“What are you saying?”
I met his eyes. “I’m saying maybe those kids pushed her until she snapped. Or maybe someone wanted her to snap in public.”
The room went silent again.
Not grief this time.
Threat assessment.
Edge’s voice went deadly soft. “Why?”
I looked toward the stairs.
Toward where Destiny lay bleeding because the whole damn town had decided she was easier to haunt than protect.
“To hurt you,” I said. “To hurt her. To hurt Santa Fe. Pick one.”
Callum’s jaw tightened. “Or all three.”
Regan turned back.
Her eyes were wet, but the softness was gone.
Good.
Soft would not survive the next few days.
“What do we do first?” she asked.
JD looked at Doc, who had appeared at the top of the stairs again, listening with a grim expression.
“Can she move?”
Doc blew out a breath. “I don’t like it.”
“Nobody likes anything tonight,” JD said.
“She needs monitoring.”
“She’ll have it.”
“She needs fluids.”
“Bring them.”
“She needs to stay awake if concussion signs worsen.”
“Regan can do that.”
Doc looked at Edge.
Edge looked like refusing was killing him.
But JD’s words had done their work.
The clubhouse was too obvious.
The law was too close.
