“I like Snoopy,” George said easily, taking out a pair of scissors and making quick work of Raider’s shirt. “There we go.” He probed along a bruise on Raider’s clavicle before taking out a bottle of pills. “I see no internal damage or concussion, so take a couple of these, one under your tongue to dissolve. I promise you won’t feel me put your shoulder back in place.”

It showed how badly Raider hurt that he took the pills without question.

Brigid wanted to snuggle into his side, but she had to tell him everything first.

The doc looked up at her. “Help me get his pants off, would you? I’m guessing stitches are needed based on the amount of blood on those jeans.”

Raider snorted. “She’s always trying to get my pants off.”

* * *

He wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten home, but for sure, the world was a bright and sparkly place. Raider sat next to Brigid on his sofa and tried to eat a truly delicious casserole, when all he wanted to do was sing. “I haven’t played my guitar for you yet,” he murmured.

Her face pinkened, and she looked around the room. “I’d like that.” Once again, she nudged his plate closer to him. “The doctor said you might need to eat after the pills he gave you.”

“Huh.” Damn, those were good pills. Raider grinned, feeling the lightness of the air around them. “I can’t remember. How’s Force?”

“He’s okay. Concussion and possible internal bleeding, so the doc and Nari went home with him for the night to keep watch.” Her phone buzzed, and she read the face before reaching for his remote control. “That was Wolfe. Said to check out channel two.”

The screen came alive, and a very handsome African American reporter stood in the rain outside of the Collinsville police station. He was saying something, but his words sounded garbled. “What did he say?” Raider slurred, his body feeling heavy. Really heavy.

Brigid’s voice sounded as if it came from far away. “He’s saying that a police officer was killed and there’s a manhunt on.”

“Huh.” Raider leaned back on the sofa and let the universe have its way with his body. “I only shot near Angus’s butt. I didn’t kill him.” Something about the statement wasn’t right, but he couldn’t grasp what. Words were silly, anyway. He’d learned early on that actions mattered. Not words. He turned toward Brigid. “You are so pretty.”

She sighed and stood. “Come on, Ace. Let’s get you into bed.”

Now that was a plan. He struggled to his feet and followed her into the bedroom, and when she helped him to undress, he reached for her.

“Later.” She grinned and pushed him down on the cool sheets. “Unbelievable.”