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Natalie jerked Sean down until the gravel pebbles bit into his knees. “Hold this.” She pressed his hand hard against the fast–bleeding wound in Carl’s upper arm.
She rolled back on her heels and eyeballed the wound. “Damn it, Carl, that thing is bleeding like crazy. Did you use a pointed pellet?”
“What difference does that make?” Sean asked over the wailing of the sirens.
The sheriff’s deputies were close enough now that he could see the cherry tops barreling down the road. His nerves jangled. For the past few years he’d done everything in his power to avoid law enforcement. His fake driver’s license was good enough for a casual glance, but one quick call to check it out and the jig was up.
“Those are the best pellets for hunting small game. They’re accurate as all get out and can do some real damage.” She raised Carl’s arm up above his head. “Keep tight pressure on the wound. We don’t want him to lose too much blood before the paramedics take over.”
“Well, aren’t you shweet.” Carl giggled at his own joke then winced at the pain it must have caused when he shook his injured arm. “A Shweet that’s shweet.”
Sean increased the pressure on the other man’s wounds. A little reminder to be polite? Maybe. “You’re drunk.”
Two cruisers and an ambulance sped into the lot, spitting out gravel from beneath the tread of their tires.
Carl didn’t even twitch despite the weight bearing down on him, instead he shook his head in slow motion like a stoned surfer. “Haven’t had a shingle drink.” His gaze flicked up and down repeatedly. Not as though he was really looking at or for anyone, but as if he couldn’t help it.
Natalie snorted.
The cold wind carried the sound of the cruisers’ doors slamming shut to where they huddled in the brewery sign’s shadow.
“Really.” Carl struggled to sit up with more force than expected from someone who was out of it enough to try to make out with an invisible person.
If he wasn’t drunk, the dude was on something.
Sean used his free hand to press down on Carl’s shoulder, stilling him, and tried to figure out what the fuck was going on. Carl’s pupils were huge, but he’d never been a user that Sean had noticed or heard gossip about. In the past when the old brewmaster had been on a bender, not an unusual occurrence, he’d reeked of cheap bourbon. Sean took in a deep breath.
Carl could use a shower but that was it.
Unease zapped Sean like static electricity. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here with a gun. What were you planning to fuck up today? Or were you just going to shoot up the brewery?”
Natalie shifted beside him, drawing his attention. Standing straight and proud with a determined tilt to her chin, she stared not at Carl but at Sean with a quiet fierceness. She nodded her head. Carl may hate both of them, but if Sean could just get the former brewmaster to confess. Her strength and confidence in him floored him. He didn’t doubt for a second that she wanted to tear Carl apart bone by bone, but something held her back. Maybe the same thing eating away at the back of his brain.
“What the fuck you talkin’ about, boy?” Carl snarled. “This ish my brewery. Anybody messes with it and I’ll kick their ass six ways to Shunday.” He squinted up at them as the paramedics hustled across the lot. “Lemme go. I’ve got beer to brew.”
“Maybe somewhere, but not here.” The possibilities rumbled through his mind. Carl had to be high, but on what? Sean scooted aside so the taller of the two paramedics could take over, but maintained his hold on Carl’s shoulders. As long as Natalie was around, he wasn’t letting this asshole off the ground. “He’s on something.”
“Fuck you, boy.” Outrage turned Carl’s face a deep red. “I don’t do drugs.”
And movie popcorn isn’t overpriced. Sean rolled his eyes.
The action had Carl sputtering in rage and he jackknifed into a sitting position, then broke out of Sean’s grasp and sent the paramedic sprawling to the ground before the bleeding man scrambling to his feet. His injured arm hung limp at his side and a trickle of blood rushed down his forearm. Not that Carl seemed to notice or care.
Ignoring Sean, Carl laser–beamed him attention on Natalie. “You interfering bitch.”
He lunged toward her.
The sound of footsteps rushing toward them registered, but Sean knew they wouldn’t get to them in time. Acting on instinct, he barreled forward, intent on crushing Carl before the man reached Natalie.
He’d spent his formative years learning how to fight from stuntmen on the set, skills he’d found practical use for when he got older and finally stood up to his father.
His shoulder connected with Carl’s stomach and he wrapped his arms around the man’s paunchy middle and pushed forward. The momentum of his attack knocked Carl on his ass. Sean landed on top of him, letting his full weight pin the former brewmaster to the gravel parking lot.
Rage twisted Carl’s face into an almost animalistic expression of pure hatred. “I know all about you,” he bellowed as he managed to get his shoulders up off the ground. “Don’t think I don’t.”
Sean clamped onto Carl’s bony shoulders and shoved him back down. “Shut it, Brennan.”
“From your name to your qualifications, you’re nothing but a fraud.” Spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth because of the force of his words. “You’re as phony as a three dollar bill and you know it.”
