He looked up and caught her reflexively as she barreled into him. The crack of the shot came a split second before Mo’s body jerked, and they fell to the ground.
Bronwyn heard the thunk as his head made contact with the asphalt. But they didn’t stay where they landed. His arms wrapped around her, and then he rolled until his body covered hers.
“I’ve got you,” his low voice whispered into her ear. “Don’t move.”
Bronwyn hissed, “Get off me. They could shoot you.”
“Does everything have to be an argument with you?”
Before she could tell him that arguing was a defense mechanism and she was only doing it because she was terrified, more shots were fired.
Somewhere behind them, Katrina screamed. Bronwyn might have screamed too. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that Mocovered her completely and then his body jolted again, and he let out a grunt.
The next sound she registered was the unmistakable squeal of tires as someone peeled out of the parking lot. Mo lumbered to his feet and did a weird shuffling run toward the fleeing vehicle. What was wrong with him? Did he want to get shot?
She turned her head enough to watch him, and that’s when she saw the bloodstain spreading across his left shoulder.
He’d already been shot.
Katrina’s low “Oh my word. Oh my word. Oh my word” registered in her senses, and she rolled to her feet.
“Get down!” Mo yelled at her. But she ignored him. If Mo could run after the shooters, she could at least get vertical. She turned to her friend and found her curled in a near-fetal position on the ground a few feet away.
Bronwyn stumbled toward her as Lionel ran out of the building and joined her. “Katrina? Are you hurt?” Had she been shot?
Katrina shook her head and wiped a hand over her face. “No.” It sounded like she’d been swallowing gravel.
Lionel helped Bronwyn pull Katrina to her feet, then he put his arm around her and led her back into the store.
Bronwyn watched her. She was moving, and there were no obvious wounds. Hopefully, she’d been on the ground because she’d dropped and made herself as small a target as possible, not because of any external force.
A strong body leaned into hers. Mo put his arm around her and hustled her inside before she could get a good look at him.
The cashier was on the phone. Lionel guided Katrina to a bench by the office door.
Bronwyn stopped and turned to Mo. “You—”
He placed his hand over her lips. “Bronwyn.” Her name was a growl. “Turn around.”
Turn around. Why? When she didn’t move, his hands landed on her shoulders, and he spun her, eyes on her body. “What are you doing? You’re the one who’s bleeding.”
Mo ignored her complaint. He pulled in a shaky breath as she faced him again. “You’re not hit.”
She wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement, but she answered him anyway. “No.”
He swallowed hard, his hands still on her shoulders. His breathing accelerated, and he pulled her against his chest. His hands slid down her arms and then around her. His breath tickled her ear when he spoke. “You saved my life.”
“I don’t think so. You saved mine. You’ve been shot. And I’m pretty sure those bullets were meant for me.” She tried to pull away. “We need to stop the bleeding.”
Mo’s arms tightened around her. “It’s just a graze. Please. Just ... give me this.” His voice was rough. “I need to hold you.”
The desperation in his voice nearly broke her, and she answered with the full truth. “I’m not going anywhere, and...” Could she say it? Yes. She could. “I don’t want you to let go.”
He shuddered at her words and pulled her closer. She desperately wanted to sink into his embrace, but the horror of the past few minutes refused to give her any peace.
She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but she couldn’t take it any longer. She was certain he’d been shot at least once. He might be running on adrenaline, but at some point, that would disappear and pain would kick in. “Mo, I need to check your injuries.”
He didn’t release her, but he loosened his hold enough for her to lean back and look into his eyes. His pupils were ... were they dilated? What size were they supposed to be? Why hadn’t she taken more first-aid courses? Or, well, any first-aid courses?
