I meet his eyes and don’t know what to say. I feel like I’m in shock.
"You did what you had to do," he says. "He would have killed us both."
"I know." My voice sounds distant and disconnected. "I just… I've spent my whole life trying to save people. And tonight I?—"
"Tonight you saved yourself." He stretches up and kisses my forehead as shouts erupt and I hear people calling his name. There's going to be a lot of attention on this town in the next few days and I'm not looking forward to that, but the worst part is over.
And Dane and I are safe. If that's not a reason to celebrate, I don't know what is.
29
DANE
The square looks like a war zone under the Christmas lights. Blood colors the snow in dark patches, and bullet casings litter the cobblestones that are bare. The wreaths and garland that once decorated the booths now hang in tatters, shredded by gunfire. Someone's finally turned off the music, and the absence of those cheerful carols makes the aftermath feel even more surreal.
I stand near the fountain with Varen, watching as more vehicles roll into town. More county deputies arrive first, which I expected. Then state patrol shows up, and they're more formal, asking a lot of questions that no one seems to answer directly. These men don't even know me and they're covering for me.
"This is gonna be a mess," Varen says in a tight voice. "State patrol's already talking about calling in the FBI. Mass shooting in a small town four days before Christmas? They'll want federal involvement."
All I can do is grunt at him because my focus keeps drifting back to Sloane, who sits on a bench near the diner with a blanketwrapped around her shoulders. Mira's beside her, talking to her and I'm assuming trying to offer comfort, but judging by the look on Sloane's face, she's in shock as the adrenaline of tonight's chaos wears off.
"Tell me again what happened," Varen says, pulling my attention back. I've already told him once, but I understand the need for repetition. He's the ranking law enforcement here now, the one who'll have to coordinate with state patrol and everyone else who wants answers. And it's not like we didn't know this was going to happen. We planned on this attack, and I know he's just trying to spin it like self-defense so everyone's story is straight.
"This was all self-defense," I say, though I'm smart enough to realize Varen won't let any ill intent slip into his investigation. "Cal Maddox brought shooters to hunt down Sloane Grady and there were so many men. Luckily," I tell him unironically, "the men of this town were armed and able to help defend her."
"And you killed Maddox himself?" His question is hollow. He knows the tale I'm spinning isn't quite true, but if we'd have gone through the proper channels Sloane would be dead, and so would I.
"Yes." The authorities will find my prints on that weapon that killed him, registered to my name in the state of New York, and they'll collect gunshot residue from my skin too, most likely. And I don’t regret pulling that trigger for one second. That man would've killed Sloane. I was protecting her.
Varen's gray eyes study me. "Self-defense?"
"He had a gun to Ms. Grady's head… I'd say it necessitated deadly force." I suck in a deep breath and sigh as I watchyet another state patrol cruiser roll in. At least they're not still blaring those damn sirens as they roll into town.
"Good." Varen's jaw tightens and now he's speaking under his breath. "That bastard got what he deserved." This is the part no one else gets to see of my new friend Varen, and I'm grateful to call him that.
One of the county deputies approaches with his hand resting on his sidearm as if he expects another firefight to break out. "Deputy Locke? The state patrol wants to start interviewing witnesses."
"Tell them to set up in the diner," Varen says. "And make sure someone's documenting the scene. Photos, statements, everything. When the Feds show up tomorrow, they're going to want a full report."
The deputy nods and hurries off and Varen turns back to me. "You're gonna have to give a statement eventually. But I can buy you a few hours if you need to get Sloane out of here. Get her somewhere warm before she goes into shock."
"I appreciate that."
"Is she okay?" It's really thoughtful of him to do this for us considering we're the reason his town got turned into a shooting range to begin with.
I glance at Sloane again. She's staring at her hands, turning them over as if she doesn't recognize them. "She will be," I tell him, but some part of me knows she's been changed forever, just like the first time I saw real violence like this.
Mira breaks away from the bench and walks over to us. Her red hair is disheveled, and there's blood on her shirt from helpingthe wounded. She looks exhausted and ready to go home, and I don't blame her. I think we all are.
"How bad are the injuries?" I ask.
"Mostly flesh wounds," she says. "Miles took a round through his shoulder, but it went clean through. Gideon's got a leg wound that's going to need stitches, but nothing life-threatening. Travis Boone caught some shrapnel in his arm from a ricochet, but he's already joking about it." She smiles softly at that sentiment and I realize the men here are sort of like her older brothers. It makes me feel like she's accepting me as part of that family now too.
"Anyone dead?" I ask her, and Varen's eyes darken as he sweeps his gaze across the square.
Mira shakes her head. "No one from town, only the men from the city."
I feel a tinge of relief that the men who stood up for us weren't badly injured and no one lost their life, but just like Sloane, I know they'll be scarred by this for a long time to come. It's a bittersweet initiation into a community I shunned for a very long time and the debt of gratitude I owe them all I can never repay.
