“Sheila has a certain way of looking at things…” Buck’s voice came through the mic this time. “If she thinks our shooter is Bradly, there’s a high probability she’s correct.”
Sheila didn’t look smug. Her demeanor actually didn’t change one iota upon hearing Buck’s praise.
Petula sent out a warning of her own. “That means you could be dealing with someone who’s a lot more dangerous than my brother. Bradly is evil through and through. He’s not just mentally ill like Jefferson.”
“We’ll be careful,” Julian told her.
“You meanSpencewill be careful,” Petula attempted to qualify.
“We’ll see.”
Petula sighed deeply, hearing what Julian was saying without him actually verbalizing it. He’d already decided on his course of action.
“Don’t get hurt, Julian. Please,” she heaved.
He assured her he’d be careful.
Of course, Julian hadn’t given in to Petula’s demands. He was the type of man who rantowarddanger, not away. That instinct was part of his family DNA, and there’d be no talkinghim out of whatever he had in his mind if it meant protecting her.
All she could do was sit tight and listen.
Three hours later,the crew was headed back to the shop.
Julian had, indeed, accompanied Spencer across the river after having his arm wrapped up in some compression thing that Spence had brought out with him.
They’d quickly ascertained that the shooter was long gone—having examined the hidey-hole from where the perp had taken his shots—and they’d given Trask and Buck the all clear to get their victim to an ambulance.
The emergency vehicles had eventually numbered, three. Two for the loggers, and one for Julian who had groused heartily about going to the hospital.
But he wasn’t winning that one.
With Petula in one ear, and the medical technicians right in front of him, it had been determined that he needed stitches. With additional pressure from his brothers and Tabbi, he’d eventually and reluctantly taken the ride, receiving a tetanus shot andthirty-ninestitches for his troubles.
Minor, her ass, Petula had grumbled, but not loudly enough to have to put money in Sheila’s swear jar.
The police chief had eventually assured them that both loggers were recovering, and that he’d secured the crime scene. Which, it was decided, had taken place on national park property. Federal jurisdiction. That meant the FBI had become involved.
Julian and the crew would soon be debriefed. The agent they’d spoken to earlier said she’d meet them at Diver Downeast to take their statements.
All in all, a cluster-fuck of a day.
When Julian walkedinto the office, Petula threw herself at him while carefully avoiding his bandaged arm. She wanted to cry, but since he and his brothers were all grinning and joking as if what they’d done was all in a days’ work, it seemed like she was the only one about to crawl out of her skin.
“How can you take this so lightly?” she asked, unable to hide the fact that she was completely choked up.
Julian put his good arm around her shoulders and hugged her tightly. “We’ve all seen…things over the course of our extended time in the military,” he explained. “In short, I can only say, ‘been there, done that’.”
“Yup. This isn’t the first time you’ve been shot,” Buck teased. “But the rest of us have better scars, so… Here’s hoping this new one turns out gnarly.”
Julian mock-groaned. “Fuck. This means Mom is going to dote on me like she did you when you got sent home last time for recovery leave, doesn’t it.” He was already taking a five out of his pocket to make Sheila a little richer. Into the jar it went.
“Yup. She’s been baking up a storm,” Tabbi told him, snickering. “Trask might have called her and told her what happened.”
“Thanks, T. I owe you,” Julian told his brother, tongue in cheek.
“Any time,” Trask responded. He didn’t look repentant, at all.
Within an hour of their arrival, the FBI agent showed up. She was professional, patient, and thorough, and by the time she left with a warning for them all to be careful, Julian was yawning, and looking like he could use a good, long rest.
