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“No, no, no!” Juliette continued to cry.
Sylvia could hear the change, recognized that this woman—who only moments before had been confident, powerful—was broken, devastated.
“Franco!”
Chapter Twenty-One
Hugo watched as Walt pushed away from Sylvia, crawling across the floor toward Juliette, Sebastian, and the blood-soaked Franco. Sebastian had dragged Franco off to the side, where he couldn’t be seen through the now-shattered window. Juliette was kneeling, blood-covered hands pressed to the bullet wound in Franco’s chest. There were tears streaming down her face, panic rife in her voice as she called her husband’s name.
Franco was awake, at least his eyes were open, and the lines of his face were tight with pain.
The sound of the shot, of the glass breaking, had been loud, but now everything was quiet. His own breath was pounding in his ears, but not as loudly as the wet, rattling sound of Franco’s breathing.
When Walt reached Juliette, Sebastian stood, a gun seeming to magically appear in his hands.
“Do you have eyes on the shooter?” Sebastian asked.
“It’s Alicia,” Lancelot said.
Hugo had been so worried about Sylvia, he hadn’t had a chance to see where Lancelot was, if he was okay.
Lancelot and Sebastian were standing on either side of the broken window, their backs against the wall as they each chanced quick glances outside. They both held guns at the ready.
“How do you know?” Sebastian asked.
“I just caught a glimpse of her. She’s at eleven o’clock, behind the maple tree twenty yards out.”
“Help him. Please! Help him,” Juliette begged Walt. There was blood—God, so much blood—pooling around his chest, head, and shoulders. Blood streaked the floor, a trail leading from the spot where he’d fallen to where he now lay, Juliette and Walt hovering over him.
Walt had ripped open Franco’s shirt. “My bag…” Walt glanced around the room.
“The bullet…did it go through his heart?” Juliette asked.
“You are my heart. Do not…become too dark.” Franco’s words were reedy, barely audible.
“No, Franco, you do not leave me. You cannot leave me! Without you, Devon and I are a mess.”
“This is very true.” Franco’s smile turned into a grimace as Walt worked on him. “My only regret is that…” His voice trailed off as his face went white.
“Franco!”
Walt was working quickly, doing something to Franco that Hugo couldn’t quite see.
Franco’s eyes opened when Juliette grabbed the sides of his face, holding his head steady. “Don’t you leave me.”
Franco smiled, but the movement was slow, as if it took everything he had. When he started to speak once again, it was no longer English, but American Spanish. It was close enough to Castilian that Hugo understood most of it.
“I only regret that I didn’t love you longer.”
Juliette’s eyes closed, tears streaming down her face. She replied in the same language. “Please stay with me.”
“If I can, I will, my love. But I don’t think it’s my choice to make.”
“I love you. I love you.”
“And I love you, and Devon. You’ll tell him I love him. You don’t forget that you have each other. Love each—”
Franco’s words cut off on a hiss of pain.
