Page 29 of Impossible Rapids
“Our security killed him.”
“No info?”
Shawn shook his head.
“I can …” Jagger glanced at his beaming bride again.
“No.” Shawn shook his head even more fiercely. “No way. You enjoy your honeymoon. Unless the apocalypse happens, we’ll be fine.”
“Hays’s arm is a weak excuse for medical leave, but he has to use the leave.”
“Great idea. I’ll talk to him.”
Hays injured could still best ninety-nine percent of the men in the world.
“Thanks. That’ll make me feel better. And though I love to compete with Aiden Porter, I’m man enough to admit that his men will be top-notch.”
“They are,” Shawn agreed.
“Okay.” Jagger cracked his knuckles. “I’ll enjoy my honeymoon then.”
“You do that.”
He smiled, but it faded quickly. “I can’t believe a shooter got in. Grateful you and Franz are all right.”
“A what?” Julie shrieked.
Shawn turned, his muscles all tightening. How had Julie gotten behind him without Jagger noticing her? Hays stood by her side, his brow furrowed. Maybe Jagger had noticed her but had assumed she knew about the shooting.
Shawn looked into her brown eyes and knew instantly she was going to fall apart. “Pardon me,” he murmured to no one in particular.
Then he swept her off her feet, against his chest, and rushed through the open patio doors and into the house.
“Sir?” Brett stepped out of the kitchen area where he’d been waiting.
“We’re fine. Give us a moment.” He didn’t want to risk going upstairs to one of the four suites and unwittingly walking into the room Jagger and Belinda had chosen for themselves. He pumped down the stairs, past Jerome who said nothing, and into the darkened theater. Hitting the panel on the wall with his elbow, he managed to turn on some low lights along the floor as the door closed behind them.
“We’re … fine?” Julie panted, her breath coming in such quick puffs he was afraid she was hyperventilating.
“Breathe for me, Jules,” he said softly, carrying her to the nearest plush recliner and sinking down into the softness of expensive leather with her cradled in his arms. He would’ve loved the experience if she wasn’t so upset.
“No,” she snapped. The lighting was dim, but her eyes blazed at him. “Who shot at you?”
“At Franz and me,” he said, not knowing if that was better or worse. “We have a name, but not much info. Gerald Montpetit. A former member of the French Foreign Legion.”
“Not just some Joe-Schmoe, then. Lucas and Arianna sent him?” Her breathing was still much too fast.
“We haven’t been able to prove a connection yet, but we will. I think we should lie you down on the floor, Jules. Get your legs above your heart.”
“No,” she snapped again, and then she smacked his chest with her fist. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He studied her. She was in his arms, and the pressure of her against him felt right, but nothing was right between them. Thank heavens there were no paparazzi at the wedding to capture him carrying Julie off as if he was her hero. If only.
“Franz and I didn’t think you needed any more stress. The police agreed to keep it under wraps and luckily there haven’t been any leaks yet.”
“Stress?” Her voice squeaked. “I’ll give you stress, Shawn Holister. You and Franz. I can’t stand it.” She shook her head. “You have to be safe. A shooter. Where?”
“Took out a back patio door of the mansion and a couch.”