As the pain drilled harder into his sternum, Olly realized it was not just fear but also the coyote-fang charm pressing against bone where Kat’s hand held him against the car. His mind lurched into action, spinning words: fang, tooth, sharp… Yes, he knew what to do. He mustered enough strength to grab Kat’s hand, yank it off his chest and bite down on her wrist as hard as he could.
Kat screamed and jumped, letting go of Olly. Unsupported, Olly started to slip. Rich leapt forward, but Kat swung her gun hand around and fired in Rich’s general direction. Olly couldn’t tell if he was hit but heard a grunt as Rich jumped and rolled behind a tree.
“Police! Drop the gun!” The shout came from the gate, where a familiar figure stood with his gun drawn and pointed at Kat. Detective Cooper. How Detective Cooper got there, Olly couldn’t fathom. He must be hallucinating, he decided as his ass hit the ground.
Kat must’ve hallucinated the same thing, because she stared toward the gate with an expression of pure hate. She turned the gun in that direction and squeezed the trigger. Two deafening bangs sounded almost at once. Detective Cooper remained standing. Kat too, but only briefly. She stared in disapproval at the red stain spreading across the front of her blue dress before toppling over.
In the distance, Detective Cooper was scaling the fence, but right up close, Rich filled Olly’s view. “Are you hurt?” he asked. His eyes were huge, his face etched with worry.
“You came,” Olly mumbled and threw a hand over Rich’s shoulder. “My hero.”
“Idiot,” Rich grumbled back, still patting Olly for nonexistent bullet holes. “Why the hell did you come here? And what the fuck happened?”
Olly wanted to tell Rich everything, but his thoughts lay in a messy, wriggling heap. “My head is a melon, and she poured vodka into it. No, tea. There were drugs in it.” He knew he was telling it wrong. He tried to focus on the important things. “She killed Jimmy, I think, but she didn’t know who Chester was.”
“Drugged you with what? How long ago? Olly?” Rich’s voice seemed to come from farther and farther away.
The world was slipping away as Olly’s vision blurred, and soon all he could make out was Rich’s hair glowing like fire in the sun. And he knew. “You’re it. You’re the flame,” he said and passed out.
Chapter Twelve
The shootout was just the beginning of all hell breaking loose. The fire department’s EMS truck arrived within minutes, as if they were already in the neighborhood. Good thing too, because Rich was teetering on the edge of a meltdown. Olly refused to wake up, and Rich didn’t like the way he was breathing either.
Observing the paramedics’ swift competence gave Rich a measure of relief, though dread kept gnawing at his insides. He wanted to go with them and Olly, but he was rebuffed. At least they told him to which hospital they were going. By the time they left, the place was swarming with cops and emergency vehicles of all sorts.
Rich was stuffed into the back of a police cruiser, where he had too much time to dwell on worst-case scenarios. He had no idea why the crazy bitch drugged Olly and tried to shoot him, but shuddered at imagining what could’ve happened if he—but mostly Detective Cooper—had arrived a few minutes later. Since he wasn’t handcuffed and nobody took his phone away, Rich called his sister. To her credit, Sandy didn’t waste time on scolding Rich—for the time being—and instead promised to rush to the hospital to be with Olly and keep him posted. Knowing she’d be there helped Rich to keep his shit together.
At long fucking last, Detective Cooper came around to take his statement. This time Rich told the detective everything that had happened since he and Olly met. He swore he was going to turn himself in—not that the cop had to believe a word—but went for a ride first to clear his head, and then had the overwhelming urge to see Olly again.
“What is the nature of your relationship?” the detective asked.
“We’re lovers.” Rich clenched his jaw, and his fight-or-flight instinct swung toward fight. At the same time, he felt himself turning red.
Detective Cooper nodded and took a note. He was more interested in the photograph of Willard Keats and the other guy—the one Rich found in Kane’s house.
Rich handed the photo over but said nothing about the copy he’d put on his phone after promising Olly to turn himself in.
The dull pain Rich felt since landing on his shoulder from the gate had grown and was now throbbing. He pressed a hand at the spot and felt something sticky. Taking his hand away, he saw the blood. There was a rip on his sleeve too.