Page 4 of Finding Forever

“That Winchester holds two shells,” I counter. “You forced him into cover with the first. That bought time. Miss the second and Briggs comes out hot while you’re reloading. Shelter came first.”

Her dog is losing its mind somewhere in the house.

The woman’s doing her own staring, brows furrowing. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s a graze. I’ll deal with it later.” It’s worse than that, but I’m vertical and still breathing, so good for now. “I’ve got to make sure we’re safe.”

“He’s bleeding too.”

I holster my gun. My right shoulder is white hot. “I got him in the ass.” Vision wavering, I slump against the wall, fighting to stay alert. “Anyone else here? Guests? Husband?”

“No. Only me.”

Relief hits harder than it should. “House secure?”

“I secured all the doors and windows when I got the alert and turned off the lights when I heard the gunshot.” She pulls out her phone and taps. “My security system is engaged.”

“You have cameras?”

She shakes her head. “Now I wish I did.”

I check my phone. No bars. “You have service?”

“Not for calls or texts. But as long as the inn has power, I’ve got Wi-Fi.” There’s a rush of awareness when her gaze meets mine again. Does she feel it too? “The fugitive’s name is Briggs?”

“Robert Briggs. Kidnapped a waitress. Planned to keep her.” I don’t soften it. “He murdered a marshal this morning.”

Color drains from her face. “I should’ve shot him in the balls.”

“Next time,” I say. Blonde strands have loosened from her braid, wind-blown and damp from snow. Nothing detracts from her gut-punch appeal. She raises a brow and I clear my throat. Focus. “What’s your name?”

“Kit O’Shea.”

Kit O’Shea. I try out her name in my head. It strikes me as strong and sweet. “Kit short for something?”

“Katarina. And yours?”

“Luke Elliott.” Pain rolls through me and I grit my teeth. The numbness didn’t last near long enough. I pull my credentials from my coat and hand them over.

She scrutinizes them carefully. “Deputy US Marshal Luke Elliott,” she murmurs.

I shouldn’t like hearing my name like that. Being shot is making me punchy.

She hands back the case and reloads the shotgun with practiced movements: break the action, pull the spent shell, seat a fresh one, and snap it closed. No hesitation.

“Take the shot if you get one,” I say. “Briggs will. He’s desperate and that makes him dangerous.”

She arches a brow. “You’re assuming I’d hesitate.”

Fair. Shaking my head to clear it, I click my shoulder mic. “Dispatch, Three-One. Officer wounded, GSW. I’m inside Falls Inn with civilian female, secure for now. Briggs is outside, unknown position. Whiteout conditions. Request status on backup.”

I don’t expect good news. A burst of static confirms it.

“Dispatch, Three-One. Repeat transmission.”

More static. Shit. The radio’s useless.

I set my jaw against the pain. Shotgun in hand, Kit reappears with a cordless phone. “Chief Beckett is on the line.”