Chapter Thirty-six
Mason
More bodies came pouring through the front door. More guns. Mason tugged Ashlyn up off the floor and tucked her behind him. There’d been enough damn guns pointed at his girl tonight.
A man in a gray uniform shirt with a radio clipped to his shoulder knelt over Roger and Ashlyn’s fingers twisted in the material of Mason’s shirt as they watched him work. Whatever damage Jay had done was minimal. Pity. He was conscious and on his feet in no time.
“Ashlyn!” An officer pinned him to the wall as another pulled his hands together in front of him and slapped on the cuffs. “Ashlyn, I love you. Don’t you see that?”
Mason’s hands fisted with the urge to pop him in the mouth one more time. Jay was the only one who got the satisfaction and that just didn’t seem right.
“I did it all for you. Ashlyn!”
A hard shudder rocked her and Mason swore under his breath.
“I got you.” He pulled Ashlyn out of the way—doing his best to shield her with his body—as two officers escorted Roger from the house. “It’s over now.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple. Another to her cheek. The corner of her mouth. Trying—and failing—to distract her because he was wrong. It wasn’t over.
“Gun!” Voices shouted outside. People screamed.
Roger didn’t look dangerous. He looked like a nerd. Like someone who would spend his life behind a computer screen. Like the kid in the front row of science class with his hand in the air. Even after all that he’d done it was still hard not to picture him that way. The police underestimated him the same way Ashlyn had. Something went wrong. Someone screwed up. And Roger disarmed one of the men arresting him.
A woman in uniform shouted at them to get down as she sprinted out of the house. Jay crouched behind the couch. Mason’s arm went around Ashlyn’s waist, twisting to take the brunt of the impact himself, but before they hit the floor for the second time it was already over. He saw it happen through the open door. He saw Roger lift his stolen gun. Saw him press the barrel to his own head. Saw him pull the trigger. The splash of blood and brain matter looked like one of those abstract art pieces his parents loved.
When Ashlyn cried out, he knew that she’d seen, too.
Pushing into a sitting position, Mason pulled her into his lap and tucked her face against his shoulder. She let him. Neighbors who had come out to investigate were ushered back into their homes. The door was shut over—hanging in the busted frame—blocking out the scene, but Mason couldn’t erase it as easily from his mind.
He was shaken. He didn’t want to be. He wanted to hate the bastard that had pointed a gun at Ashlyn and tried to shoot him. He wanted to be glad that he was dead. But he couldn’t. Roger had issues and he’d never gotten the help he needed. Someone had failed him. Just like so many people had failed Lucy. Just like they’d failed Ashlyn. No more.
Ashlyn staggered slightly as she got to her feet and Mason steadied her. The raw gash on her forehead was bleeding again; a gut-wrenching reminder of just how close she’d gotten to Roger’s bullet. A bullet meant for him. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it. It took Ashlyn forty-five minutes to decide what flavor wings she wanted to order, but this—to risk her life for his—she’d chosen in an instant. No hesitation. She may not have realized what that meant, but he did. And he was willing to wait forever if that’s what it took for her to figure it out.
“Excuse me, Miss.” A young officer with a shiny new badge cleared his throat. “Are there any other weapons in the house? Anything dangerous we should know about?”
Mason was about to mention the knife block on the kitchen counter in case that qualified when Ashlyn stiffened.
“Tank!”
Tank was there?
She broke from his arms and darted down the hallway. Mason followed only to be brought up short by the sight of dark fur heaped on the floor at the foot of his bed.
Ashlyn was on her knees beside him. “Tank?”
She ran her hands over his furry coat and touched his head, pulling away bloody fingers. It was a relief to see his side rise and fall with each deep breath.
“Tank, c’mon boy.” Ashlyn rubbed his side and one paw twitched.
“Uh, Miss . . .” The rookie hovered in the doorway. “Maybe you should leash him before you do that?”
Mason grinned. Scary dog. Good dog. Tank had been hurt protecting Ashlyn, but he was going to be alright. Mason would make damn sure of it. And then spoil him rotten for the rest of his canine life.
“I already put in a call to animal control,” the officer informed them.
“No.” Ashlyn shot him a disgusted look. “No strangers.”
“Miss, they’ll just take him to the vet. Get him checked out. He’ll be fine—”
She scooted forward, putting herself between Tank and the rest of the room. Mama bear protecting one of her own. The same way she’d protected him. Mason’s heart squeezed. He’d thought it was impossible to love her any more than he already did. She had no idea what she did to him.
“I understand how you feel. I have pets, myself.” The officer whipped out his textbook negotiation tactics.
Mason smothered a laugh. Good luck, buddy.
Jay joined them as the officer failed miserably to change Ashlyn’s mind. “What’s going on?”
Whether or not they could force her to stay on scene Mason wasn’t sure, but if he had to guess he’d say yes. It was her property and there was a dead body in the front yard. He made a mental note once Tank was taken care of to put in a call to his family’s lawyer. Just in case.
“She can’t go with Tank and I can’t leave her.”
“Then, I’ll take him.” Ashlyn and the officer quit bickering and looked at Jay. “I’ve already shared everything I know. I’ll take the dog to the vet and come by the precinct tomorrow if there are any follow up questions.”
Mason knew damn well that Jay’s offer had more to do with getting back to Em as quickly as possible than rescuing Tank, but Ashlyn’s glare practically dared the young officer to refuse.
***
Mason’s car was parked at the curb; both front doors still open wide, emitting a quiet dinging sound. Behind it, the ambulance cast flashes of light across the yard.
“It’s a waste of time arguing with her,” Mason warned the flustered EMT. Ashlyn sat perched on the edge of a stretcher, hands on her hips, while he tried to convince her to go to the hospital to get checked out. “You’ll never win.”
A patch of dark, damp grass marred the lawn, but Roger’s body had been removed. The driveway also sat empty. Most of the police cruisers had moved on to other calls and Jay had braved Ashlyn’s bucket of bolts to take Tank to the animal clinic.
“Well,” Ashlyn huffed, “at least we know you don’t have brain damage.”
Mason shook his head. For the first time what felt like lifetimes the tightness in his chest and shoulders eased. If she was teasing him then she was going to be alright. And things between them were still okay.
He’d made the idiotic mistake of blurting out his feelings for her, but he couldn’t have stopped himself at the time if he’d tried. She held his heart. He hadn’t given it to her, not intentionally. No, Ashlyn Mills had reached straight into his chest and stolen it. Either way it was hers, and if something had happened to her . . . Sweat broke out on Mason’s palms and he swallowed the idea.
“What’s the prognosis, Doc? She gonna make it?”
The EMT frowned. “I’m not a doctor. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell your friend here. She needs to—”
“Mason . . .” Ashlyn threw as much whine into his name as humanly possible. “Get me outta here.”
He sighed. A good friend would argue. A good friend would insist she go see a real doctor just to be safe. But this was Ashlyn. Confusing as hell. She was one extreme or another, either incapable of making a decision or stubborn as a mule. Would she change her mind if Mason told her to? Maybe. He’d even put money on probably. But did he have the right to take her choice from her? No. No one had that right. It was a fine line. There was no swaying Ashlyn’s decisions; it was either let her make them or make them for her. It was something she needed to work on and maybe she’d let him help, but for now . . .
“What does she need to sign for you to let her go?”
The EMT pulled out a clipboard and pen. He carefully explained the risks she was taking by refusing treatment and showed her where to sign. Ashlyn paid zero attention. The moment the pen left the paper, she hopped off the stretcher and headed inside.
Mason stuck around, listening carefully as he explained what Ashlyn should and shouldn’t do. She needed to rest. No driving, no aspirin, no physical activity. And Mason needed to keep an eye on her. Any vomiting, dizziness, seizures, confusion, or bizarre behavior—because that would be easy to identify in Ashlyn— he needed to get her to a hospital.
Just as the ambulance pulled away, a car swerved up to the curb and a woman jumped out. Christ, this night was never going to end.
“Ashlyn!” Meredith Mills trotted across the front yard as quickly as her shiny black heels would allow. Her husband followed.
Shit. If the senator was there, it was only a matter of time until the whole damn place turned into a media circus. Mason was familiar with the scene. A few years earlier his father had a minor heart attack. Nothing a change in diet and exercise couldn’t prevent from happening again, but the reporters had descended like vultures. News vans had lined the street. Microphones and cameras shoved in their faces every time anyone left the house for weeks. The stress alone had nearly caused his father to relapse.
That wasn’t going to happen to Ashlyn.