“You were watching me today,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm, considering the current flow of adrenaline. “I felt it as I was getting into my car.”
He leaned in close, the gun pinching against her skin, and brought his lips close to her right ear. “You felt me, did you?” She cringed, leaning away from him in disgust. “Did it feel good, Emily?”
Thinking madly for a way out, she recalled her cell phone in her left pocket. With Ted over her right shoulder, in the back seat, she might be able to get her hand in her left pocket without him noticing. Attempting to distract him, she asked, “So, what now, Ted? What do you want?”
“I want the same thing you’re giving to that prick inside,” he said, looking toward Mac’s building.
She took advantage of his distracted gaze to pull out her smart phone and flicked the button for silent. She didn’t need him hearing beeps as she pressed buttons. She’d better not look down at the phone though, or it’d draw his attention. She would have to do this by feel, a difficult task with a touch screen. There were no keys to guide her fingers.
“You want me to bake you brownies?” she asked, goading him.
“I said no more games, you fucking little cunt. I know you’ve been doing a lot more with him than baking brownies.” She didn’t want to think about what that implied. Had he been watching them through the windows? It made her sick. “Now, put this car in reverse and drive.”
She absolutely could not let him take her to a second location.
She’d never be able to hit 9-1-1 on her phone without looking at it, but maybe she could make her speed dial work.
“Where are we going?” she asked slowly, pressing the home button on her phone and sliding her thumb across the screen to open it. She angled it toward the door, hoping he wouldn’t see the light emanating from the screen.
“Just get out of this parking lot,” he demanded.
Hands shaking, as quickly as she could without looking at the phone, she pressed the spot where she thought her contacts were and then tapped the very top, knowing that Mac had programmed his cell number into the first speed dial spot. She couldn’t risk any more than that.
She set the phone in the handle of the door and prayed that a call would go through. To someone. Anyone. Please.
* * *
Mac was starving. Emily had arrived before he’d eaten the capellini and after making love to her twice with more energy and eagerness than an eighteen-year-old, he was freakin’ hungry as hell. He put the capellini in the microwave for the second time that night and grabbed a beer from the fridge.
He sat down to eat, and his cell phone rang. Seeing Emily’s number pop up on the screen, he smiled. “Miss me already?” he asked, answering the call.
There was a sound of movement, a staticky shuffling, on the other end, and then Emily’s voice, loud and strong. “I’m not going to drive anywhere until you get that gun out of my face.”
His heart stopped. He stood so fast he knocked the kitchen chair to the floor.
An indistinguishable male voice sounded in the background, and Mac ran through the apartment to his gun safe. He punched in the code, grabbed his gun and the keys off his nightstand, and ran out of the apartment.
On his way down the hall, he pounded on Juan’s door. “Call 9-1-1! Tell them there’s a carjacking in progress in the parking lot!”
He continued racing down the hall.
“What’s going on?” Juan asked, sticking his head out the door.
Not stopping, not wanting to waste another second, Mac yelled, “Call 9-1-1! Tell them there’s an armed carjacking in progress! Now!”
He blew through the metal stairwell door and flew down the stairs, his heart leaping up to his throat. Pressing the phone to his ear, he listened for Emily.
“Okay! I’m going,” she said. “You want me to make a left on Chicago Avenue?”
Good girl, tell me where he’s taking you.
He burst into the parking lot in time to see Emily’s Mazda pull out and make a left onto Chicago. He jumped into his SUV and started to follow.
Could he put a call on hold and call dispatch for backup from his cell? He risked a glance at the phone’s screen. Goddammit, he didn’t have time to figure this shit out, and he couldn’t risk dropping Emily’s call. He hit the speaker button and set the phone on the seat next to him.
“Are we going to your house?” Emily’s voice came out over the speaker.
A muffled, angry male voice answered, “Just shut up and drive. And make sure that asshole’s not following us.”
Mac forced himself to slow down, letting several car lengths of space stretch between him and Emily’s car.
“You’re being paranoid. No one is following us.”
“Turn left here,” the carjacker said.
Emily’s car didn’t slow down. “Turn left where?” she asked innocently.
“Right here! Goddammit! You missed it! What, are you fucking stupid?”
He would die. For talking to his woman like that, that carjacking motherfucker was going to die.
Teeth clenched, blood pressure through the roof, Mac tried to focus on maintaining a steady speed and adequate distance behind Emily’s car.
“Well, maybe if you didn’t have a gun pointed at me, I’d be able to concentrate on driving,” she said. “I’ll turn left at the next block.”
The next block was Lake Street. Shit, she was smart. By pretending she’d missed the turn, she was taking them straight toward the police department.
He heard the male in the background, but couldn’t decipher what he said. Emily’s voice came across again. “He’s not following us. Look, I’ll turn right on Elmwood, and he’ll just keep right on going.”
Mac panicked. She couldn’t want him to stop following her. How could he help her then? Wait. The PD was on the corner of Lake and Elmwood. If she turned on Elmwood and he kept driving as she’d said, he could make the next right into the alley behind the PD, circle the building, and cut them off. She was letting Mac get in front of her and putting them right in front of the PD.
She wasn’t just smart, she was fucking brilliant.
He hated that he’d have to have Emily out of his sight for a minute, but it was the only way. She turned and Mac kept on going.
* * *
In the rearview mirror, Emily watched Mac’s SUV fly past. He’d heard her. Thank God, he’d heard her. Hopefully, he was smart enough to realize what she was doing, and she’d see the SUV in front of her next. The problem was—if her plan was obvious to Mac, it might also be obvious to Ted.
“Why are you slowing down?”
To give Mac time to cut us off. “No reason.”
“Do you think I’m fucking dumb? That’s the police station.” He pushed the gun against her temple again. “Keep driving and don’t do anything stupid.”
Define stupid. Emily punched the brake and had the satisfaction of seeing Ted slam into the back of her seat through the rearview mirror. Should have worn your seatbelt, asshole.
“Goddammit!” he said, clipping her on the back of the head with the butt of his gun. Tears instantly burned her eyes, and she placed a hand over the quickly forming lump on the back of her skull. “Keep driving, bitch.”
Inspiration struck. Still holding her head, she let her arm go limp and fall weakly to her side and then collapsed against the steering wheel. How did it look when a person got knocked unconscious? Had she messed it up? Waited too long to collapse?
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Ted opened the back door, no doubt thinking he would pull her unconscious body out and stuff her in the back seat.
The second he stepped out, she hit the gas, crouching down as low as possible in case he tried to shoot through her window. She got as far as she dared without looking, then poked her head up over the dash. Mac’s black SUV was parked sideways in the street, a makeshift roadblock.
She saw it, but it was too late.
* * *
Mac peeled
out of the PD’s parking lot and onto Elmwood. He parked sideways to block traffic, but wasn’t dumb enough to sit in his car and wait to get hit. He jumped out of the SUV and looked down Elmwood. Headlights were coming this way. It had to be Emily.
He stood, partially hidden by a tree on the parkway, waiting for his opening.
Down the street, the car came to a quick stop, tires squealing. Mac gripped his gun, heart pounding. He couldn’t see much with the glare from the headlights. Just two bright white orbs and nothing else.
A door opened, the click of the door handle loud and clear in the dark night. Mac squinted, trying to cut the glare from the headlights so he could see who’d gotten out of the car.
A shadowed outline appeared and Mac took aim, but kept his finger off the trigger until he could see and assess the threat.
The driver gunned it, and the car peeled away from the figure, the smell of burnt rubber permeating the air. Headlights out of the way, Mac got a clear view.
“Police! Hands in the air!”
The stunned carjacker turned toward him and raised his weapon.
Instinctively, Mac squeezed the trigger. His shot echoed in the street, and the gunman sank to the ground.
Screeching tires, metal on metal, the sickening sound of a car crash. Mac whipped his head around to see Emily’s Mazda had t-boned the SUV.
“Emily!”
He started to run toward her, but found it difficult to catch his breath. He stumbled up to the car. Seeing Emily unconscious in the driver’s seat, he yanked the door open.
Two officers spilled out of the PD, no doubt drawn by the sound of the crash. “Help! Guys…” He fought for breath. “Over here!”
He leaned over Emily—his chest brushing against her limp form—and unbuckled her belt. “Em! Emily, baby wake up. Are you all right?”
He sank down to his knees, not sure if he should pull her out of the car or wait for the paramedics. He didn’t want to move her if she had a spinal cord injury.
His chest burned. He couldn’t seem to pull in enough air.
So, this was what it felt like to face losing the person you loved the most.
“Mac! What happened? Are you okay?” Daniels put a hand on his shoulder.
“Rescue…” Mac struggled for breath again. “Did you call…”
“They’re on their way.”
Mac searched Emily for signs of injury. No visible bruises or lacerations on her head. Surprising since she was knocked unconscious. She’d probably hit the steering wheel—hard. Assessing further down, on her shirt, he noticed blood. Lots of blood.
“She’s bleeding.” Mac felt weak. He couldn’t lose her. Please, be okay. Please, be all right. Please, live.
He was losing focus, his vision fading in and out. Next to him, Daniels nudged his way in to get a better look at Emily.
“Where’s it coming from?” Daniels ripped Emily’s blouse open. “I don’t see anything. I don’t see where the blood’s coming from.”
He turned back to Mac, and his eyes widened. “Holy shit, Mac. It’s not her blood. It’s yours.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Before she was able to open her eyes, she became aware of the noise around her. Chaos. People yelling. Sirens wailing. The metal clang of doors opening, not those of a car, but very heavy truck doors. Weightless for a moment, she was lifted quickly and laid down on a softer surface. Bumping along, she sensed she was moving and struggled to open her eyes.
The night sky above was black, the darkness interrupted by the flashing glow of red and blue lights. An ambulance? Was she on a gurney? She reached a hand out to touch the cold metal rails at her side. Yep, definitely a gurney.
Two paramedics appeared at her sides and pushed the gurney into the bed of the ambulance, causing the wheels to collapse underneath. And like a shade being drawn down in front of her, the night sky was replaced with the roof of the ambulance.
In the distance, someone yelled, “Let them know we’re headed in with two victims, both with GSW’s to the chest. Tell them to have their trauma team ready.”
GSW. Gunshot wound.
Emily tried to sit up, but two pairs of hands pinned her down. “Ma’am, you have to be still. Please, calm down.”
“I just want to see what’s happening. Where is he? Where’s Officer McAvoy?”
Sean poked his head into the ambulance where Emily was being held prisoner. She’d seen that pale, serious expression on his face only once before. Ten years ago. When he’d told her their parents were dead.
“No,” she said. “He’s okay. He has to be okay. Please, Sean, tell me he’s all right!” Her breathing turned shallow, just shy of hyperventilating.
“He’s been shot, Emily. They’re working on him right now.”
“Let me up.” She tried to shake off the two young medics.
Sean, the traitor, climbed into the ambulance and gently pushed her back on the gurney. “Emily, you got knocked out on the steering wheel. You could have a concussion,” he paused meaningfully, “or worse. You of all people know how serious head wounds are.” She opened her mouth to argue, and he held up his hand. “You need to keep your blood pressure down and get to the hospital to get checked out. No arguments.”
She turned to the female paramedic, who had a young, kind face, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. Hoping she would be sympathetic, Emily said, “I have to see him. I have to know he’s all right, and if he’s not all right, then I need to be with him.”
The paramedic glanced at her partner, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
“Ma’am, I think he’s right,” she answered, tilting her head toward Sean. “You need to get checked—”
“I can refuse treatment though.”
The medics were silent.
Emily sat up and swung her legs over the side of the gurney. “I’m refusing treatment. You want me to sign something? I’ll sign it, but I’m not staying here.”
“Emily!” Sean said, clearly upset.
She pushed past him and hopped down from the rig, swaying slightly, dizzy from her sudden movements.
“Goddammit, Emily!”
Ignoring Sean, she started for the other ambulance.
The street lamp shone down on the scene like a spotlight. Three blue-uniformed paramedics worked furiously on the ground, just outside the rig, over a body she couldn’t see. Several police officers, stone-faced and tense, stood by watching. Waiting. Praying.
She started to run, wanting only to see his face, to know that he was alive. Please God, let him be alive. It was her absolute worst nightmare come to life, and just as in a dream, she felt as if her legs weren’t moving fast enough, as if she was pumping away but going nowhere.
She got within feet of him, could see the blood—so much blood, quickly soaking the gauze pads as the paramedics applied pressure.
Sean’s arms came around her from behind, holding her in a viselike grip. “You need to stay back. Let them do their job.”
She craned her neck to see around the medic, who was blocking her view of Mac’s face, and what she saw terrified her, made her blood turn to ice, and her body go numb.
Eyes closed, face ashen, Mac lay unresponsive and unnaturally still on the ground.
“No! No! No!” she screamed.
* * *
Hours later, Emily sat in a dimly lit surgical waiting room, her eyes glued to the large flat-panel monitor which kept everyone apprised of their loved one’s progress. She pulled the little reminder card with Mac’s patient number out again. 1KGF254. She checked the monitor. 1KGF254 was still in operating room three. Two other patients whose surgeries had begun after Mac’s had already been moved to recovery, and even though she knew that every procedure was different and the length of surgery didn’t necessarily mean anything was wrong, she couldn’t help but worry.
“Officer Simon?”
Emily and her brother both rose from their seats to greet a young-looking doctor in surgical scrubs.
“I’m Doctor Browning, the surgical intern working with Doctor Kovatch.” He shook Sean’s hand, then Emily’s.
Intern? Did this guy know what he was doing? Should he really be practicing on Mac? His surgical cap had cartoon electric guitars all over it, and his youthful face was free of worry lines. Good doctors had worry lines, right?
“I wanted to update you on your friend’s surgery,” he said, using a quiet yet competent sounding voice that reminded her of a student doing his best imitation of the teacher.
“The bullet, a .22 caliber, punctured Bryan’s right lung—”
“He goes by Mac,” she said, irrationally annoyed this infant doctor didn’t know that.
“I’m so sorry. Yes, of course—punctured Mac’s right lung…causing it to fill with blood and collapse. Low oxygen levels in his blood caused him to lose consciousness at the scene, and the paramedics had to place an endotracheal tube to help him breathe.”
“Will he be okay?” Emily asked, her pulse quickening in anticipation of the answer.
“The surgery is going well.”
That’s not an answer. Say, yes he will be okay.
“Doctor Kovatch will remove the bullet and repair the lung. He’ll then insert a chest tube, which will serve to drain any blood and air that escape from the wound into the chest cavity. The purpose of this is to allow the lung to inflate.”
“What will his recovery be like?” Sean asked.
“He will be on a ventilator overnight, but given his age and overall fitness, I’m optimistic he will come off it after a short time and hopefully have the chest tube removed in a few days. It could be some time before he regains all his strength, but I believe there is a good chance for a full recovery.”
Oh, that’s very reassuring considering you’ve seen like five patients.
Sean thanked the doctor for his update and they both sat back down in the waiting room chairs.
Emily crossed her legs. Shifted in her seat. Crossed her legs the other way. Uncrossed her legs.
“You okay?” Sean asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“He’s going to be okay, you know?”
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