“Blood on the steering wheel,” Dylan called up to them, peering through the Bronco’s driver side window. He pulled open the door. “Blood on the window and on the seat. She’s gotta be hurt somewhere.”
Jack gave her a visual examination. He saw no blood and no visible injuries, major or minor. No scrapes, no contusions. He did, however, notice the softness of her pale skin and the sensual bow shape of her lips. He sternly reminded himself to focus on patient care. “Where are you hurt?”
“I’m not,” she said.
“You might not realize you are, but the blood must have come from somewhere. Here. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
Instead of letting him check her, she pulled the sleeping bag closer around her, which tried Jack’s patience.
“Are you refusing treatment?” he said. “Would you prefer that we wait for the cops to do a Breathalyzer instead?”
“No, please!” She gripped his arm. “Please don’t. The cops won’t be fair to me, I know it for a fact. Could you just call them and tell them not to come? Not to bother coming? Tell them everything’s all right here.”
“I can’t do that,” Jack said, nor would he if he could. “You’ve been in trouble with the law before?”
“Not exactly,” she said.
“Then tell me what happened. Based on your lack of injuries, I know you weren’t the one driving, and all I can say is that if you’re covering for a boyfriend, don’t.”
“I’m not.” Her voice trembled, and he didn’t believe her.
“Because no guy’s worth it, and you deserve better.”
Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “You just say that because you don’t know me.”
“He’s not worth it,” he said again quietly, hoping this time it would get through. “No guy is worth losing your job over or going to jail for. It’s obvious someone else was driving, and they ditched you here, and they’re trying to force you to take the blame. Don’t let them. Let us help you. Let me help you.”
The guys started heading back from the vehicle, and headlights appeared in the distance. Jack expected it was the police, but realized it wasn’t when there were no flashing lights. As the vehicle neared, he saw it was a large pickup truck.
Relief crossed Elizabeth’s face. “That’s my lawyer,” she said, looking at Jack with apology in her eyes.
He studied her, annoyed now. “You called a lawyer.”
He glanced at the other guys on his crew. After years of working together, they were often able to communicate without words, with just a glance of confirmation. And it was clear they all agreed—the fact that she’d called a lawyer just about guaranteed she had something to hide.
“I told you, the cops would throw the book at me.”
“She’s right about that,” Dylan said. “Jack, this is Elizabeth Armstrong. She’s Nate Armstrong’s kid. Remember him? Dirty cop. Stole all that money from the evidence room.”
Armstrong. The name pounded through Jack’s brain. It was a name he tried never to think about.
“I remember,” he said, feeling lightheaded.
The Nate Armstrong situation had gone down while his mother was dying of ovarian cancer, nearly a decade and a half ago. Jack had just finished up at the police academy and was in his rookie year, planning to make a career out of it like his old man and his hero—Bruce Barnes. The man he now couldn’t even be in the same room with, so deep was the animosity.
“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said again.
“Don’t apologize.” Jack was reeling. “Never apologize. Especially not to me.”
From The Ashes
Book 3 in the Golden Falls Fire Series
Buy FROM THE ASHES
Scarlett Andrews lives with her husband and dogs in Arizona. She has a day job, but her true passion is writing happily-ever-afters. When she's not writing, she enjoys cooking (especially baking), fitness, travel, reading, and binge-watching TV. Her first romance series, Golden Falls Fire, features the heroic firefighters of the idyllic, fictional city of Golden Falls, Alaska.
Find her online at www.scarlettandrews.com
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Bring Your Heart (Golden Falls Fire Book 2) Page 28