Mary ran across the open space toward the downed man. Apparently, she hadn’t seen Nick in the shadows. When she reached the figure, she dropped to her knees.
The man’s hat lay in the snow beside him, exposing a shock of gray-white hair Nick could see from where he stood.
“Mr. Feegan?” Mary’s voice cracked. She rolled the man to his back, shucked her gloves and felt for a pulse in his neck.
Nick strode across the snow, angry he hadn’t been able to help Feegan, angry at the man who’d gotten away, angry at himself and angry at Mary. “I thought I told you to stay put.”
“It’s Mr. Feegan,” she said in a choked whisper. “I...I think he’s dead.” She looked up into Nick’s face as if begging him to prove her wrong. Her blue eyes swam in tears, one fat drop trickling down her cheek.
Nick dropped to his haunches beside her and pushed her hand away. He pulled his gloves off with his teeth and pressed two fingers to the man’s neck.
Already the man’s body temperature was falling, the cold air leaching the warmth right out of him. The gunshot had hit him square in the chest. He never had a chance. Still, Nick prayed for the soft thud of a pulse pumping against his fingers.
After several long seconds, he shook his head. “He should have stayed put in the shed. I warned him, but he was standing between me and the shooter. I couldn’t get a clean shot.” He didn’t know why he was explaining, but the sadness in Mary’s eyes made him do things totally out of the tough-guy character for him.
Tears spilled over and tumbled down Mary’s cheeks, the moisture chilling as they touched the icy air, making crystallized trails on her skin. “He was one of my father’s closest friends. I’ve known him all my life. He was an uncle to me.”
Never having known an uncle, Nick could only guess at the depth of her loss. He supposed if Royce died, he’d miss the man. He’d been a mentor to Nick, bringing him back from the self-destructive bent he’d been on before joining SOS. Whatever Mary felt was hurting her and the more Nick knew Mary, the more her pain manifested itself in him.
Nick pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry, Mary.”
Mary leaned her forehead into his chest, the tears falling faster. “Is this what’s going to happen to my father?”
“Not if I can help it.” Nick smoothed his hand down her back and tugged her closer. He wanted to hold her there until all the bad guys were dead and gone.
Mary gripped the front of Nick’s jacket and stared up at him, her teeth clenched. “Who the hell wants him dead? And why? Tell me,” she begged, her words choked.
Nick shook his head, his mouth twisted. “I don’t know. But let’s make sure Chris isn’t here.”
Mary’s eyes rounded. “Oh my God.” She jumped to her feet. “You don’t think...oh God. And what about Uncle Jimmy?”
“Kat’s got him covered. Let’s check inside for Chris.” Nick motioned toward the back door. “The shooter came out of the house.”
Mary lifted Mr. Feegan’s hat from the ground and covered his face with it. “We have to notify the police.” Her attention shifted to the house, her breath ragged and shaky.
“Does Feegan have a phone line?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you should wait outside.”
“No way.”
Nick knocked the snow off his boots before stepping up on the back porch. The door stood open.
Tapping her boots on the corner rail, Mary knocked the loose snow from the treads.
Nick entered first and did a quick once-over. “Chris isn’t here.”
Mary inhaled and let the air out slowly. “Thank God.”
“Try not to touch anything. The police will want to collect evidence.”
“Why would that man be after my father and his friends?”
“Maybe your father was hiding out here.”
Mary blinked back tears. Anger flared in her pale blue eyes. She turned into Nick’s chest, pounding a fist against him. “But why would they want to kill my father?”
