Page 153 of One Last Stand

Moose had Tillie in his arms, holding her, and Axel had fallen to his knees, breathing hard. He looked like he might throw up even as Flynn ran outside.

“Cops are here. They’ve called an ambulance.”

London turned to Shep, grabbed his shirt. “Shep, if you want to stay here and build a life in Alaska, I’m in. Or wherever?—”

“Yes,” he said. “Wherever. Because wherever is always home with you.”

“Wow,” Axel said. “That’s . . . Shep, I’m impressed.”

“Guys, she’s not going todie,” Boo said. “I just want to get her stitched up.”

“Besides, been there, done that. Not recommended. Zero stars,” London said.

“What she said,” Shep said, and picked London up, easy, into his arms. “Let’s get you to a hospital.”

“And Oaken—he was shot too,” Axel said.

“He’ll be okay,” Boo said. “It nicked his shoulder.”

“I have to say this is the worst engagement party I’ve ever been to,” Axel said.

No one smiled.

“Really? C’mon, that was funny.”

London looked at Shep, grinning. “It sort of was.”

Moose and Tillie headed to the house. Shep followed them, carrying London, Caspian barking at his feet, running in circles.

Inside, Dawson Mulligan had finished cuffing Grant, who sat on the sofa, his jaw tight as Dawson read him his rights. The man looked away, his eyes distant. As if his world had exploded and he didn’t know how to put it back together again.

Shep remembered Grant having that same sort of look back when his fiancée went missing, and later, when they’d found her body. So maybe he’d never recovered. Maybe this was what grief looked like when pain turned to vengeance.

And it occurred to Shep that this could have been him—minus the shooting, but still, a hollowness, even a terrible sense of unfairness that could have dogged his every thought.

Unless.

Unless he hung on to faith. To believing that God was bigger than his grief. And in the end, God had surprised him with so very much.

“London—what—I thought you were dead,” Dawson said.

“Surprise,” she said, her arms looped around Shep’s neck.

Shep shook his head.

Dawson looked at Flynn. “Hello?”

“Sorry,” Flynn said.

“So, what exactly went down here?” Dawson indicated for another officer to haul Grant up.

Moose opened his mouth, closed it. Sighed. “My team . . . got ambushed.” He suddenly seemed taken apart. “I can’t believe . . . Guys, I’m so sorry.”

“He might be going into shock,” Boo said. “Get him some water.”

“Seriously? Look at you all,” Moose said. “This is all my fault.”

He gestured to Oaken, who sat with the pillow to his shoulder, and Tillie, with her sodden towel over her head, and Axel, a little beat up, standing with his hands on Flynn’s shoulders, and London, bleeding in Shep’s arms?—