Page 81 of The Heartbreaker (Chandler Brothers 3)
“We could be panicking for nothing,” Roman said in an obvious attempt to reassure Chase.
“Yeah, I’d like to hear you say that if it were Charlotte we were looking for.”
Roman scowled at him. “Don’t go borrowing trouble.”
Chase jumped out of the car before Rick even shut the ignition. He took off toward the backyard, rounding the house with his brothers not far behind. His blood pounded in his ears and his mouth ran dry. He didn’t know what he’d find and didn’t care if he barged in on Sloane like a crazy man, only to find her alone in the old tree house. Just so long as she was okay.
Dried leaves crunched beneath his feet, making more noise than he’d like and probably announcing his approach, but there was nothing he could do about it now. An indecipherable, muffled noise sounded from nearby and Chase came to a halt alongside a large blue spruce, his instincts suddenly telling him to tread cautiously.
“What’s wrong?” Rick whispered.
Chase shrugged. “I don’t know. Something just seems off.”
Rick motioned for Chase to remain where he was. “I’m going to approach from behind,” he said, gun in hand, as he pointed with his other hand to the tree house and the lone window visible from a distance.
Without warning, a solitary figure broke the silence and ran through the trees, crunching leaves in his wake. At the same time, Samson stuck his head out the window. “Call 911,” he yelled at them.
“I’ve got it,” Roman said, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket at the same time Rick ran after the escapee.
Chase took off for the tree house, panic engulfing him. He didn’t remember climbing the stairs, but he was damn well aware of easing himself into the old structure and seeing Sloane passed out cold on the floor. Blood seeped through Samson’s old jacket, which now acted as part tourniquet, part bandage, to stem the blood flow.
His gut clenched and fear struck a blow to his heart, his pulse pounding with racing speed. “Rick called for an ambulance,” Chase told Samson before kneeling beside Sloane and taking her ice-cold hand into his own.
A distraught-looking Samson paced the floors, muttering to himself.
“What happened?” Chase managed to ask, though his mouth had grown dry as cotton.
“What does it look like, genius?” Samson aimed a scowl Chase’s way. “We don’t need you here.”
“That’s a point I’m not going to debate now. What happened? Besides the obvious, I mean,” he asked again, impatience in his tone and anger in his blood. Anger at himself and at fate for taking advantage of his own stupidity for leaving Sloane alone.
Samson ran a weary hand over his eyes, and for the first time, Chase felt sorry for the man who was obviously suffering as much as he.
“I came to find my daughter,” Samson said. “She’d been here awhile, but whoever shot at me didn’t know that because they’d probably been following only me.”
Chase swept a strand of hair out of Sloane’s face, concerned when she didn’t flinch. Without turning to look at Samson again, he asked, “Is this a guess, or do you know for a fact you were followed?”
“I know.” The old man turned a deep crimson shade. “Someone’s been after me, hanging around, watching my movements.”
Chase gritted his teeth, fear consuming him as he looked once more at Sloane’s pale face and cataloged her lack of response to anything, including him squeezing her hand or whispering in her ear. “Any reason you didn’t report this to the police? Or at the very least tell Rick earlier today?” Chase raised an eyebrow in question.
“I don’t trust nobody. I thought I covered my tracks coming here. You didn’t know I’d gone. Least not right away.” Samson raised his chin in a gesture of defiance that didn’t fool Chase.
Not when his eyes were damp and his mouth trembled when not arguing his point. The man was near to a breakdown with guilt and concern, and though Chase wanted to lace into him, Chase bore much of the same blame.
They’d both failed Sloane. “Listen, man. Maybe it’s time you start trusting, before she suffers even more.”
Samson snorted, his sarcasm obvious. “As if you’re an expert.”
Blessedly, ambulance sirens sounded in the distance, growing closer and preventing the argument from escalating. It wouldn’t do Sloane any good, and if Rick caught the shooter, not much else mattered, Chase thought.
Except Sloane, the woman he loved. And the one he might lose, if she lost any more blood. He ran a shaking hand down her cheek, trying not to look at the patch of red seeping through the old jacket. It looked like so much blood. And she was still unconscious, he thought, fear lodging in his throat. The overwhelming panic hadn’t left him since he’d realized Sloane was with Samson, and had only magnified with each passing minute.
