The Chase

“They’re dead,” Esther sneered, then coughed up more blood. “We sent them to hell when we discovered you were a lying Judas.”

Heavenly gasped, horror filling her face. But his little girl with her compassionate heart reached out for Zach as he sank to his knees with a wail of denial and tears began to spill down his face.

Beck’s heart clutched for his younger brother. Life as Zach had known it was over.

Esther’s lips parted in a malevolent gash of red teeth as she exhaled her last raspy breath.

It was finally over.

Now they had to make it through the aftermath.

“Can you two take Zach inside?” he whispered to Seth and Heavenly. “Sit him down?”

Seth paled, but he managed a nod. Beck wondered why the other man’s eyes suddenly looked somewhere between frozen and haunted. Their girl wiped the tears from her face and stepped in, mustering a kind smile as they knelt to help Zach to his feet.

“My name is Heavenly,” she murmured softly. “Follow me, okay? Let me help. If you want, you can talk to me…”

Zach nodded numbly as he leaned on a stoic Seth.

“Beck!” River yelled near the trees. “Dean’s alive!”

As shock pinged through him, he darted to River’s side and bent over Dean’s prone form. The raw hope on the former soldier’s face jump-started his own.

“Let me see.” He began a visual assessment of Dean’s injuries. Aside from the open fracture of his ulna and the wide, flowing gash across the cop’s forehead, Beck didn’t see any other open wounds.

Where’s the fucking blood?

He had his answer when River rapped his knuckles on Dean’s chest—and a solid thud resounded.

“Holy shit. He’s wearing a vest. The motherfucker was wearing his vest.” Tears streamed down River’s face, but he was grinning like a loon.

Depending on the type of protective armor, there might not be much to celebrate.

Beck prioritized Dean’s visible injuries. Right now, he was far more worried about the cop’s labored breathing than a potential spinal injury.

“Take him inside. Lay him on the dining room table,” Beck instructed as they rushed to the lodge.

Seth was already at the portal, clearing a path for them. “What do you need?”

“My medical bag, upstairs by the bed. And towels…lots of towels,” Beck called over his shoulder as he raced toward the massive table behind River.

In his periphery, he noted Gloria consoling a weeping Ngaire while Hammer and Liam soothed Raine. Heavenly comforted a grieving Zach on the couch beside her, sharing her recent struggles with loss in soft, understanding tones. Beck’s chest nearly burst with love, listening to her sharing her big heart with his brother.

Though palpable sorrow hung in the air, he felt his chosen family’s love and compassion swirling there as well. Drawing on that energy, Beck tugged down the zipper of Dean’s jacket.

“Dean. Dean,” River barked anxiously. “Come on, man. Open your eyes.”

Beck held his breath as he stared at the injured man’s bullet-riddled shirt.

Moment of truth.

Digging his fingers into the fabric, Beck ripped the buttons away, barely cognizant of them pinging off the hardwoods. The instant he saw the flattened silver flowers—twelve of them—pressed into the material of the bulletproof vest, he exhaled in relief. The ceramic ballistic plates Dean had slipped inside his tactical SWAT armor had saved his life.

At least for now, but he was far from out of the woods.

“Get that vest open,” Beck snapped as Seth returned with a load of towels.

As he and River worked the clasps, Beck began taking Dean’s vitals. The man was stable, but the long laceration and massive hematoma on his forehead, coupled with his lack of consciousness, worried him. The possibility of internal injuries was high, but after a fall like that, he couldn’t rule out brain damage.