“Goddammit.” Jason hopped up and grabbed the bottom rung of the fire escape that Spider-man had just lowered. “Look, buddy, you need to stop right now. You’re only making this worse.”
“I can’t. I can’t fucking go back to jail.”
With just his upper body on the first landing, Jason grabbed for Perry’s leg. The guy fell to his knees inches from the next ladder, and Jason tightened his hold, trying to pull Perry away from the ladder and another possible escape. Perry kicked hard, attempting to detangle himself from Jason’s grip.
“Do you know what they do to guys like me in prison?” Perry was practically hyperventilating now, eyes dilated from cocaine or meth or whatever drug he was on. He scooted himself back into the corner.
He should let this guy go. Where did Perry think he was going anyway? He’d make it to the roof, and then what? Jason could call his location out on the radio, tell Nick to sneak up to the roof from inside the building, and trap Perry from above and below. He didn’t need to fight this guy right now.
But he wanted to.
“There’s only two types of criminals afraid to go to prison. Snitches and pedophiles. So, which one are you?”
“I don’t care what they say. That girl wanted it. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You sick motherfucker.” Jason flew up the remaining steps of the ladder and launched himself toward Perry. He grabbed his cuffs and snapped one on Perry’s wrist, but Perry fought hard, his fear of going to prison and his drug-induced energy boost making him a formidable opponent. “Hands behind your back!”
“I’m not going back!”
Jason reached for Perry’s other arm, fighting to get the second cuff secured, but Perry was wild, twisting and turning and dragging Jason across the balcony.
When the rain came, he seriously regretted his decision not to wait for Nick. The sky let loose a torrential downpour, one of those late summer storms that came out of nowhere, and made the metal fire escape instantly slick.
“Hands behind your back.”
Perry didn’t comply, but Jason took advantage of the balcony’s slick surface and swept his leg beneath Perry’s. Unable to keep his footing on the wet metal, Perry went down, and Jason snapped the second cuff into place. With his knee pressed firmly into Perry’s lower back, he kept him pinned while he called his location out on the radio.
The rain soaked through his uniform, and the spray of drops rebounding off the balcony made it difficult to see. Perry continued to wriggle and inch-worm around the balcony, not giving up in his struggle to get free. He wouldn’t be going anywhere though. Facedown on the balcony with his hands cuffed behind his back, he’d never get any leverage.
Jason’s overconfidence proved to be a huge error in judgment when Perry flipped onto his back and kicked Jason in the chest with both feet. Jason flew back, his feet slipping off the edge of the fire escape. He grabbed wildly for the railing, the only thing that kept him from falling down the ladder. Hanging off the edge of the escape, he kicked his feet, trying to find a ladder rung, but before he could gain his footing on the ladder, Perry—still flat on his back—kicked the rail Jason held and crushed his fingers.
Groaning, Jason tried to keep his grip tight, but his fingers were already becoming numb and the metal was slick. He stretched out his other arm, but couldn’t reach much beyond the floor of the balcony and there was nothing he could grab hold of there.
One foot finally found a ladder rung, but slid off the wet metal at the same moment that Perry kicked again.
Gritting his teeth, Jason stared at a hand he could no longer feel and mentally commanded his fingers to hold tight.
But Perry kicked again. And again.
One by one, Jason’s mangled fingers slipped from the iron rail until he was gripping nothing but air.
Chapter 22
Victoria left the ambulance bay and followed the buzz of voices coming from the common room. She and Bob had just returned from a run to the hospital after a three-car accident, and she’d caught something on the radio about a police officer injured in a foot chase.
“What’s going on?” she asked, prompting six heads to turn her way, all chatter instantly stopping.
Graham stood up from the sofa. “We just heard over the radio that the guys at Station Two just took Meadows to the hospital.”
“Jason?” It was exactly what she’d feared, exactly why she demanded Bob gun it back to the station. “Are you sure?”
Graham nodded.
“Is it…is it serious?”
“He…uh…” Graham shifted from one foot to the other. “He fell from a fire escape. He wasn’t conscious when they transported him.”
The blood left Victoria’s head and her knees felt a little unstable. She gripped the back of the sofa for support.
“I have to go…” She hated that she had to go. He wasn’t speaking to her, but the thought of him unconscious at the hospital—it ate at her.
Bob touched her arm. “I’ll call Flaherty. He’ll come in for you if you want to leave.”
Victoria somehow doubted that. She hadn’t seen Flaherty since their little chat, but she was skeptical he’d be willing to bail her out.
Perhaps reading her mind, Bob added, “I’ll find someone to cover for you. Don’t worry. Just go.”
“Thank you,” Victoria said, her voice hoarse. Without waiting for more official clearance, she turned on her heel and jogged out to her car, a hard pit of dread lodged in her stomach.
*
It was strange coming into the ER from the public entrance, and Victoria had to stop and think which way to go. With her uniform on, no one stopped her on her way back to the exam rooms and she threw a quick nod to the nurses she knew.
Rounding the corner and walking quickly, she almost body checked an officer standing in front of the vending machines.
“Oh, thank God.” The officer reached into the bottom of the machine, not taking his gaze off Victoria as he fished around for a bag of chips. “You’re Victoria, right?”
“I am.”
He straightened, holding out a hand. “Nick Tomaras.”
She shook the officer’s hand.
“I recognized you from the picture,” he said.
“Yes, you and the rest of Chicago.”
He grinned. He had friendly brown eyes and an easy smile. The kind of person that inspired confidences. Easy to talk to.
“Are you here with Jason?” she asked, anxious to hear how he was doing.
“Yes, and so frickin’ glad you’re here. You need to talk some sense into him.”
“He’s regained consciousness then?” For the first time since hearing the news, her lungs expanded in an easy breath. “That’s great.”
“Actually, it’s not. Since he came to, he’s been refusing pain killers, and he’s trying to convince the doctor he doesn’t need anesthesia for surgery.”
“Surgery?” Her stomach dropped a little, the relief of learning he’d come to instantly gone. “How bad was he injured?”
“Doc says if he doesn’t have surgery, he’s going to lose the use of his hand.”
“And why the hell is he refusing anesthesia?”
“I have no idea.” Nick shook his head slowly. “He hit his head pretty hard. They ordered a CT or an MRI or something like that.”
“So, you think this crazy refusal to be put under has to do with his head injury?”
Nick sighed, looking straight at Victoria. “I don’t actually. I don’t think it has anything to do with that. He’s completely lucid, but he seems to have this irrational fear of sedation.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure you can calm him down. Talk some sense into him.”
“I’m afraid you grossly overestimate my influence. I’m not even sure he’ll want me here.”
“Oh, he wants you here.”
She raised her eyebrows. “How do you know?”
“He’s got it pretty bad for you.”
“Tell me something.” Nick cocked his head to one side. “Did he stop speaking to you about three days ago?”
“Yes, how’d you know that?”
“Because he’s been a complete friggin’ a-hole for the last three days. Just a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. In fact, I’d bet money it was his temper that got him into this mess. He confronted the guy. Didn’t wait for backup. Gave chase and ended up in a wrestling match with a meth addict who was higher than shit and feeling no pain.”
“Maybe he didn’t think he had a choice.”
“Or maybe he was itching for a fight.” Nick opened his chips. “A rational man doesn’t confront a meth user in that state. You could put six bullets in their chest and they’d keep coming at you. That’s how crazed they get.”
Victoria let out a long breath and leaned back against the vending machine. What the hell had Jason been thinking?
Pointing a chip at her, Nick said, “I’ve known Jason a lot of years. He’s a good dude. Takes his job seriously even if he doesn’t take anything else seriously. Likes to joke around, have fun, but he never lets the conversation run deep. Never lets it get too personal.” He popped the chip in his mouth, chewing for a moment before he spoke again. “When I saw the news footage and heard what he said about you to that reporter, I knew.”
“You knew what?”
“That’d you’d be the one to break through.”
“That’s weirdly romantic of you.”
Nick shrugged. “I’m a married man. A very happily married man. It’s in our nature to want to see our friends as happy as we are.”
“Well, as you said, I haven’t made him very happy these last few days.”
“Only because you weren’t with him.”
She pushed off the vending machine defensively. “That was his choice, not mine.”
Nick laughed and scarfed another chip. “The man’s refusing anesthesia. Obviously, he has no clue what’s good for him.”
“Maybe not.” Victoria started toward the exam rooms, anxious to see how Jason was doing.
“Go get him, tiger,” Nick called from behind her. “Talk some sense into that stubborn bastard.”
“Don’t get too excited. After being ignored for days, I think I might like seeing him in pain.”
Nick laughed. Probably because he knew as well as she did that was a total lie. She didn’t want to see him in pain. Just the thought of it made her slightly nauseous.
*
How many fucking nerve endings could one hand have anyway? If his pain was any indication, Jason would have to say a couple million. At least.
He closed his eyes, physically willing his stomach not to give up its contents. Thank God they’d wrapped up his hand. If he saw his crooked fingers and weirdly protruding bones again, he’d probably puke.
He heard the exam room curtain shift. “No drugs,” he said, placing his good hand over his eyes and rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger. “I’m fine. Just have someone set the bones in my hand and let me go home.”
“Jason…”
Just the sound of her voice—a voice he wanted to hear more than anything right now—soothed his anxious mind. “Victoria.” He was almost afraid to move his hand away from his face. What if she wasn’t there and he’d just imagined her? He lowered his hand, figuring imaginary Victoria was better than no Victoria. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard you were hurt. So, I came.”
I heard you were hurt. So, I came.
His throat tightened. God, he was an ass. He didn’t deserve such loyalty. Not after the crap he’d pulled.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his voice little more than a series of croaks.
“Yeah, well. Someone had to come. And I knew it wouldn’t be Preston.” She was annoyed with him. As well she should be, but if she was here because of guilt…well then, she could just walk her tight little ass out of here. He didn’t need her pity.
“If that’s the case, don’t worry. Tomaras is in the lobby. You can go if you like.”
She mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like you’re such a stupid ass and left the doorway to stand next to his bed. “Why won’t you agree to the surgery, Jason?”
“I don’t understand why they can’t just set the bones and let me go on my way.”
“Because you’ll lose the use of your hand. Jason, this is serious. You won’t be able to be a cop anymore if you don’t get this fixed.”
“Can we not talk about this right now?” God, just hearing the word hand reminded him that he had one and had his brain firing off all sorts of pain signals. He closed his eyes again and clenched his teeth, bearing down against the pain.
He felt the mattress dip when she sat down next to him, her hip touching his hip. Next her cool fingers brushed across his forehead and then she massaged his temple with her thumb. He groaned.
“Jason, you have to breathe, honey. You’re hyperventilating from the pain.”
“No, I’m not.” But even he could recognize the short quick breaths coming from his lips. “Hyperventilating is for girls.”
“Breathe with me,” she said. “Purse your lips together and breathe in through your nose. Nice and slow. Good. Now let it all out.”
He followed her orders, if only to keep her talking. He could listen to that voice for hours. The soothing husky timbre was a balm to his nerves.
“That’s it,” she said, still stroking his temple with her thumb. “Again. In through your nose.”
Between the breathing exercise and her quiet, confidently spoken words, his body began to relax. His breathing evened out, his heart rate returned to normal. She was better than any drug they could’ve given him.
“Why won’t you let them sedate you?” she asked softly.
“I can’t stand it,” he whispered, his eyes still closed. Not against the pain, but because he wasn’t sure he could say the words if he was looking at her. “I can’t handle the feeling of not knowing what’s going on.”
“When’s the last time you were sedated?”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not without telling her things he’d never told another living soul.
She didn’t press the issue, but instead took his good hand in both of hers. She pressed deeply into his palm with her thumb, massaging and kneading until he nearly forgot his own name from the pleasure of it.
“Is this some sort of Jedi mind trick?” he asked, hoarsely. “You massage my good hand to make me forget the pain in the other one?”
She chuckled. “Is it working?”
“Better than anything else has.”
She was quiet for a moment while she continued to work on his hand, and he relaxed enough to open his eyes. She was so damn beautiful. Maybe others couldn’t see it, but he knew every curve that was hidden under that navy blue uniform. Every lithe muscle of her legs. Every inch of smooth skin. Her big brown eyes regarded him with concern, and he hated himself just a little for having been so stupid. For underestimating Perry and putting that look of worry on her face.
“What if we ask the doctor about the possibility of a regional anesthetic?” she asked. “They could numb your whole arm and do the surgery with you awake. Although…this will probably be a long surgery…I’m not sure regional anesthetic is feasible.”
He shifted his grip so he was holding her hand instead of the other way around. Running his thumb over the back of her hand, he considered her suggestion. “Probably for the best if they can’t do that. I’m not sure which would be worse. Being out and totally unaware. Or being awake and knowing I’m powerless to move my arm. I’d feel trapped and I’d be awake to know I was trapped.”
She tilted her head to the side, her voice barely above a whisper, and asked, “What happened, Jason?”
She wasn’t asking about today. She want
ed to know why he couldn’t stand the thought of being drugged. He knew that, but he chose to misunderstand. “I should’ve waited for backup. Tomaras was on his way, but I thought I had the guy. I underestimated him.”
She raised her brows.
“He got the upper hand and smashed my hand repeatedly with his foot while I hung off the side of a fire escape.”
She winced. “Oh, Jason.”
“I’m sorry,” he said because he couldn’t hold it back any longer. “I don’t know why I haven’t called or texted.”
She shrugged. “Well, I suppose you never promised you would. We both agreed about what this was.”
“Yeah.” They had, hadn’t they? And that was the problem. Because watching her sleep the other night, he’d realized he’d crossed over. He needed more from her than just her body.
And he’d freaked the fuck out, because he knew he’d mess it up.
“You said, ‘We both agreed about what this was.’ Was. As in past tense.”
She glanced up at his face. “I did.”
“I don’t think I want it to be past tense yet.”
With the hand he wasn’t holding, she reached up and ran her fingers through his short hair. “Let’s talk about that when you come out of surgery.”
He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He didn’t really have a choice, did he? He couldn’t afford to lose the use of his hand. And it wasn’t couldn’t afford in the financial sense. No, he’d be able to snatch up a job as a one-handed chemical engineer in heartbeat. And he’d make loads more money than he did now too. But he wouldn’t be a cop. And if he wasn’t a cop, he wouldn’t be Jason Meadows. He wouldn’t be himself. From the moment Luke St. James had stormed into his mother’s apartment and rescued him from unspeakable horrors, he’d never wanted to be anything else.
He couldn’t not be a cop.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll have the surgery, but…”
“But what?” she asked.
He continued to stare at the white square ceiling tiles of the ER exam room. He just couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t handle the embarrassment of being so weak. Of needing her so much. “Could you…” Pride surged up and grabbed hold of his chest with a punishing grip. He couldn’t finish his question.
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