Shots rang out. From where she stood, her back to the frame of the server, she couldn’t tell where Bob was. Mo leaned toward her right and fired three times.
And then the ceiling collapsed all around them. Something hit her hard on the shoulder. Mo went down. She grabbed him around the waist and went down with him.
Another shot.
Then lots of yelling. “Clear! Clear!”
“Mo! Bronwyn!” Gray’s voice came through the cacophony. She tried to move, but the motion jerked a scream from her throat as agony pulsed down her arm.
“Over here!” Gray stood over her. “Bronwyn. Let me have Mo. Come on. You need to turn him loose.” Gray sounded ... wrong.
“Mo?” The question rasped from her throat. Blood. So much blood. Was it his? Hers? “Mo!”
Then Cal was there and he was rolling Mo off her body. She fought through the pain in her arm and made it to her knees. Mo lay beside her.
Breathing. He was breathing. Oh, thank you, Jesus, he was breathing.
His eyes opened, wild with terror.
“I’m here. I’m here.” She fell across his chest. “Mo?”
“Love you.” The words were slurred.
“Love you more.”
“You’re bleeding.” His eyes were on her arm.
“I’m sure it’s just a scratch.” Bronwyn ignored Mo’s muttering and lay across his chest. She rode the steady rise and fall of his breathing until he started yelling for someone to come get her to a doctor.
“Calm down, man,” Cal said. “I can see the cut. It’s probably going to need stitches, but she’s not going to die. Mom will be here in a few minutes.”
Cal helped her to her feet and pressed what looked like someone’s shirt to her arm. She hissed, and Mo nearly levitated off the floor as he tried to get to his feet.
“I’m fine.” She bit back a cry when Cal shifted to help Mo up.
Mo put an arm around her, and Cal helped them both maneuver down the hall and eventually onto a small sofa outside the security office.
She snuggled against Mo, and he held her hand on her good arm while she tried very hard not to think about Bob’s very dead body lying in the server room.
Cal stood sentry in front of her and Mo, and no one was allowed to approach until Doug and Jacque, both in pajamas, came through the door. They ran to where she and Mo rested and then knelt beside the sofa. Mo pulled his mom into a hug and held her close. When he released her, she went to Bronwyn’s other side and settled in beside her, careful to avoid her wound.
Doug rested a hand on Bronwyn’s knee. “Sweetheart, we need to tell you something.”
Mo must have heard the same thing in his tone that she did because his hold on her tightened. “What is it?”
Doug looked at the floor, then back to Bronwyn. “I don’t have all the details, but there was a confrontation at your grandmother’s house tonight. Your dad’s on his way to the hospital in Asheville. Your mother’s with him. Your uncle Ronald didn’t make it. Your uncle William and a reporter are en route to the police station for questioning.”
Bronwyn heard the words, but they didn’t make sense. Uncle Ronald was dead? Her dad was on his way to the hospital? That was all bad, but she got the feeling there was more. “What else happened?”
Jacque scooted closer and rested her hand on top of Doug’s.
“Sebastian was injured, but he was able to tell Donovan that a reporter came in and made some accusations about blackmail and that your grandmother somehow got caught up in the fight. I’m sorry, but your grandmother didn’t make it.”
“Grandmother?” Bronwyn dropped her head to Mo’s shoulder.
“I’m so sorry.” Doug squeezed her knee. “You are not alone, darling. No matter what.”
Jacque laced her fingers through Doug’s. “You are so loved, sweet girl. So loved. We’ll be here. We’ll help you through this.”
