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“Sloan?” Trey asked and forced his limbs to push himself back onto his feet.
“She and the little one are fine. We’re going to need an ambulance for Tara, though. She’s been hit bad. These two won’t need one.”
Laredo’s oblique reference to Rutledge had Trey’s glance snapping to the wheelchair and man slumped sideways in it. He felt not an ounce of regret at the man’s death.
Leaving the rifle on the floor, Trey pulled out the cell phone and placed an emergency call as he headed into the hall. He found Sloan, sitting on the floor, holding the baby and cradling Tara’s head on her lap. Blood streaked the front of her top, and an unnatural pallor was in her face. Then Sloan lifted those midnight blue eyes to him, gazing at him with an inexpressible hunger for all the good things they had shared.
Gripped by the same feeling, Trey went down on one knee and kissed her with rough need until a tiny fist punched his chest. Drawing back, he caught hold of the little hand and looked with relief at his son.
Only then did Trey resort to words. “You’re both okay?”
“Yes.” Her gaze clung to his face an instant before, dropping to the ghostly pale, dark-haired woman lying motionless on the floor. “It’s Tara.”
“An ambulance is on the way.” That was the only hope Trey could offer.
Laredo reappeared with a couple of diapers from Sloan’s bag. “Let’s try to put some pressure on the wound with these.” Kneeling, he rolled Tara toward him, exposing her bloodied left side. When he applied the absorbent pads, pressing hard, she groaned.
Long, black lashes fluttered. She mumbled something that was unintelligible to Trey, but Sloan seemed to understand.
“Jake’s right here, Tara. He’s fine. You saved him,” Sloan said, an emotional catch in her voice.
Tara’s red lips curved in something close to a weak smile, and she mumbled again, “…such a beautiful bab…” The rest was lost in a thready sigh.
Laredo immediately felt for a pulse. “I think we just lost her.”
Sloan looked at Trey in silent anguish. But there was no time to mourn, as the thudding sound of running feet, more than one set, reached them. “It’s probably the crew,” Trey guessed. “They must have heard the gunshots. Better get the hell out of here, Laredo. The same way you came in.”
Laredo grinned at him. “You’re right. I was never here.”
He slipped down the hall at a silent run while Trey helped Sloan to her feet. “Come on. Let’s get Jake a blanket and cover him up.”
They walked into the lobby just as Tara’s copilot and two of the crew from Rutledge’s plane barged into the building and stopped short at the sight of the two bodies. One took a step toward Rutledge.
Trey stopped him. “I don’t think the police will want you touching anything.”
“What the hell happened here?” Tara’s copilot demanded and glanced at the second body. “Who’s that guy?”
“His name’s Donovan,” Sloan answered.
Trey could tell by her expression that she was preparing to launch into a recounting of all that happened. He never gave her a chance to start.
“He moved to Blue Moon last summer and bought the bar up the road. I don’t know much about him except he’s an ex-Marine. He must have had a flashback or something. We’ll probably never know why,” Trey stated, then suggested, “It’ll be best if you wait outside. I know the police will need a statement from all of you.”
“We didn’t see anything,” one of them protested. “We just heard what sounded like gunshots.”
“I guess that’s what you tell
the police when they get here,” Trey replied.
With one more glance at the bodies, the three men walked out and drifted toward their respective aircrafts. Trey watched them a moment, then turned to Sloan.
Glancing at him, she shook out an extra receiving blanket that had been stowed in her bag. “Why did you tell them that?”
“Sometimes the truth is too complicated. The story I gave them is much easier to believe,” Trey answered. “As it is, there’s going to be plenty of headlines, with both Tara and Rutledge dead, but the story will be short-lived. Agreed?”
Sloan didn’t have to think about it. “I do. Stories of vengeance, broken marriages, and lies belong in novels, not the eleven o’clock news.”
“That’s what I thought.” Understanding flowed between them, a warm and uniting kind.
