Mason's answer was dry and unimpressed. "Were they anything like the things you made me do with you? Yeah, excuse me if I don't feel sorry for you."
Mrs. Garrison's mouth worked in shock. "That . . . that's not the same thing. You liked what we did." When he didn't answer, she let out a noisy, wet sob. "Didn't you?"
"Why don't you put the gun down, and then come out here to talk to me?"
"Why don't you answer my fucking question?" Mrs. Garrison screamed and stomped her feet.
On top of me, Quinn's weight seemed to grow heavier. When I felt something wet trickle over my arm, I looked up into his face, but his eyes were closed. Oh, shit. Not Quinn.
Turning my gaze toward Mason, he shifted just enough so I could see his face. He met my gaze as he answered Mrs. Garrison. "No. I didn't like it."
"Yes!" She wailed, stomping her feet some more and dancing around like the whack job she was. "You did too. You loved it. You loved it as much as I did."
At the desk, Bradshaw remained slumped backward in his chair with more than I'd ever wanted to see of his insides splattered on the wall behind him.
I closed my eyes and shuddered, holding Quinn a little tighter and hoping he was okay. A surreal sense of shock blanketed me, making everything fuzzy and dreamlike, even Mrs. Garrison's ranting as she sobbed, "You loved it, and you love me."
Mason's voice was steady as he said, "I love Reese."
"No!"
I'm not sure what he was trying to accomplish, but if he wanted to agitate her and send her into an even crazier, raving fit, he was totally succeeding. I kind of wondered if Mason was on a suicide mission, trying to get us all killed. But at least I'd be able to tell Reese later on how he never wavered from his feelings for her, not even to patronize a cracked, wild woman.
That was, if I survived long enough to see Reese again.
When police sirens rang from outside, Mrs. Garrison freaked. "Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God." She pointed the gun toward Bradshaw, but he was already long gone. Shuffling with indecision, she glanced my way, but I think she only saw Quinn's prone form slumped on top of me and the blood pooling under us. "Oh, God," she moaned. "What do I do?"
"Patricia," Mason said calmly. "It's over. Just . . . put the gun down."
She didn't. She lifted it to her face, stuck the barrel in her mouth, and pulled the trigger.
***
Mason rushed to Quinn and me and knelt beside us. "E.? Are you okay?"
"I told you not to follow me," I grumbled.
"Right. Like I ever listen to you." With a snort, he shook his head, only to suck in a breath as he turned his attention to Quinn. "Is he . . . ?"
"No, he's alive." I stroked my rescuer's hair. "I can feel his breath on my neck."
"Oh, thank God." Grasping Quinn's shoulder, Mason gritted his teeth as he rolled the brick mass off me. "Damn, he's solid muscle, isn't he? Freaking football players."
I sucked in air as soon as Quinn was off me. Wow, it felt good to breathe again. As Mason gently settled our friend onto his back beside me, I sat up and crawled toward them.
"There's a lot of blood." When I looked down, I realized it was smeared all over me, as well as his left side.
"Yeah." Mason gulped bleakly, and lifted Quinn's arm to find the source of the wound. "Here. She hit him in the arm."
I ripped off the outer shirt I was wearing until I was down to a bloodstained camisole. When I applied it with some pressure to Quinn's arm, he sucked in a breath.
Long dark eyelashes fluttered before he shook his head and opened his eyes. He focused on me first, and then turned his head slightly to take in Mason before he turned back to me. "What happened?"
"You refused to leave me alone in the office with my father, you sweet, noble idiot," I told him.
"And you got a little shot because of it," Mason added.
"Really?" Quinn frowned as he tried to sit up. "I don't feel shot. Nothing hurts." When I motioned to the bloody wound on his arm that I was pressing my shirt into, he sucked in a breath, and his face immediately drained of color. "Okay, now I feel it."