Wolfhunter River (Stillhouse Lake #3)(68)

I can imagine what Gwen’s going to say . . . which reminds me that I’d better call her. Now. But when I call her number, I get nothing but rings and voice mail. I don’t leave a message. I don’t have any idea how to tell her about this yet. She’ll call when she sees I’ve tried to get her.

I hope she’s safe. It hits me with sick, brutal force that if someone tried to take me and Connor out, Gwen and Lanny are also at risk. I should have come to that conclusion earlier, but like Connor, my brain’s not working at peak efficiency right now. I just killed a man. The calm and focus I feel in combat is starting to wear off now, and the consequences are mounting.

Call me back, Gwen.

But she doesn’t. I want to tell her I did my best. I want to tell her . . . tell her I love her.

But I don’t get a chance.

When the cops arrive, I put the gun on the ground, kneel, lace my hands behind my head, and get body-slammed to the ground anyway. Knee grinding my spine, voices shouting over each other. The guy on the ground is yelling, too, that I’m a stone-cold murderer, that I killed his cousin. I can’t see Connor. I’m praying they don’t treat him roughly, but there’s nothing I can do now. Nothing.

I hear Connor yelling, “Let him go!” in a voice so raw it makes me hurt.

I turn my head in that direction. “Hey,” I call to him, “Connor, stop. Relax. It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

“You killed a cop, you prick,” the cop says. “Trust me, that ain’t okay. You’re getting the needle. Shut the fuck up.”

Something hits me in the back of the head, and the world goes soft and loose around me. I try, but things slip away.

My last thought is for Connor’s safety before I plunge off the cliff, into the dark.





12

GWEN

When I arrive at the lodge, it’s chaos, the parking lot a staging area of four police cars, two ambulances, and one unmarked vehicle. My heart is hammering, my mouth is dry; Lanny’s asking me questions I can’t answer, and I park and bail out fast. My daughter catches up during my run toward the lodge. “Mom! Mom, what’s happening?”

I don’t know. And it terrifies me.

My path is blocked by a uniformed policeman—a big one, scowling at me from under the jutting bill of his hat. “You can’t go in there,” he tells me. “Lodge is closed.”

“Where is my son?” I know I should be calmer, more logical. I can’t be. “Connor Proctor! Where is he?”

“Back up,” he orders me. I don’t. When he comes toward me, we bump chests. He pauses, because he can tell he’s going to have to make me back off, and he’s struggling to do the math of how badly that will go.

“Mom!” Lanny grabs my arm. “Where’s Connor? Is he arrested too? What’s going on?”

“I’m trying to find out, honey,” I tell her, and for some reason that makes the cop take a step back. Maybe the fact that I have an anxious, frightened daughter hits home with him. I turn my attention back to him and try to start over. “I’m Gwen Proctor—”

“I know who you are,” he says. Hard eyes, like pebbles in water. “Step back.”

“My son is back there! He’s a child!”

“And he’ll be brought out—” He breaks off, because right at that moment a group emerges from the trees. Paramedics, rolling a gurney with someone on it. I see the bright flash of blood and my heart just . . . stops. I sway. Lanny grabs me tighter than ever, and I make myself, somehow, stay upright.

It’s not Connor. But it is Sam. He’s unconscious. There’s blood on the sheet under him, and I don’t see a wound. God, did they shoot him in the back? The cop holds me back again, but as soon as the gurney’s past me, I rush to it. There’s a cordon of cops, but I break through for a second and see that he’s breathing.

And he’s handcuffed to the railings.

A cop pushes me back. I ignite. “Take your damn hands off me!” I shout. “Did you shoot him?”

“Ma’am, calm down; he was injured a little bit in the struggle,” the cop says, and when I focus on him, I realize that he’s just a kid, really, barely old enough to buy a legal drink. He seems earnest and out of his depth, so I dial it back. Slightly. “He’s going to be okay.”

“Don’t promise,” I say. “Where’s my son? Connor Proctor?”

“Mom?”

Connor’s voice from behind me. I see him coming, with a single police escort. He’s wrapped in a metallic blanket, far too pale, and I rush to him and take him in my arms. He’s not in handcuffs, at least, which is good because if he were, I might have to take on the entire police force. He looks like he’s in shock. “Sweetie?” I kiss his cheek and push him back to look him over. No sign of injury. “Did they hurt you?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m okay.” His voice sounds lower than it usually is, and deeper. “They hurt Sam, though. I saw it.”

The cop next to him frowns, and I quickly say, “We’ll talk about that later, okay?” I draw Connor back into the protective hug and meet the officer’s eyes directly. “I want to take him to the room. Now.”

“Ma’am, he needs to come to the station and give a statement.”