She pales further. "How did they know I'd be there?"
"That's what I'm going to find out."
Mrs. Brady brings a first aid kit, and I take it, nodding my thanks as I open it and find an antiseptic cream. Maeve is looking at me strangely as I carefully apply it to her arm, but she doesn’t move. Still in shock, probably.
I finish bandaging her arm properly. My hands are steady now, muscle memory taking over. I've patched up wounds plenty of times. Just never on someone I?—
On my wife.
"Dr. Lewis is on his way," I tell her. "He'll check you over properly. Make sure there's nothing I missed."
"I told you, I'm fine?—"
"You were shot." I look up at her, and whatever she sees in my face makes her fall silent. "You're not fine. You'll never be fine until I find whoever did this and put them in the ground."
She flinches.
I feel my jaw tighten. I'm scaring her. Again. Just like I did yesterday with the man who came to the house—just like I've done since the moment we met.
But I can't help it. I can't be anything other than what I am.
And what I am is someone who will kill anyone who threatens her.
"I need to speak with Eddie," I say, standing. "Stay here. Don't move. Mrs. Brady will stay with you."
"Sean—"
But I'm already walking away, the rage that's been building since that phone call finally homing in on a target.
—
I find Eddie outside,briefing the other security personnel. They all straighten when they see me, reading the violence in my expression.
"Mr. Flannery—" Eddie starts.
"Who was supposed to sweep the trail before she rode?"
His face goes carefully blank. "That would be Davis, sir. He reported it clear before we went out."
"Where is he?" My voice is sharp as a knife.
"I'm here, sir." A younger man steps forward, trying to look confident and failing. "I swept the entire trail like I was instructed, along with Cole. There was no one?—"
"Obviously, there was someone." My voice is still that deadly calm. "Someone with a rifle and enough time to set up aperfect ambush position. So either you're incompetent, or you're compromised."
Davis's eyes widen. "Sir, I swear, we did a thorough?—"
"Not thorough enough,” I snarl. “My wife was shot."
"It was a professional," Eddie interjects. "He would have found a spot to hide when he heard Davis sweeping. Waited until?—"
"I don't care." I turn on him now. "Your job was to keep her safe. You failed."
Eddie’s jaw tightens. "I got her out alive?—"
"After she was shot!" The control I've been maintaining snaps. I grab Eddie by his jacket, slamming him back against the car. "You let someone take a shot at my wife. You let her get hurt. Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you right now."
To his credit, Eddie doesn't flinch or fight back. He just meets my eyes steadily. "Because I'm good at my job. And because you know this wasn't my fault."
