to get his eyes open at last. There was another moment or two of blur before things swam into focus. She was right there, as she had always been, her blue eyes warm with love and concern. Her dark auburn hair, usuall
y up in a tidy knot, had a few strands hanging loose, as if she’d been in a hurry. Which was odd, because she was usually fairly fastidious about that. It struck him belatedly, as he also noticed the furrow between her eyebrows, that she’d been anxious.

  It all tumbled together now, the sounds, the smell, the rails on the bed... Hospital.

  “Hi, Mom,” he managed, although his mouth and throat were dry.

  Relief changed her expression immediately. She leaned forward and, unable to deliver her usual hug, simply grabbed his hand and squeezed. And he saw tears starting to streak down her cheeks.

  “I’ve been so worried about you, Tyler,” she said, her voice as tight as her grip on his fingers.

  “I’m...fine.” His brain was kicking into gear now. Shot. He’d been shot. He tried to move, and pain shot upward from his side.

  “Hold still,” his mother ordered. “You nearly bled to death, and you’ve been out for two days. Thank goodness for Ashley Hart.”

  His eyes widened. “Two days? Wait, where is Ashley? I—”

  “She’s safe.” The second voice came from the foot of the bed and his gaze shifted. Jordana. “Mitch said to tell you she’s safe, at one of the Harts’ other houses. Mitch wouldn’t tell even me where.”

  “Need-to-know basis,” Ty muttered. But damn it, he needed to know. He needed to know where she was and that she was safe.

  “Right,” Jordana said. When she went on, it was in the concise manner of her job as a detective, although Ty was pretty sure he heard in her voice the urge to read him the riot act for getting hurt and no doubt scaring them all. “Mitch also said they have no idea who the shooter is. Elite had Sanderson under observation, and there’s been no variation in his routine.”

  “He’s not stupid.”

  “Unlike your chosen career,” his mother said, apparently deciding that now that he was awake and at least coherent she could let her upset out a little. “I do wish you’d reconsider that.”

  They’d had this discussion often, and Ty understood that it was his mother’s fear for him driving her now. He squeezed her hand and didn’t respond to her words.

  “Your girl’s pretty smart, though,” Jordana said.

  “I know,” Ty said, not even caring what it might betray that he accepted his sister’s assessment. Although he did wonder if she’d meant it generically or if she’d somehow guessed how he felt about Ashley. This was Jordana, and she was pretty darned smart, too.

  She went on. “She not only saved your sorry butt with that field surgery of hers, she saved the bullet she pulled out of you. It’s pretty messed up, being a ricochet, but Yvette’s got what ballistics they could get, and is running it through every system known to man or she’d be here.”

  He tried not to think about what Ashley had had to do and just be glad she’d had the knowledge—and the guts—to do it. “Good,” was all he said.

  “And,” his mother added, “she chewed your father out rather fiercely.”

  Ty blinked, wondering if he was on the verge of passing out again. “She...what?”

  “He was quite taken aback. She told him he was a fool if he didn’t see the amazing man you are. If he wasn’t prouder of you than anything he’d done in his life.”

  Ashley had said...that?

  “And that,” Jordana said with a grin, “pretty much told us where you two stand.”

  “Indeed,” said his mother with an approving smile.

  There was a flurry of footsteps at the door to the room. Ty looked in time to see Fitz Colton stride in, with Brooks and Neil at his heels, and some steps behind them Uncle Shep. His father looked strained. Older. Worried. He rushed to the bedside.

  “They said you were awake. You scared the hell out of us, son.”

  He sounded genuinely concerned. They’d been at odds so much about Ty’s refusal to go into the family business that most of the time they maintained a sort of armed neutrality. Maybe Ashley—damn, she’d really gone after the old man?—had gotten to him.

  “Amen to that, jerk,” Brooks said, with a swipe at his arm.

  “Ditto,” Neil agreed, only his light smack hit Ty’s left knee. And off to one side, Uncle Shep smiled warmly and nodded at him.

  Ty was more than a little moved by the solid presence of his family. The only one here who hadn’t spoken was Bridgette, and when he looked at her, he saw the shadow in her blue eyes. Not only had she buried one man she’d loved, she’d gone through her own life-threatening experience just last month, and he saw the understanding in her gaze. Later, they would talk. And as if she’d read his thought, his sister nodded.

  He glanced back at his father, again noticed how worn and tired he looked. He would also have to ask Bridgette about how far she’d gotten in her own investigation, into the link between Colton Construction and the outbreak of cancer cases among the workers. But maybe not with his father right here. He shifted back to Jordana, and thought about asking what the status was on the investigation into the bodies. Damn, there was too much going on, when all he wanted to do was find Ashley and see for himself that she was all right.

  But before he could do or say anything, a wave of weariness engulfed him and it all faded away again.

  When he woke up again, the fogginess had lifted. And...he was moving. Not he himself, but the bed. Gurney. Whatever it was. Down a hallway.

  “Hey, welcome back.”

  His gaze snapped to his right, and he smiled at the tall slim blonde walking alongside him. “Hey, sis. What’s up? Find something?”

  “Still old cut-to-the-chase Ty, huh?” Yvette wrinkled her nose at him in obviously mock irritation. “Much as I love my work, I wish my family would keep me a little less busy.”

  “Wouldn’t want you to get bored,” he said. He glanced up at the orderly pushing the gurney. “Where are we going?”

  The man smiled at him. “Your own spacious, private suite.”

  Ty blinked, and his brow furrowed. Yvette laughed. “Guess you wore out your welcome in ICU, bro.”

  He looked back at the orderly. “What would it take to get you to steer this thing out the front door?”

  The smile became a grin. “More than you got on you, dude.”

  Given that he had nothing but the damned hospital gown, Ty couldn’t argue that. But that realization brought home something else. He looked back at Yvette. His little sister might not be a field officer, but she’d been with the Braxville PD for nearly a year now. She’d get it. “Speaking of that, where is my...stuff?”

  “We’ve got your clothes and wallet,” she said, “and Mitch has your gear.”

  She put the slightest of emphasis on the last word, and he knew she’d understood he meant his weapon. He nodded, relieved.

  The process of moving into the bed in the regular hospital room proved to him, much as he hated to admit it, that heading for the front door would have been a bad idea. When at last they were alone, his sister looked at him seriously. “You scared the heck out of us, Ty.”

  “Not my intent.”

  “I didn’t get to meet your Ashley, but when I do, I’m giving her the biggest hug in history. She saved you. And had the smarts to preserve the bullet.”

  Your Ashley. Damn, he liked the sound of that. And he’d give just about anything to see her. Anything except her safety.

  “Something you’re not telling us, bro?” Yvette asked, one brow arched.

  Guessing his thoughts must have shown in his face, he hastily said, “Nothing.”

  “Try that on somebody who didn’t just see you go all soft.”

  “That’s a pretty unscientific assumption,” he said, hoping a teasing jab at her particular skill would divert her.

  “You want the lecture on micro-expressions?” Yvette countered coolly. “Not to mention I have years of experience reading you.”

  “She’s a clie
nt.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Just tell me what you came up with,” he said, feeling a bit exasperated. And frustrated at being stuck here, when he should have been out looking for the shooter. And the person responsible for those two bodies sealed up in a Colton warehouse.

  “The bullet was already deformed from the ricochet.” She gave him a serious look. “Which is also why it cut you up inside so badly. But also why it didn’t go as deep as it could have. And it took some doing to get a valid result on the characteristics.”

  “Which were?”

  “Aside from the lands and grooves, it was a .45 ACP.”

  He winced. “Then I was damned lucky it wasn’t a direct hit.”

  She nodded. “Bad enough as it was. But there’s one more thing.” She paused, as if for effect. “It had a left twist.”

  His brows shot upward. There was only one major US manufacturer whose weapons didn’t use right-twist rifling in their barrels. “A Colt?”

  “Looks that way. Unless it’s a British import.”

  “Narrows it down.” In fact, he had a Colt .45 himself, but it was a historic, collector-type weapon he rarely shot. “Couple that with the fact that he wasn’t a great shot with it. Maybe he borrowed the gun.”

  “They find it, I’ll match it,” she vowed. “Nobody shoots my brother and walks away free.”

  It hurt to lift up enough to grab and hug her, but Ty did it anyway.

  Chapter 32

  Ty threw a shirt into the duffel, paused, thought about where he was headed and added a heavy sweater and a pair of gloves. Every time he turned he could feel the tug on his injury, but he didn’t let it slow him down. Just as he hadn’t let the doctor’s orders change his plans.

  He’d been laid up in that damned hospital for nearly a week. He’d been up pacing the floor of his room since six this morning, but with typical efficiency, it had been nearly noon before his release orders had finally come through. He’d considered just walking out without the paperwork, but he didn’t want his boss chewing him out for making Elite look bad.