her.
“She’ll make it. She’s a tough lady,” Logan whispered in her ear.
Keely closed her eyes for a second, then made her way to Ben and wrapped her arm around
her father’s waist. Logan spoke with the EMTs as they loaded Margaret into the ambulance
and hooked her to machines. A few minutes later, the siren blared and she was whisked
off to the hospital.
Keely grasped her dad’s elbow with shaking hands. No doubt he wanted to go with Margaret
and be with her, but she knew in his condition he couldn’t.
“Let’s get inside.” She didn’t know if she was helping him inside or holding onto
him for dear life.
…
Inside her dad’s house an hour after the shootings, Keely’s hands still shook. How
could Margaret Beyer be sipping tea one minute and in critical condition the next?
Logan stepped into the foyer, his wet hair matted to his head, his mouth set in a
grim line.
Keely handed him a towel.
“Thanks.” He blotted water from his clothes, including one of her dad’s sweatshirts
Keely had given him, since he’d used his own shirt to stop Margaret’s bleeding. It,
too, was soaking. He’d stayed outside until the police officers called to the scene
had left.
Keely’s eyes stung with unshed tears. Her head pounded with frustration over Margaret’s
injuries and her father’s worry. Her dad had finally begun to find happiness with
another woman after losing his wife. And now that woman’s life was in the balance.
Revenge burned hot inside Keely’s gut.
“Where’s Ben?” Logan passed her the wet towel.
She motioned with her head to the living room. “In there with Dave and Charlie. Thanks
for sending your friend Beatrice. Makes me feel better to know he has a bodyguard
watching over him.”
Logan nodded and closed his eyes for a few seconds. As if steeling himself, he straightened
and strode into the living room to speak with her father.
Keely bit her bottom lip to keep it from shaking, and after regaining control, followed
Logan.
Her father sat in his favorite recliner with his feet propped up. His wide eyes made
her wonder if he was in shock. Beatrice, the off-duty policewoman Logan had hired
to protect him, sat erect on the sofa, as if ready to pounce at a second’s notice.
Charlie sat in a chair to one side of her dad, glancing around the room as if unsure
what to do to help, while Dave barked out orders that went unheeded.
Keely looked at Logan and thought about the one thing that would snap her dad out
of his worries. Helping others. “Dad, should I get some of your clothes for Logan?”
Sure enough, her father blinked and focused on Logan. “Oh, for crying out loud. You’re
soaked. Keely, go get him some sweatpants and a new shirt.”
“No, thank you, sir,” Logan said. “I need to get to headquarters to file a report
and answer some questions. I’ll change there.” He glanced at her. “Okay to postpone
our trip to the city jail?”
She blinked, then nodded. “Yeah.” She’d totally forgotten about that.
“What about the young man who was shot?” Ben asked, looking at Logan.
Only her dad—with his forgiving attitude and willingness to look at the good in a
person—would call the shooter a young man.
Logan’s jaw tightened. “Dead before the ambulance got to the hospital. He was one
of the kids Mrs. Beyer caught on her cell phone photo. Chayce Wilson.”
“And the other one? The one who took off in a car?” her father asked.
“Lenny Harper, presumably. We ran the tag. Stolen car. We’re looking for it now.”
He glanced at Keely. “Quick thinking back there to take pictures, by the way. I couldn’t
see the last two numbers from where I stood.”
Keely nodded, but remained silent.
“Dave, Charlie,” Logan continued, “Detective Dunnigan is outside. He’d like to talk
with both of you.” Logan sounded more like he was issuing an order than a request.
Both men looked surprised, but then
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