Page 48 of Blood in the Water

She was preparing to pivot toward the kitchen when Sean Maguire stepped out in front of her. He was only three feet away, almost close enough to touch. She barely had time to register the smile on his face as he raised his weapon.

Don’t hesitate. This isn’t the time to be cautious.

She squeezed the trigger.

The sound was softened by the storm, but the shot still rang in her ears. She was standing there, holding the gun and looking down at Sean Maguire, bleeding from a hole in his chest, his eyes wide and frightened, when a floorboard creaked to her left.

She turned just in time to see Oz step in front of her, expression blank, weapon already raised and aimed at her head.

Another shot cracked through the house and Oz dropped to the floor in a heap, his forehead a mess of blood and gore.

She looked down at the gun in her hand. She had no memory of firing it at Oz. Then Nolan came into view in the living room, his gun still aimed at Oz, eyes open and unseeing on the floor, and she understood.

Nolan had saved her life.

She took two steps toward him and stopped when he froze, his eyes on the hall over her shoulder.

Time seemed to slow as she realized someone was behind her. Seamus? Baren?

She saw the conflict in Nolan’s eyes, the twitch of the gun in his hands.

She was in his way.

She dropped to the floor and a barrage of gunshots rang through the house.

When it finally stopped, she watched in horror as a stream of blood poured from Nolan’s neck. He staggered backwards, caught by Will, as Christophe Marchand rushed for the front door and the retreating figure of Baren Maguire.

His neck was warm, but his body felt cold as he looked up at her. She was crying, her tears falling onto his face as she tried to reassure him in a series of platitudes he didn’t try to hold onto.

They didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that she was safe. That if he was going to die, she would be the last thing he’d see.

“Nolan! Look at me, Nolan! Don’t close your eyes…” She looked away and shouted at someone standing in the shadowed periphery of his blackening vision. “Get something to stop the bleeding… and get Maurice from the back bedroom!”

He lifted a hand to touch her face and left a smear of blood on her cheek. He wanted to apologize, to wipe it away, but he was too tired, the energy seeping out of him as if through a sieve.

“Bridge…”

“Shhh… don’t try to talk, Nolan. You’re going to be fine. Maurice will take care of you.”

“I…” He struggled to stay awake long enough to say the words fighting their way out of his throat. He wanted them to be the last thing he said. The last thing she heard from him. “I fucking love you, Bridge.”

She buried her face in his chest, sobs wracking her body, vibrating through his.

Everything went black.

27

Bridget sat on the stool at The Chipp and took a drink of her beer. She was still trying to eradicate the memory of the storm on the island, still trying to scrub the image of Nolan’s head in her lap, his eyes closing, his face as pale as parchment. It had been the worst day of her life, and she’d had a lot of bad days in the past few years.

“Hey.” She looked up as Nolan slipped his hand around the back of her neck, dropping a kiss on her temple. “You good?”

She nodded. “I’m good.”

He slid onto the stool next to her. “Everything’s okay.”

“I know.”