Page 81 of Shane

Astor kicked the closet door out of her way and came face-to-face with the real Tuesday Smart. She blinked once. Twice. It was like looking at identical twins, only her eyes were cold, green fire and she’d thought she could pass herself off as FBI SWAT. Big fuckin’ mistake. Because the real Tuesday Smart was still wearing bright-red Converse tennis shoes, and she’d just taken a quick step forward.

Heston was dead on her six, his pistol alongside hers. “No, Chica.”

Everlee was no longer in Shane’s peripheral, but he knew she was behind him, also poised to fire. Would sure make one helluva mess if they all shot Astor at the same time.

But he couldn’t let Tuesday follow through. This was TEAM business, not revenge. Shane stepped between Astor and Tuesday. Blocked Tuesday’s and Heston’s shots. Going for broke. Needing to control what happened next. Willing to give Astor a chance to surrender despite her having shot hm. One last chance at justice in a court of law. That was what Alex would’ve wanted. Not an execution.

Sounded real damned fair in his head. Until Astor’s pistol twitched the barest millimeter to her left, bucked, and the sickest “Ooomph” hissed behind Shane.

He pivoted to his right to shield his partner. “Everlee! No!”

Rage kicked in. He damn near swung back around to shoot Astor’s fuckin’ head off, but—

BA-BOOM! BA-BOOM!Tuesday and Heston pistol unloaded on her first.

Astor’s body arched backward. A vivid spray of red and dyed blonde flew over her head. Her pistol cartwheeled, hit the wall, and came down harmlessly to the floor. She collapsed, just folded onto her knees like a sack of wet concrete.

But Everlee was down.No! No! No!Shane sank to his knees beside her. A bright red splotch blossomed high on her chest, just above her tactical plating. Might be her shoulder. He couldn’t tell. She kept blinking.

Fighting time and physics, Shane dug his blowout bag out from the mini-pack strapped to his belt. Snapping his wrist, he unfurled the kit and spread it open on the floor beside Ev.

Heston was patting Astor down, checking her neck for a pulse, making sure.

Tuesday knelt at Everlee’s other side. “What can I do?”

“Talk to her. Make her stay with us,” Shane snapped.With me!

He barely heard Heston ordering, “Agent down! Request immediate assistance at…”

Too focused on Everlee, Shane stopped listening to any sounds not coming from her. Peeling her shirt open took his last hope. Sucking chest wounds were killers. Everlee’s was higher on her chest than he’d expected. Not dead center, thank God, but he was looking at an exit wound, not entry. This bullet hole was too large, its edges too ragged.

Not until he stripped her tactical vest away did he realize that, somehow, Astor’s bullet had struck Ev below her armpit and exited out the top of her shoulder. Which indicated Ev hadn’t been facing Astor head on like he’d thought. She’d turned to her side, damn it. He should’ve taken better care of her. Everlee hadn’t been herself since she’d walked into this shitting room full of dead men. Christ! He’d let her down!

Focus, damn it. Shane shoved the condemnation to the back of his mind. He had better things to do than worry about what couldn’t be changed. Shoving the end of a plastic bag of QuikClot between his teeth, he ripped it open and poured the entire dose into that damned exit hole. Then he tore open another bag and did the same to the entry. Emergency triage, treat bleeders first.

Thick, absorbent, layered gauze came next. Laced with more clotting chemicals, he placed one entire package over the exit wound on her shoulder, another on her side over the entry. Cursing Astor with every breath, Shane pressed his palms over both wounds and applied pressure to slow the flows.

Blood still trickled around his fingers. He pressed harder.

Everlee groaned and squirmed. He pressed harder still.

She closed her eyes and that frightened the hell out of Shane. “Don’t give up on me, babe,” he ground out. “Fight, Everlee. You don’t know how to quit, remember? So fight.”

Tuesday had taken Everlee’s other hand and was talking to her, but she was too quiet. Everlee wouldn’t hear whispers. She needed loud and clear. So Shane gave it to her. “Stay with me!” he ordered, yelling into her face as he kept extreme pressure on her wounds. He knew he was hurting her. But she wasnotgoing anywhere but home with him, damn it. He was not losing this woman, too!

“You hear me, Yeager?” he challenged. “Don’t you dare die on me, LT. You’ve got some explaining to do,ma’am!”He knew that title irked her, probably like being called‘sir’irked Alex. Too bad! “We have a date, you chicken-shitChair Forceofficer.” His eyes watered. “You hear me,ma’am.Damned straight. I saidChair Forceand I mean it. Meant ma’am and chicken-shit, too. Fight. For once in your life, fight like a motherfucking Marine!”

A single, chest-heaving breath huffed out of her nose.

Shane could’ve kissed her, but one breath was damned near nothing. He threw his full weight into his palms, pressing her life back into her. He needed to see those coffee brown eyes sparkle again. He needed to hear her endless supply of sass.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard the hubbub of police and EMTs flooding into the room behind him. But he blocked them out and ordered Everlee to, “Live, damn you. And we’re going to talk,ma’am. For hours! Until I know what the fuck is going on in that hard damned head of yours. Because whatever you think you know about yourself, you’re wrong. You’re perfect the way you are. You don’t need to change. Stop believing what you think you know. Because you don’t know nothing. Listen up. Stay with me and—”

“Sir, you need to let us take over,” a firm female voice said.

Shane shook his head, refusing an order for the first time in his life. He had so much more to tell Everlee.

The female medic beside him cupped her hands over his and pressed down on Everlee’s exit wound just as hard as he was, squeezing his fingers as she attempted to take over. She was a pretty Black woman with shiny, short hair. Thin but strong for her size. She exuded the calm professionalism of most first responders. She looked like she knew what she was doing, but—