Page 33 of One Last Storm
She took off for him.
Behind him, Moose, Shep, and London looked like they’d been through a war—snow-covered, red-faced, moving with the careful stiffness of people who’d spent too many hours fighting Alaska weather.
“Flynn.” Axel’s voice broke on her name. He turned to meet her, arms open.
She launched herself into his arms with enough force to make him stagger backward. He caught her and lifted her off her feet, his face buried in her hair, his grip so tight it hurt.
She didn’t care.
“I thought—” The words stuck in her throat. “Echo said there was an accident.”
“Ran out of gas. Had to flag down a ride.” His voice was muffled against her neck, but she could hear the relief in it. The same bone-deep gratitude she was feeling. “When we heard about the shooting...”
She pulled back to look at him. He wore worry lines around his eyes, and his hands shook slightly as they framed her face. “You’re okay?”
“Now I am.”
“Flynn.” Moose appeared beside them, his face grim with concern. “Where’s Tillie?”
“She’s in the room—she’s okay, Moose.”
He started for the room, but Flynn caught his arm.
He stopped, turned, his blue eyes wide. “What?”
“It’s Dawson.”
Flynn forced herself to step out of Axel’s arms, though she kept one hand pressed against his chest.
“A suspect named Ravak took his daughter hostage. Dawson…he jumped in front of a bullet for her.”
Moose drew in a breath, his mouth opening.
“Dawson’s been in OR for four hours. Femoral artery.”
The silence was broken only by the hospital’s ambient noise—monitors beeping, overhead pages, the distant sound of Christmas music from the lobby speakers.
“Where is he?” Moose asked.
“Surgical wing. Third floor.”
Moose stilled, glanced toward the elevators. Turned toward Tillie’s room.
“Wait—” Flynn said.
Dr. Peterson appeared at the far end of the hallway. Still in surgical scrubs, his face unreadable. He looked around at the group of exhausted, ice-covered people and seemed to take them in stride.
“Are you Detective Mulligan’s family?”
“We all are,” Flynn said. Because yeah, she was. Even if not technically, yet, she fully planned on marrying Axel Mulligan, Dawson’s cousin. Even if she had to do the asking.
It was taking the man long enough.
“He’s stable. The surgery went better than expected. We were able to repair the artery and save the leg, though there will be extensive rehabilitation ahead.”
Axel’s arm went around her, pulling her against him, as if holding her up. Yep, and thank you.
Behind her, Moose released a breath he’d probably been holding since they arrived.
