He jutted out his chin. “It worked too. Pretty soon, everyone left me alone.”
Despite the pride in his voice, Sloane sensed how false his words sounded, how hurt he must have been to have lost Jacqueline first, then his entire family.
“You must have been lonely.” She tipped her head to one side, waiting for him to protest his independence and need for no one and nobody.
The man was a recluse who didn’t want emotion given to him, nor did he desire to provide any in return. But his next words surprised her. “It was a life I wouldn’t wish on anybody,” he muttered, and stood pacing just past the window. “But I got by and I’m fine. Darned if I’m not.” He straightened his shoulders, ever the solitary man he presented to the outside world.
“I know you’re fine, but at least admit you could be better.” Sloane followed his lead and rose to her knees, grateful for the excuse to move and get her circulation flowing again.
“You’ve got family now and you’re stuck with me,” she said, echoing his earlier words.
He would learn Sloane Carlisle wasn’t a woman easily deterred. Samson might not want tender emotion, but he was going to get some anyway. Sloane was his daughter, the only flesh-and-blood person he was connected to in this world. It was time he acknowledged her in an embrace. And she intended to enjoy her first real father-daughter hug.
Standing, she moved forward, past the open window, and turned to reach for Samson at the same moment a loud noise sounded from outside and a burning sensation seared through her left shoulder. The impact propelled her against the wall as she cried out in surprise. She grabbed for her shoulder while white flashes and bursts of light circled around her.
“Damn, girl.” Samson reached for her, easing her to a sitting position before kneeling beside her. “Easy.” He moved her hand so he could check her shoulder.
Sloane glanced down. Was that her blood on her hands?
“You’ve been shot,” Samson said in a shaking voice.
Sloane’s vision blurred badly. She thought Samson was pulling off his jacket. Thought he muttered, “Gotta stop the bleeding.” She couldn’t be sure.
But when he put pressure against her shoulder with that jacket, a searing, burning, unbearable pain shot straight through to her heart. She rolled her head to one side and shut her eyes to escape the agony, but there was no getting away from her own body.
Other outside noises intruded. . . . Footsteps, maybe? Voices, definitely. Without a doubt, she heard Samson speaking. She wished Chase were beside her, doing his white-knight bit, but he was with his family. His primary obligation. She’d walked out of his life. Or had he walked out of hers? Nausea threatened to overwhelm her along with the disorienting sensation of losing her balance.
Go with it, she told herself. If she did, she’d escape the pain and nothing mattered more, she thought as she allowed herself to fall into the oblivion that beckoned.
“You should have let me drive,” Chase muttered.
“You’re too upset,” Rick said, slowing down for a yield sign.
He glared at Rick, who, after hearing Samson had disappeared, had snatched his car keys and ordered his brothers around like the cop he was. He didn’t want the man wandering around town alone, unprotected.
He hadn’t turned on Chase for not going after Sloane when he had the chance, but that was fine since Chase had enough self-recrimination without his brother’s lecture. His gut feeling told him father and daughter were together and the end result couldn’t be good.
“Step on it, will you?” he told his brother.
Rick ignored him, while Roman reached out from the back-seat and put one hand on Chase’s shoulder for support. “We’ll be at the McKeevers’ house soon enough.”
The old tree house, where Sloane had met Samson for the first time, was the only place Chase could think of that Sloane would go to be alone. Lord knew she wouldn’t return to Chase’s house. He’d done his best to freeze her out and drive her far away from him.
Damn.
Finally, after what seemed like half an hour but in reality wasn’t more than five minutes, Rick pulled up to the curb in front of the sprawling Colonial. No car in the driveway told him the McKeevers still weren’t home, which he’d figured since they hadn’t answered the phone when Chase had called from the car on the way over.
“We could be panicking for nothing,” Roman said in an obvious attempt to reassure Chase.
“Yeah, I’d like to hear you say that if it were Charlotte we were looking for.”
Roman scowled at him. “Don’t go borrowing trouble.”
Chase jumped out of the car before Rick even shut the ignition. He took off toward the backyard, rounding the house with his brothers not far behind. His blood pounded in his ears and his mouth ran dry. He didn’t know what he’d find and didn’t care if he barged in on Sloane like a crazy man, only to find her alone in the old tree house. Just so long as she was okay.
Dried leaves crunched beneath his feet, making more noise than he’d like and probably announcing his approach, but there was nothing he could do about it now. An indecipherable, muffled noise sounded from nearby and Chase came to a halt alongside a large blue spruce, his instincts suddenly telling him to tread cautiously.
“What’s wrong?” Rick whispered.
Chase shrugged. “I don’t know. Something just seems off.”
Rick motioned for Chase to remain where he was. “I’m going to approach from behind,”
he said, gun in hand, as he pointed with his other hand to the tree house and the lone window visible from a distance.
Without warning, a solitary figure broke the silence and ran through the trees, crunching leaves in his wake. At the same time, Samson stuck his head out the window. “Call 911,”
he yelled at them.
“I’ve got it,” Roman said, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket at the same time Rick ran after the escapee.
Chase took off for the tree house, panic engulfing him. He didn’t remember climbing the stairs, but he was damn well aware of easing himself into the old structure and seeing Sloane passed out cold on the floor. Blood seeped through Samson’s old jacket, which now acted as part tourniquet, part bandage, to stem the blood flow.
His gut clenched and fear struck a blow to his heart, his pulse pounding with racing speed. “Rick called for an ambulance,” Chase told Samson before kneeling beside Sloane and taking her ice-cold hand into his own.