Chapter 28
Petula, who had been monitoring the chatter from the office’s base station, bolted upright.
“Oh, my god! Julian’s been shot,” she cried. “I have to go.”
Jett thrust a hand toward Petula’s arm and latched on.
“Stop,” she snapped firmly. “You heard his call-out. He’s speaking clearly and coherently. That means he’s still running on all cylinders. Don’t panic. The guys are there. They’ll take care of him.”
“But—”
“No buts, Petula,” Jett insisted. “Think about it. The only person with reason to shoot Julian right now is your stalker. He’s probably pissed that Julian means something to you, and wants to do him harm.
And if he wasn’t actually trying to kill Julian, it means he’s trying to lure you out.
If you show up there, the shooter will get exactly what he wants. You. In the open. As his next target.”
“But Jefferson wouldn’t shoot me,” Petula wailed emphatically, trying to work free of Jett’s iron grip.
“Maybe he would, and maybe he wouldn’t, but Julian would be pissed if you appeared and put yourself in danger.”
Before Petula could argue any further, Sheila spoke up.
“What about the other guy?” she interjected from her seat at the desk where she’d started rocking. “The other guy. The other one Tex said might be after you. Maybe it’s not Jefferson. Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s the other guy.”
Petula blanched. Sheila had a valid point. One that scared her far more than if they were dealing with Jefferson.
If it was, indeed, Bradly who’d come after Julian, Petula had no expectations that he’d just want to talk with her. If this was Bradly, he’d want revenge for him having been locked up. Her thumb drive had gone a long way toward getting him incarcerated the first time.
Yes. He’d want her dead. And Julian, too, for daring to love her.
“So what do I do?” Petula deflated. “I can’t just sit here.”
Jett picked up the mic that connected the office to the team, but just as she was about to key it, Trask’s voice came through.
“We have our second victim. I repeat. We have the second logger. We’re approximately one and a half klicks downriver,” he barked.
“Our man’s alive, but not doing well. He’s bleeding profusely from a leg injury.
We’ve put a tourniquet in place, but he needs immediate attention.
Requesting intel on the status of the shooter. ”
Spence’s voice came across the airwaves, hard and clipped. “We just brought the first man in and left him with EMS. I’m headed back out right now to assess Julian, and take on whoever shot him. I’ll be armed.”
“Armed? In the water?” Petula asked Jett.
Jett’s face showed no surprise. “They all have H&K P11s that are considered waterproof. They also keep them in water-tight bags just in case.”
Jett then held up a finger so they could keep listening.
“My course of action depends on Julian’s condition,” Spence continued, “I’ll either accompany him back to shore using our DPV’s, or if he’s not compromised, I’ll have him head in on his own.
Then I’ll cross over to the opposite bank and make sure our shooter has either left, or is neutralized,” he stated harshly.
“With my preference being the second option. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to move your injured man back to base. ”
That was as serious as Petula had ever heard Spencer, but she didn’t have time to ponder what that meant in the big scheme of things before Julian’s chimed in.
“Bring me my weapon, Spence. I’m going with you,” he snapped.
Spencer, ever the voice of reason even in a maelstrom, must have known better than to shut Julian down on the fly.
The tone of his reply was placating.
“We’ll see how you are when I get to you.”
An audible grunt met that assertion, and Julian didn’t sound happy.
“Spencer out.”
It was clear that Spence had submerged and cut his communication capabilities without validating Julian’s request.
That made Petula feel a little bit better.
Spence wouldn’t give in if Julian needed attention. And if Julian was okay, and did accompany Spencer to the opposite shore, it would mean he hadn’t suffered anything life-threatening.
Still, she needed to talk to her man.
Petula tipped her head toward the mic that Jett was still holding.
Jett smiled knowingly and passed it over.
“Julian. This is Petula. How badly are you hurt?” she asked, unable to keep the trembling out of her tone.
“Don’t worry, Petula. It’s not bad. I promise I’ve had worse,” he replied.
And that was supposed to make her feel better?
He continued talking. “Now that I’ve had a chance to examine it more closely, it looks like a gouge where the bullet grazed me. Lots of blood, but no muscle damage,” he assured her.
“Get it taken care of,” Petula ordered. “Do not go looking for…” she glanced at Sheila and remembered what the young woman had broached.
“Listen. Sheila had a thought.” Petula changed venues. “She believes it might be Bradly who’s the shooter, not Jefferson. Especially because I’ve been so adamant that Jeff wasn’t trying to hurt me.”
“Sheila has a certain way of looking at things…” Buck’s voice came through the mic this time. “If she thinks our shooter is Bradly, there’s a high probability she’s correct.”
Sheila didn’t look smug. Her demeanor actually didn’t change one iota upon hearing Buck’s praise.
Petula sent out a warning of her own. “That means you could be dealing with someone who’s a lot more dangerous than my brother. Bradly is evil through and through. He’s not just mentally ill like Jefferson.”
“We’ll be careful,” Julian told her.
“You mean Spence will be careful,” Petula attempted to qualify.
“We’ll see.”
Petula sighed deeply, hearing what Julian was saying without him actually verbalizing it. He’d already decided on his course of action.
“Don’t get hurt, Julian. Please,” she heaved.
He assured her he’d be careful.
Of course, Julian hadn’t given in to Petula’s demands. He was the type of man who ran toward danger, not away. That instinct was part of his family DNA, and there’d be no talking him out of whatever he had in his mind if it meant protecting her.
All she could do was sit tight and listen.
Three hours later, the crew was headed back to the shop.
Julian had, indeed, accompanied Spencer across the river after having his arm wrapped up in some compression thing that Spence had brought out with him.
They’d quickly ascertained that the shooter was long gone—having examined the hidey-hole from where the perp had taken his shots—and they’d given Trask and Buck the all clear to get their victim to an ambulance.
The emergency vehicles had eventually numbered, three. Two for the loggers, and one for Julian who had groused heartily about going to the hospital.
But he wasn’t winning that one.
With Petula in one ear, and the medical technicians right in front of him, it had been determined that he needed stitches. With additional pressure from his brothers and Tabbi, he’d eventually and reluctantly taken the ride, receiving a tetanus shot and thirty-nine stitches for his troubles.
Minor, her ass, Petula had grumbled, but not loudly enough to have to put money in Sheila’s swear jar.
The police chief had eventually assured them that both loggers were recovering, and that he’d secured the crime scene. Which, it was decided, had taken place on national park property. Federal jurisdiction. That meant the FBI had become involved.
Julian and the crew would soon be debriefed. The agent they’d spoken to earlier said she’d meet them at Diver Downeast to take their statements.
All in all, a cluster-fuck of a day.
When Julian walked into the office, Petula threw herself at him while carefully avoiding his bandaged arm.
She wanted to cry, but since he and his brothers were all grinning and joking as if what they’d done was all in a days’ work, it seemed like she was the only one about to crawl out of her skin.
“How can you take this so lightly?” she asked, unable to hide the fact that she was completely choked up.
Julian put his good arm around her shoulders and hugged her tightly. “We’ve all seen…things over the course of our extended time in the military,” he explained. “In short, I can only say, ‘been there, done that’.”
“Yup. This isn’t the first time you’ve been shot,” Buck teased. “But the rest of us have better scars, so… Here’s hoping this new one turns out gnarly.”
Julian mock-groaned. “Fuck. This means Mom is going to dote on me like she did you when you got sent home last time for recovery leave, doesn’t it.” He was already taking a five out of his pocket to make Sheila a little richer. Into the jar it went.
“Yup. She’s been baking up a storm,” Tabbi told him, snickering. “Trask might have called her and told her what happened.”
“Thanks, T. I owe you,” Julian told his brother, tongue in cheek.
“Any time,” Trask responded. He didn’t look repentant, at all.
Within an hour of their arrival, the FBI agent showed up. She was professional, patient, and thorough, and by the time she left with a warning for them all to be careful, Julian was yawning, and looking like he could use a good, long rest.
“We’re headed out,” Petula told the crew, not consulting with Julian first.
In this particular case, he could suck it up.
“I’ll follow you back to our parents’ place to get Julian’s rental car,” Spence asserted. “Just to make sure nobody follows you.”
“Good call,” Petula approved.
She didn’t take offense at the offer.
Petula wasn’t trained to be situationally aware like these guys were. Someone could be right on her tail without her knowing.
The whole transfer from Julian’s truck to his rental car didn’t take long. They would have spent even less time doing the swap-out, but Ellen Sothard insisted on loading them up with all the food she’d stress-cooked over the course of the afternoon.
By the time they got back to Julian’s house, Petula was almost as exhausted as Julian, and the food certainly came in handy at that juncture to fill their empty stomachs before they both hit the mattress and succumbed to sleep.
Sunday was spent pretty much lolling around the house.
Petula wasn’t ready to let Julian out of her sight. Not yet. He’d told her he was more than fine, but she relished this rare chance to coddle him.
When she finally brought up the idea that maybe he should give his “following Petula” shift the next day to one of her other watchers, he was having none of it.
“Uh, uh. I’ll be the one tailing you tomorrow,” he told her in no uncertain terms.
Then to distract her, he attempted to make her laugh. “After all, ‘tis but a flesh wound,” he said in his best, high-pitched, Black Knight voice.
“Hah, hah,” she responded, but did let an actual giggle slip free.
Julian was just so damned cute.
The day went by far too quickly, and by the time they were ready for bed, Petula was seriously considering calling in sick the next day.
Julian talked her out of it.
“The more normal we keep things, the better,” he told her.
“We don’t want Jefferson—or Bradly if that’s who is following you—snooping around Diver Downeast. Whichever one of them is after you, they’ve now proven they’re dangerous.
And the way they’ve just ramped things up, means they might be getting desperate.
We don’t want them storming our shop and taking Sheila or anyone else hostage to flush you out. ”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Petula said, putting her hand to her throat. “You’re right. I need to stick to my routine.”
Julian grumbled, pulling her close and wrapping his arms around her as he spoke into her hair.
“I don’t like the idea that we’re dangling you out there like bait, but I swear I won’t let you out of my sight.
And if even the smallest thing seems off, I’ll call in reinforcements.
We will catch whoever is doing this. I promise. ”
“As long as you don’t get shot again,” Petula huffed. “I almost lost my mind when I heard that.”
“Come here,” Julian said, letting go of her and backing slowly up to the bed with a seductive look on his face.
Oh really?
In deference to his injury, they’d kissed and cuddled, but Petula had denied Julian any “strenuous” activities up until now. The current heat in his eyes, however, was suggesting that he refused to be denied any longer.
“What do you have in mind?” she questioned with a smirk.
“Oh, a little of this, a little of that,” he prevaricated with an answering grin. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” He stood a little straighter. “Just let me get the curtains.”
Petula held out a palm-forward hand, stopping him in his tracks.
“You know what?” she posited, feeling like she’d turned some kind of a corner, knowing that Julian had been in danger. “Let’s kill the lights but leave the curtains open tonight.”
“You…? We…?” Julian swallowed hard.
It was cute to see him flustered, and Petula figured she might as well keep him off kilter.
“First, however…” She sashayed herself over to stand right in front of him, where the backs of his legs leaned up against the mattress.
Petula gave him a slight push.
Down he went, onto his back, and as soon as he was prone, Petula dropped to her knees between his thighs, reaching for the waistband of his pajama bottoms.
“Petula?” he questioned with a crack in his voice.
“Yup,” she replied with a smile.
She lowered his PJ’s, cupped his sweet balls in one hand, then palmed his length up and down slowly before sucking him full into her mouth.
If he had anything to say after that, Petula wouldn’t know.
She was too busy enjoying the velvety feel of him, sliding in and out of her mouth.
Apparently so was he.
It was, indeed, a bummer to go back to work the following morning.
Petula wasn’t motivated at all.
And when she stepped foot in the door, and was summoned immediately into her nasty boss’s office, she steeled herself for the whatever might be coming, and reluctantly pointed her feet in the direction of the office.
Damn.
You never knew what would fly from up this bitch’s ass.
“Ms. Bothswait,” the woman sniffed as Petula stood at attention before her desk. “You have a new route today. The driver you’ll be replacing showed up this morning, but had to go home sick once he began vomiting.”
There was no sympathy in her statement. She said it in the same tone of voice she used when ordering lunch. Nothing seemed to touch this evil wretch.
“What about my regular route?” Petula asked, hoping beyond hope that she wasn’t going to be asked to pull a double shift.
“I’ve called the person who used to do it, and they’ve agreed to come in.”
At least that was something.
Still, Petula sighed.
This wasn’t what she needed today.
A freaking, new route to navigate.