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“Put the gun down,” Eastlyn directed. “Now. I’ll drop you where you stand if you don’t.”
“For God’s sake, Tazzie,” Richie pleaded. “Toss the gun down.”
Tazzie’s eyes darted back and forth from Eastlyn to Richie. Seconds ticked away before she finally let go of the Makarov. The moment it hit the ground, she took off into the scrub.
Eastlyn charged after her. A scuffle ensued, but she wrestled the older woman to the dirt, subduing her and slapping handcuffs around her wrists. She dragged a still-struggling Tazzie back into the circle.
“Next time, you take the woman,” Eastlyn grunted in Colt’s direction.
Birk and Beckett were the first ones on their feet. But it was Birk who spotted Brogan lying on the ground. “Lucien, what’s wrong with Brogan?”
Lucien heard groaning next to him and looked over to see blood trickling from the side of Brogan’s head. His blood went cold. “She’s been hit. Brogan’s been hit. Get an ambulance.”
Brent radioed for an ambulance and ran over to where Brogan lay on the ground. Kneeling beside her, he took her pulse and checked her vitals. “The bullet grazed her scalp. See? She’s breathing. Couple of stitches, she’ll be good as new.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve seen my share of gunshot wounds. Trust me. This is a scratch. She’ll be fine.”
Colt had bagged the Makarov for evidence and held it up for Brent to see. “Looks like this weapon lost all its identifying features. And someone altered the barrel. It’s been redesigned to attach a silencer. It also has a modified magazine that holds more than ten rounds. Possession of such a weapon could be deemed a felony.”
Brent stretched to his full height and reached for the bag, inspecting the gun. “Those are interesting details for an upstanding real estate developer. Why does an upstanding member of the community need an untraceable, hard-to-identify handgun? I wonder if Dennis is willing to explain why he’s in possession of such a large capacity magazine.”
A handcuffed Dennis seemed more defiant than ever. “I don’t have to tell you a thing. I want my lawyer. I advise my friends to do the same and keep their mouths shut.”
“That’s okay,” Brent said with a grin. “This is enough to get a search warrant. Maybe we’ll find more interesting stuff at your office and inside your house.”
Hours later, Broganwarmed herself by the fireplace in a sun-drenched corner of the kitchen while Jade dug out a container of Maeve Calico’s kale and potato soup from the freezer.
She’d spent two hours in the ER getting her scalp stitched up. Her head still throbbed, but at least she was alive. Feeling incredibly lucky, she glanced across the room at her friends near the stove who’d been tending to her since arriving home. And Lucien, Lucien had held her hand the entire time the doctor worked on her, refusing to leave her side.
Brogan breathed out a grateful sigh. She could even smile now and enjoy the ribbing between Jade and Kelly.
“Peanut butter would be better than that soup,” Kelly noted as she stood beside the stove, peering into the pot of simmering bisque. “Peanut butter is meant to be eaten in its purest form—straight from the jar or with chocolate—preferably Reese’s peanut butter cups.”
Jade rolled her eyes. “You really should get over this thing you have with peanut butter. It’s not the cure for everything. If you’re feeling blue, eat peanut butter. If you’ve been shot at by a bunch of crazy murder-loving, mob-loving money-grubbers, peanut butter makes the pain disappear.”
Brogan tried to laugh, but her head kept pounding where the bullet grazed her scalp. “I don’t actually know which one shot me. It could’ve been Dennis or Tazzie. It’s all kind of fuzzy now.”
“From the angle of the bullet, Birk is sure it was Tazzie,” Jade concluded.
“They did say they were planning to murder Sam because they didn’t want to cancel his debt at the casino.”
“Plus, Sam knew too much to let him live. It sounded like Tazzie and Richie made a lot of money illegally in that casino deal. And Birk recorded every word.”
“We do make a good team. Look, you don’t have to go to so much trouble.”
“Nonsense,” Jade mumbled. “One of my best buds gets shot, you better believe I’m warming up soup for her. I hate to say this, but what happened today will make a great podcast. I want both of you to join me on the show. We’ll do it tomorrow. I’ll set up my audio equipment and roll with what we have. How does that sound?”
Kelly nudged Jade in the ribs. “You might want to let Brogan get a good night’s sleep first before you drag her in front of a microphone.”
“That’s why I suggested we do it tomorrow while it’s fresh,” Jade returned. “We shouldn’t have been that close to the action. Birk and I got caught up in the chase. We should’ve kept our distance.”
“No,” Brogan said quietly. “We were there to see our three key suspects lose it. How often does that happen? I think that alone qualifies to get the word out to your listeners. They need to hear firsthand what happened from us, not read a news summary online. They need details. Maybe if we podcast this incident live tomorrow, it might jog someone’s memory about what kind of people Tazzie, Dennis, and Richie were back then.”
“Excellent idea,” Kelly agreed, swiping her finger through a jar of peanut butter.
“You know, at the very least, most people put that on a cracker,” Jade nagged, going to the pantry and grabbing a box of saltines.
