Page 5 of All Bets are Off

Feeling a little shaky, I cross my arms over my chest.

“They could have been aiming for me,” Colt says.

Kasey makes a face. “You have a lot of enemies? I doubt that.”

“You were several feet away. That bullet was aimed for Logan,” West says.

I look at him. “Because I have so many enemies?” I ask incredulously.

“Maybe it was meant for the neighbors,” Colt suggests, and I nod. However, the roof of the other house was barely visible from where we stood, so it seems unlikely.

“Is that blood?” Kasey touches my arm, and I wince as pain radiates from my bicep.

West grabs my hand, and the pain shoots up to my shoulder. “Shit, be careful!” I exclaim as he rips the cotton of my shirt from neck to sleeve.

Examining my arm, he says, “The bullet grazed you.”

Before I can protest, West hustles me across the grass and inside the house.

“You have a plane to catch,” I object as he pushes me onto the couch in the living room.

Crossing to the cabinet to get a first aid kit, West says, “Hell if I’m going now.”

“Ouch! Be careful, will you? That stings!” I object a moment later as he swabs my arm with alcohol.

“Big baby,” he mutters.

“I’ll show you who’s a big baby.” I make grab for one of his ears, which I know are unusually sensitive, but he easily evades me, shooting me an infuriatingly indulgent smile before continuing to torture me with the alcohol wipe.

“That’s enough, dammit, it’s clean already.” I yank my arm from his grip.

West unrolls a bandage. “Who would want you dead?”

“Nobody, that’s my point.” I watch West carefully wrap the cotton around my bicep.

“You ruined my shirt,” I accuse sullenly.

“I’ll buy you a new one.Baby.”

This time I manage to grab his ear, and West yelps as I give it a twist.

I let go when Kasey appears in the doorway. “Logan, the police are here and want to talk to you.”

“Did Sean find anything on the cameras?” I ask, rising to my feet.

“Just confirmation that the sedan was black. Colt offered to take the Wyoming case. Jase caught him a later flight,” Kasey says as the two uniformed cops enter the living room with Jase.

“We’d like to question each of you separately,” the taller one says.

“You can use the offices,” Jase says.

“We’ll start with the victim.” The shorter cop looks at me with my ripped shirt and bandaged arm.

Rising from the couch, I follow him down the hall.

CHAPTER THREE

West