“Yeah, I know.” He tried to adjust his position on the bed. “She’s a better shot than this asshole, anyway.”
That earned a faint smile from McCracken, though he quickly straightened when Franco looked at him. “Okay,” McCracken said, flipping open his notebook. “You don’t have any idea who it was?”
“I didn’t see anybody.” Franco’s jaw tightened. “But I fired back toward the east and into the brush, where the muzzle flash came from. I think I hit somebody. Heard a sound. Not a shout, more like a grunt. Pain, I’d bet.” His gaze flicked to Aiden. “Thanks for sending out that helicopter, by the way. I’m glad I was on the phone with Albertini.”
Aiden shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Of course. I’m just glad they got to you in time.”
“Damn right.” Franco managed a smirk. “Takes more than a few holes to stop me.”
“Still,” I said, gripping the edge of the chair. “You could’ve died, Sheriff.”
“Could’ve,” he agreed lightly, as if discussing bad weather. “Didn’t.”
Aiden’s voice sharpened a notch. “We’ll need every clinic, ER, and vet from here to Missoula on alert. If you hit the shooter, they’ll need help fast.”
“Already on it,” McCracken said, pulling out his phone. “I’ll have dispatch send out the notice.”
Franco leaned his head back against the pillow, exhaustion seeping into the lines around his eyes. “Good man. I’ll be back to work tomorrow.”
I watched him, my stomach rolling into a knot. “You can’t work tomorrow. You were shot.”
He snorted. “One through-and-through in the arm, two in the leg. All three missed anything vital. I’ll live.”
“Live, sure,” I said, tightening my grip on his hand, “but you’re not walking into the station tomorrow.”
“The hell I’m not,” Franco said, his tone going full sheriff again. “Nobody else is arresting your grandma but me.”
For reasons I didn’t want to unpack, that actually comforted me.
Aiden rubbed a hand over his jaw, half-exasperated, half-amused. “You’ll be lucky if Rodinsky doesn’t strap you to that bed.”
“He’ll try,” Franco muttered, “but I’ve got a good right hook.”
McCracken looked torn between admiration and concern. “I’ll make sure he stays put for at least a day,” he said, but it sounded like even he didn’t believe it.
Aiden shifted his stance, professional focus sliding back into place. “What cases were you working when this happened?”
“Same as always.” Franco’s eyes half-closed. “Couple of domestic violence calls, the poachers up near Blarney Pass, and of course, the damn silver boxes and that dynamite mess.”
The room went quiet except for the faint rhythmic beeping of the monitor by the bed. Rain rattled the window, and the beeping of the machines kept time.
Finally, Franco sighed. “I don’t know what might’ve gotten me shot. My cases aren’t that dangerous right now.”
“Maybe you got too close without realizing it,” Aiden said. “If someone’s trying to keep the silver boxes buried, they might think the sheriff of Silverville was connecting dots too fast.”
Franco’s gaze slid toward him, thoughtful. “Those boxes aren’t worth that much, and nobody believes the map leads to gold.”
“I agree, so you need to think about enemies you might’ve made throughout the years,” Aiden said slowly. “You don’t take rifle fire over a petty theft.”
A chill ran down my spine.
McCracken’s phone buzzed, and he read the screen. “No reports yet of anyone coming in for treatment. Not in the valley or neighboring counties.”
Aiden stepped closer to the bed, his expression unreadable. “What about your personal life?”
“It’s fantastic,” Franco said. “No family drama from any direction. No friends suddenly mad at me. I’m good on the personal front.”
Aiden placed a hand on the bed’s guardrail. “Do you remember any sounds before the shots? Vehicles? Voices?”
