Page 18 of Impossible Rapids

He tried to focus on the game, but everything was a mess today. He’d buried his wife, he was longing for her best friend, he was a billionaire, devious cousins were probably going to try to kill him, he dreaded the meetings with his company heads and boards that he needed to start Monday morning, Franz wanted Mama T to forgive him, and all Shawn could think about was how to spend more time with Julie.

At least they’d have the river rafting trip.

That trip felt like a final gift from Mercedes. Five days basically alone with Julie, focused on navigating down a river, an activity he loved and excelled at, with the woman he loved even more.

The other adventures had all turned disastrous to one degree or another, and he couldn’t forget there would be cameras recording and he couldn’t let it slip, even to Julie, that his marriage was in name only. What if their trip became a nightmare and pushed Julie further away from him? What if she was in danger on the river like some of the other ladies had been on their shows due to unexplainable circumstances?

Could Lucas and Arianna have messed with the shows to try to hurt Mercedes or prevent what they thought was their money from being spent? What if it was Franz? He glanced askance at his father-in-law. Franz would cut off his own arm before he’d hurt Mercedes, but he had been off lately. He might have imagined he was making the shows better by upping the conflict.

Turning back to the screen, he glimpsed the outline of a man in the dark yard, just beyond the patio and pool lights. One of the guards.

But their security guards didn’t carry assault rifles on rotation.

“Franz!” Shawn shoved him off the side of the couch, diving after him as one of the glass patio doors shattered and bullets sprayed the couch they’d been sitting on. Bits of leather, wood, and glass exploded into the air.

Franz scrambled behind the couch. Shawn followed him, yelling, “Get down!” He pushed Franz flat to the wood, pulled out his M9 and shot blindly over the top of the couch.

The shooter was decimating the couch and Shawn must not have been getting anywhere close because he wasn’t slowing his shot volume. Where were their security guards? He’d have to expose himself to protect Franz. If the couch was destroyed, their next best cover was to run for the huge kitchen island. He didn’t think they’d make it.

Shawn army-crawled to the side of the couch.

“No!” Franz screamed and jumped on top of Shawn’s legs and lower back before he could move around the edge to get eyes on the target.

“Franz!” Shawn shoved at the man with one hand, holding onto his pistol with the other.

The world exploded with gunfire. Panic filled his chest. More shooters? Should they move to a safer location, or did Shawn need to free himself from Franz’s grip and get in a spot where he could place effective shots?

“Our guys,” Franz called to him.

Shawn paused. The inside of the house and the couch weren’t taking any more hits. Their security guards were shooting at the man. Finally.

Within seconds, the shooting calmed and stopped. Footsteps raced into the house from the back patio.

Shawn scrambled to his feet, aiming his M9.

“Whoa. It’s Brett.” One of their guards held his own gun loosely. “The shooter’s dead, sir.”

Shawn let out a pent-up breath. “Thank you. Can you call the police?”

“Already done, sir. Are you and Mr. Belle unharmed?” He looked him over.

“Yes,” Shawn said.

Franz stood and raised a hand. “I’m fine. Thanks to Shawn.”

Another guard, Jerome, ran in. “You’re both all right?”

“Yes.” Shawn nodded.

“Thank heavens.”

Thank heavens was right.

“Jerome. Interior sweep,” Shawn ordered. “Brett. Stand guard.”

“Yes, sir. Payden’s on exterior.” Jerome strode off.

Shawn nodded to Brett and turned to Franz. “You’re sure you’re all right?”