“Wilco,” Julian responded.
He deftly put in his mouthpiece, making sure the demand-valve was operable, then using his propulsion unit, he submerged.
The water was clear, which was helpful, but the tangle of debris beneath the surface was even more convoluted than the mound above. Julian took his time—a lot of it—examining every crevice and every snarl as he made a slow, circuitous route around the fragmented pile.
Nothing.
He rose to the surface to see Spence and Tabbi, already heading back to the shore with their vic in tow.
“This area underwater, is clear,” he told those listening. “I’m going to have a better look around topside, then join Trask and Buck to examine downriver.”
“Roger that,” Spence’s voice came back.
Julian turned, and?—
“Umph.” He grunted. Something had impacted his upper arm.
The unexpected punch was immediately followed by the sound of a gunshot.
Fuck.He’d been shot!
Without conscious thought, Julian immediately submerged, pain radiating down his arm as he tried to assess the damage and head for shore as he regained his mouthpiece. He couldn’t tell how badly he’d been hit. The cold water and adrenaline were masking his symptoms, but goddammit, he’d make it. There was no way, after waiting all his life for Petula, that he’d give in to something as trivial as a gunshot wound.
There was no doubt he was leaving a trail of blood behind him as he glanced back at the red cloud dispersing to his rear. If anybody on shore was paying attention, they’d see it.
Another projectile pierced the water by Julian’s head, confirming his fears. It missed him by mere inches.
Shit! Too close.
Julian dove as deeply as possible, giving up his trajectory toward shore, and instead circling around to the far side of the rock and log pile. Hopefully that would confuse the shooter, while keeping Julian obscured.
Once Julian deemed himself to be in a hidden position, he slowly surfaced.
Spitting out his mouthpiece, he sucked in air and snarled the last words he thought he’d be saying today.
“Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. I’ve been shot.”
CHAPTER 28
Petula,who had been monitoring the chatter from the office’s base station, bolted upright.
“Oh, my god! Julian’s been shot,” she cried. “I have to go.”
Jett thrust a hand toward Petula’s arm and latched on.
“Stop,” she snapped firmly. “You heard his call-out. He’s speaking clearly and coherently. That means he’s still running on all cylinders. Don’t panic. The guys are there. They’ll take care of him.”
“But—”
“No buts, Petula,” Jett insisted. “Think about it. The only person with reason to shoot Julian right now is your stalker. He’s probably pissed that Julian means something to you, and wants to do him harm. And if hewasn’tactually trying to kill Julian, it means he’s trying to lure you out. If you show up there, the shooter will get exactly what he wants. You. In the open. As his next target.”
“But Jefferson wouldn’t shoot me,” Petula wailed emphatically, trying to work free of Jett’s iron grip.
“Maybe he would, and maybe he wouldn’t, but Julian would be pissed if you appeared and put yourself in danger.”
Before Petula could argue any further, Sheila spoke up.
“What about the other guy?” she interjected from her seat at the desk where she’d started rocking. “The other guy. The other one Tex said might be after you. Maybe it’s not Jefferson. Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s the other guy.”
