Page 143 of A Dead End Wedding

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"Get down!" Jake grabbed me and shoved me to the floor, landing on top of me. Something burned the top of my shoulder, but I didn't think it was lust-related this time. It hurt too much. I shoved at him. "Get off me! You weigh a ton."

My hands connected with the muscles that were hidden under his t-shirt, and I realized why he was so heavy. If I could breathe, the position might have been kind of sexy.

No air, not so much. "Get off! I can't breathe."

He shifted his body to the side and in front of me, blocking me from the doorway. Somehow, he had a gun in his hands.

"What just happened? Why is my shoulder burning? What was that noise? Was that a bomb?"

He glanced back at me and looked at my shoulder, then shifted to stare out the door again. "It was a shotgun blast, Vaughn. Somebody shot the hell out of your doorframe."

He rolled up to a crouch, then stood, still aiming the gun out into the darkness of my front yard. Then he stepped out onto the porch and scanned the yard. "Damn. I heard a car revvingup right after I dropped you to the floor. That was probably the shooter taking off out of here."

He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and held his other hand out to pull me up, bumping the door shut with his shoulder. I was surprised it still closed, but there really didn't seem to be a lot of damage to the frame, considering how loud the explosion noise had been.

I snuck a peek at my shoulder and almost fell back to the floor. "I'm bleeding!" I scrunched my eyes shut and tried to convince myself that the sight of blood didn't terrify me. Especially when it was my own.

Jake stepped closer and pulled the shoulder of my shirt to the side. "You got a splinter," he said, mouth tightening. "I could remove it, but I think you should have a doctor look at it."

My knees went a little woozy at the words "remove it," but he caught me with an arm around my waist. "How about you sit down while I call for help?"

We walked back into the kitchen, and I collapsed onto one of the folding chairs, trying not to let the tears building up behind my eyes leak out. He touched the side of my face gently, then flipped open his phone and dialed.

"Hey, that's too many numbers to be 911. Who are you calling? I want 911," I said.

He glanced at me, then turned away and had a cryptic conversation over the phone that involved several very bad words I'd never actually heard spoken out loud before. I also caught my name and "shooter," but not much else.

When he turned back around, he closed his phone and shoved it back in his pocket. "Help is on the way. A friend of mine on the OGPD. Do you want an ambulance?"

I thought about it for a moment. "I've never ridden in an ambulance. That might be kind of cool."

He raised one eyebrow. "Yeah, except for the part where they stick a huge needle in you to start the IV. It's just a splinter, Vaughn. I can take you to the ER."

I couldn't help it; I sniffled a little. "I would have preferred somebody a touch more sympathetic for my first GSW, Brody."

"It's not a gunshot wound, it's a splinter. I'm sorry, I can be very sympathetic," he said. But then he smashed his fist into the palm of his other hand. "I'd like to be very sympathetic to whoever's doing this to you. Right after I beat the shit out of him."

"Or her," I said, feeling cheered up.

That caught his attention. "What are you talking about?"

I took a deep breath. "Promise me you are not working for Addison Langley or Sarah Greenberg on the insulin cases. Also, that you're not spying on me for them. I want your word, Brody."

He stared at me, and for a split-second, I would have sworn he looked . . .hurt?

"I told you I'm not. If you don't believe me, that's your call, Counselor."

But I did. I didn't know why, since he always seemed to show up when there was trouble, but something about him registered high on the integrity meter with me. Plus, he was a SEAL. You don't grow up in a Navy household without learning about the moral fiber of those men.

I nodded. "All right. I need to hire you on the Deaver case, so I can tell you this without breaking client confidence."

He nodded. "Done."

I blew out a huge breath. "Okay. I have a story to tell you about coincidences, dead bodies, and a conspiracy. Plus an implied threat that I'd be singing with the fishes."

He blinked. "Isn't that sleeping with the fishes?"

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