Chapter 49 EVAN
METAL CRUNCHED METAL. I rammed the side of the Range Rover into the Rolls, causing Ms Preston-Black to swerve.
Her bumper clipped the Kawasaki as the car streaked across the junction, landing in a hedge.
Ms Cooper launched off the bike into the air and hit the road at speed, scraping along the tarmac.
She stopped several metres from the bike, which spluttered on its side, pieces of bodywork and rubber littering its wake.
I screeched to a halt in the middle of the junction. Horns blared, and pedestrians screamed on the pavement.
I flew out the door and saw Ms Cooper’s ankle unnaturally twisted and patches of exposed flesh where tarmac had torn through the Kevlar. Kneeling for a pulse, I found the beat.
“Ms Cooper—Nancy, can you hear me?” Her eyes remained closed through the smashed visor, but her helmet appeared intact. I touched her cheek and, to my relief, she shifted. “Nancy, it’s Evan. Can you open your eyes?”
Her lashes fluttered, then flew wide as she cried out. Her hand shot to her side. I pulled it away and examined the area, but could find no wound. “We need to get you to the hospital,” I muffled a growing concern.
“I’ve called for an ambulance, but they said it could be delayed.”
I looked up to meet the gaze of a man standing over us. “She needs medical attention, and soon.”
“Maybe with a few of us, we could move her—”
“We can help.” Two men ran over, followed by another and another, until a group had gathered around Ms Cooper. Together, they formed a makeshift stretcher. She continued to struggle in pain as we lifted and carried her to the back of the Range Rover.
I climbed into the driver’s seat, casting a glance at the chaotic scene in the rearview mirror, then set off towards Chelsea and Westminster Hospital.
On the way, I called the police switchboard to report the collision, leaving my details and location so an officer could contact me for a statement.
I parked outside the front of the hospital by the row of queuing ambulances and rushed into the A&E.
“I need assistance! I have a motorcycle crash victim here.”
A nurse ran to the back to check Ms Cooper’s vitals while a trolley was rolled out. I watched helplessly as she was wheeled straight to Casualty.
“Sir, can you identify the woman?” the receptionist asked.
I turned, grateful for a task. “Yes, of course, she’s Nancy Cooper.”
“Do you have contact with her next of kin?”
“Yes, I can call now.”
“They need to come ASAP,” the receptionist said quietly.
I paused, then pulled out my phone.