“Marcus?”
Dr. Marcus Vance looked directly at me.
We had served together overseas years earlier. Now he was one of Colorado’s best trauma surgeons.
“How bad?” I asked.
He hesitated.
That hesitation told me everything.
“Both kneecaps are destroyed,” he said quietly. “There are bone fragments everywhere. He’ll need multiple surgeries. Recovery could take months. Maybe years.”
Laura covered her mouth.
I grabbed the wall for support.
“Who did this?”
Marcus glanced down the hallway before moving closer.
“Sheriff Vance Vance.”
The name hit me like a hammer.
Everyone knew Sheriff Vance. Powerful. Connected. Protected. A man who wore his badge as though it gave him ownership over everyone beneath him.
I entered Ethan’s room and took his hand.
His eyes opened.
“Dad?”
Then he began to cry.
“He shot me,” Ethan whispered.
I tightened my grip on his fingers.
“He laughed.”
My jaw clenched.
Ethan swallowed, struggling to breathe.
