Chapter 16
I was already out of Aiden’s truck before he’d even screeched to a halt in the Silverville Hospital parking lot.
“Wait—” he yelled, but too late.
I was running.
The wind cut at my face, and the rain slapped my jacket as I bolted across the slick pavement toward the entrance. The sliding doors whooshed open, flooding me with the sterile brightness and sharp scent of antiseptic.
Aiden caught up to me easily, one hand at my back as I barreled past a line of uniformed deputies stationed in the entryway. I stopped just short of the reception desk, breath heaving.
“Is he okay?” I asked the first familiar face I saw.
Deputy McCracken looked up from his notepad. He was maybe three years younger than me, with sandy-blond hair and odd green eyes that always looked like they were trying to see two things at once. He was a genuinely nice guy, steady and soft-spoken.
“Well… yes. And no,” he said, his voice gentler than his words.
“What does that mean?” I breathed.
McCracken gave me a sympathetic pat on the arm, then glanced toward Aiden. “Thank you for calling it in when you did. We got the helicopter out fast. Got to him before he bled out too much.”
“How bad?” Aiden asked, rain still dripping from his hair, plastering it against his forehead.
McCracken grimaced. “He’s in surgery. Took two in the leg and one in the shoulder.”
My throat tightened. “Who shot him?”
He shook his head. “We don’t know. The scene’s secured. We called in the crime tech squad from Spokane—they’re on their way—but with this rain? We’ll be lucky if we find anything left to test.”
I swallowed hard, nodding like I understood. “I heard him return fire.”
“Yeah. We’ll check for hits, but it’s rough out there tonight.” McCracken exhaled, then motioned toward the waiting area. “Why don’t you two sit down? Doc said it’ll be a while.”
Aiden’s hand found mine as he steered me toward a row of vinyl-covered chairs.
The waiting room was already half full with locals, deputies, and folks from around the valley.
Sheriff Franco was more than law enforcement.
He was Silverville. Everyone owed him something—help, advice, a break on a ticket, a lecture that had probably saved their necks.
The room buzzed with quiet tension, the fluorescent lights humming softly overhead. A TV mounted in the corner scrolled muted headlines none of us cared about.
I sat, my hands fidgeting in my lap, and stared at the double doors leading toward surgery.
Patsy Cabonni sat behind the reception counter, like usual. She looked over at us and gave a small, tired smile. She’d worked at the hospital forever. I’d known her since I was a kid. Patsy had the kind of warm, practical energy that could keep a whole town stitched together during chaos.
“I’ll let you know when we hear anything,” she said, her voice calm, grounded. “They’ve got the best team in there with him.”
I nodded my thanks, my throat too tight for words.
The minutes dragged, stretching like hours. Aiden sat beside me, still and quiet, one boot tapping lightly against the linoleum in rhythm with the rain. His eyes stayed fixed on the surgery doors, and the muscle in his jaw twitched every now and then.
Eventually, the crowd grew with first a few more deputies, then the mayor, then neighbors from the outskirts of town. Word had clearly spread fast.
Then the cavalry arrived.
Nonna bustled in first, wrapped in a raincoat three sizes too big, clutching a foil-covered tray. “Nobody should sit and wait on an empty stomach,” she announced. “That’s how people faint and make extra work for nurses.”
She set the tray on the counter. The scent of almond and sugar wafted out immediately. She’d brought her famous Italian cookies.
Behind her came Nana O’Shea, holding a small canvas bag and looking both fierce and exhausted. “I brought my healing oils,” she said, like that settled everything.
Patsy blinked, then smiled indulgently. “You can leave them right there, sweetheart. I’m sure they’ll come in handy.”
Nana gave her a sharp nod, then turned to me. “He’ll be fine, Anna. I lit a candle on the way here. Two, actually.”
“I believe you,” I said, because right now, I needed to. Both of my sisters arrived, then the rest of my family, the Basanelli family, and more people from Silverville moved inside.
The two grandmothers settled in like they owned the place with Nonna passing out cookies, and Nana rubbing eucalyptus oil on anyone who didn’t duck fast enough. Within ten minutes, the sterile waiting room smelled like lemon, lavender, and vanilla. Somehow, it helped.
Even the deputies seemed to relax a little. McCracken took a cookie without hesitation.
The rain beat steadily against the windows, and somewhere down the hall a machine beeped in sync with my heartbeat. The sense of suspended time thickened, until I almost didn’t notice when the doors swung open.
Dr. Rodinsky stepped out, still in his scrubs, his hair damp with sweat and his glasses fogged. He’d been the on-call surgeon there for at least forty years and was solid as a rock with kind eyes behind wire frames.
Every head in the room turned toward him.
“All right, everybody,” he said, his deep voice carrying through the quiet. “The sheriff came through surgery fine. We had to remove three bullets—two from the leg, one from the arm—but he’s stable. You can all go home and get some rest. No need for extra blood tonight.”
The collective exhale from the room could’ve powered a windmill. Nonna crossed herself, and Nana whispered something that sounded like a prayer.
I just closed my eyes for a second, the tension finally unspooling from my chest.
Aiden reached over and took my hand, his thumb brushing across my knuckles. “He made it,” he said quietly.
For the first time all night, I let myself breathe.
The doctor looked around. “The sheriff doesn’t need visitors, and y’all can pray somewhere else other than here.”
Yeah, that was Dr. Rodinsky. He was cranky, blunt, and exactly the kind of doctor who made everyone secretly feel safer. I liked that about him. The man could yell at a patient for breathing wrong while saving his life in the same breath.
He turned a hard gaze on Deputy McCracken. “You can stay and take his statement. He’s already asking for you. Stubborn as a mule.”
McCracken straightened, his normally easygoing face drawn tight. “Yes, sir.”
I knew that Dr. Rodinsky and Sheriff Franco not only played on the same softball team but also had an ongoing poker rivalry that probably cost them more pride than cash.
The thought of the doc having to cut bullets out of his buddy made my stomach knot.
Still, the fact that Franco hadn’t been airlifted to Spokane meant he’d live.
And if Rodinsky was yelling, things weren’t dire.
The doctor’s gaze cut toward Aiden. “You too, Devlin. He said you and Anna were the ones on the phone with him when it went down, right?”
“Yes,” Aiden said simply.
“Then you stay. Everyone else get out. Go home before I find something for you to mop.”
That scattered the crowd. Nonna started gathering empty cups and napkins with military precision, while Nana handed out tiny bottles of “healing oil” to anyone too slow to dodge her. She pressed one into my palm before she left. “For calming nerves, dear,” she whispered.
“Thanks,” I said weakly, clutching it like a talisman.
My parents hugged me. My mom smelled like rain and peppermint tea. My dad patted Aiden’s shoulder, silently approving of his quiet steadiness. My sisters and cousins waved as they trickled out, the low hum of conversation fading until only McCracken, Aiden, and I remained.
The doctor exhaled hard. “All right. He’s in recovery now. We’ll move him to a room in a bit. You can all stay for questioning once he’s settled.”
Aiden nodded. “Appreciate it.”
The doctor turned on his white sneaker and disappeared down the hallway.
We waited another half hour, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
McCracken looked at Aiden. “I guess I should interview you.”
Aiden’s reply was smooth, almost casual. “You could, but I think this overlaps with my case. Franco called from near Blarney Pass, and that’s close to where we detonated the dynamite from the O’Shea robbery.”
That sounded seriously far-fetched to me.
McCracken frowned. “You think the shooter’s the same guy who planted the explosives?”
“Could be,” Aiden said again, easy but firm. “The sheriff was getting close to something. Let’s keep evidence handling consistent. I’ll coordinate with the agency and feed you updates so your paperwork stays clean.”
It was said so naturally that by the time McCracken realized he’d just been gracefully outranked, he was already nodding. “Yeah, sure thing, Devlin.”
Aiden gave him a small, respectful nod. That was very nicely done. Aiden didn’t have jurisdiction, yet he’d just taken it.
I liked that.
Finally, Patsy led us down the hallway to the rooms. When we reached Franco’s room, I hesitated in the doorway. The sheriff looked wrong. Too pale and too still. His gray hair was mussed, his skin almost the same shade as the sheets.
“Sheriff?” I asked softly, stepping closer.
“I’m fine,” he rasped. “Sit down, Albertini. You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”
I obeyed, pulling a chair close. His hand was bandaged, the IV taped to the back of it. I took his good hand, careful and light. “I can’t believe somebody shot you,” I said.
“Believe it.” He gave the faintest grin. “Didn’t hit anything vital, though. Lucky shot.”
“Who was it?” Aiden asked, voice steady as a blade.
Franco’s eyes flicked toward him, then toward the rain-streaked window. “Didn’t see. Came out of nowhere. One second I’m on the radio, and the next thing, glass explodes, and I’m in the ditch firing blind.” He paused. “It felt like an ambush. Not random.”
Aiden exchanged a look with me, then leaned in slightly. “You were close to Blarney Pass?”
“Yes, just past Shanty Peak. Was looking for a poacher. A random person called it in.”