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Gunnar saw Heather give the signal to Miguel. And he knew—Gunnar just leaped. His arms wrapped around Powell’s waist, and he took her to the floor. They rolled.

He ignored the fire in his shoulder, his chest, ignored how weak he felt. He just knew he had to get her away. Out of the line of fire, however he possibly could.

He was dimly aware of Heather doing the same to Mason Barratt. Knocking the man to the side and out of the line of fire.

There were shots. So loud Gunnar’s ears hurt. He ignored the sounds. Just kept her covered.

As best he possibly could.

Until the fire threatened to consume him completely. But Powell was in his arms, and that was what mattered most.

“Trey is down!” Miguel yelled. “Trey is down. Weapon secured!”

“Where’s Timothy?” Gunnar heard Heather yell. “Where is that bastard?”

“French doors! He’s out there,” Miguel swore next. “Lake and crew are pulling in now. ETA less than a minute.”

“Redirect them after Timothy,” Heather said. That woman was definitely used to being in charge. “Scene cleared, except for Timothy Senior!”

“That oily little weasel isn’t getting away for long,” Miguel almost snarled.

“Gun? You good?” Heather yelled.

Powell squirmed beneath him. Gunnar just looked at her. There was blood on Powell now. “Powell?”

His word barely came out at all.

He couldn’t really move.

There was fire. Lots of it. In his chest. Like there had been earlier. But even more.

“Gunnar?” Big brown eyes he would always love just stared at him. Now…he saw horror growing. “Gunnar! He’s hurt!”

Hard hands were there. Pulling him back. Up. And onto the floor. He lay there on his back, aware of those around him, but unable to say a damned word. And stared up at the ceiling of Powell’s parents’ house.

“Shit. He’s taken another to the chest,” Miguel said. “Same general area as the first. Gun, man, hold on. We’ll get you help here in just a minute.”

“Where older Grundenman?” He didn’t want that bastard escaping. Not now. They had so many questions. Were so close. “Get him first.”

“Shit, don’t worry about that. I’ll run Grundenman to ground eventually, Gun. Call it a personal mission. Just hang on. We’ll get you through. I’m not losing another friend, you hear me? Here’s your girl right next to you. Just keep breathing.”

Powell was there. Leaning over him. Tears all over her beautiful face. Gunnar tried to say something. Her name. Tell her how much he loved her. But the words just wouldn’t come.