Page 36 of Outlaw Ridge: Griff
He raised a brow but didn’t argue.
She didn’t want to spell it out. Not here, not now. But they both knew the truth. Afterthatkiss, staying under his roof any longer than necessary would be playing with a different kind of fire.
And after everything she’d already lost, she wasn’t sure she could handle getting burned again.
With that thought racing through her head, Lily shifted her weight, about to step over a collapsed section of drywall…
When the shot blasted through the air.
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Chapter Eight
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At the sound of the gunshot, Griff’s instincts took over.
He hooked his arm around Lily and yanked her down just as another round tore through the air above them. They hit the scorched ground hard, the sharp edge of broken wood digging into his elbow, the stink of ash and burned insulation hitting his nose like a punch.
They scrambled behind what was left of her coffee table. A stone-topped piece warped and blackened but still solid enough to serve as cover. Barely.
His heart slammed against his ribs, every muscle wired tight. His hand went to his sidearm. Adrenaline surged, but his mind stayed clear. Focused.
He turned to check on Lily. To make sure she hadn’t been hit. Thank God she hadn’t been. She was breathing fast, eyes sharp, clutching the metal lockbox tight against her chest. No panic. Just fury and fire. She gave a single nod to let him know she was okay.
Another shot rang out, hitting something behind them with a sharp crack. Then another.
Close. Too close.
Griff shifted, trying to angle his body over hers, scanning the tree line, looking for the muzzle flash, for any sign of movement.
Whoever was shooting knew what they were doing. And they weren’t done yet.
Another shot cracked overhead, slamming into what remained of the wall behind them and showering them with bits of scorched drywall and soot.
Griff gritted his teeth, ducked lower behind the ruined coffee table, and carefully angled his head around the edge. He scanned fast. The tree line across the road, maybe thirty yards out. Dense enough to give cover, sparse enough in winter that he could see flashes of movement if the shooter exposed themselves.
Staying low, he worked his phone from his pocket and sent a quick text to Hallie to let her know there was an active shooter at Lily’s. Hallie would send backup, but Griff knew the deputies couldn’t just come charging in, not with bullets flying. Still, a police presence might get this asshole to stop firing.
Another round rang out, hitting too close.
He tracked the trajectory. There, in the empty lot across from them. A patch of brush shifting in rhythm with the shots. Steady. Deliberate.
“Tree line,” he muttered. “Just across the road.”
Lily shifted beside him, still crouched, the lockbox gripped like it mattered more than breath. “Can you see them?”
“No,” he said, frustration tightening his voice. “But I know where they are.”
He cursed under his breath. There were houses behind that stand of trees. Not visible from here, but close enough. If he fired back and missed, even by inches, he could hit a wall, a window, a kid on a couch.
He couldn’t take that shot.
But clearly, the shooter didn’t share that concern. Another round cracked past them, splintering the remains of a broken doorframe inches above Lily’s head.
She flinched but didn’t panic. “Who the hell is doing this?”
“I don’t know,” Griff said, eyes locked on the trees. “Didn’t get a glimpse. Could be a hired gun. Maybe Margo. Everett.”
