Chapter 17
As Gunner was replacing the hose at the fuel pump, he was also concluding that driving himself home might not have been his best decision. He was beginning to get stiff, and everything was burning, but he was alive and still upright. It was enough, and it was over—finally over.
He eased in behind the steering wheel, wincing when he reached out to start the car, then drove back into traffic. No speeding for him today. About thirty minutes later he pulled into his driveway and saw Holly waiting in her car. She did not look happy.
He rolled slowly into the garage and eased himself out. When he turned around, Holly was already coming toward him.
“Jesus wept, Gunner Kingston. How are you still walking?”
“I swear it looks worse than it is. I have a cut on my arm, and I lost a lot of skin there when I took him down on the pavement. His damn helmet whacked my jaw. I probably have bruises, but it’s all superficial. I’d hug you but…”
“Did you go to the ER?” she asked.
“No, but I—”
She glared. “Well, you’re going, and don’t argue with me. You look like the last rooster standing in a cockfight. Get a clean shirt and pants. They’re going to cut all of this off of you when we get there, so you’ll need something to wear home.”
He was hurting like hell, but she’d just made him smile.
“Holly.”
“What?”
“I sure do love you,” Gunner said.
“I know. Inside now, please.”
It hurt to laugh, but he did it anyway. He’d just gotten his first dose of how Holly dealt with crises. She was definitely a keeper.
As soon as they got the change of clothes, they left the house. She scooted the passenger seat back as far as it would go, buckled him in, and drove him to the ER in her SUV, then walked him straight in and up to the front desk.
The receptionist looked up, then shock followed as recognition dawned. “Detective Kingston! What happened?”
“Just Gunner Kingston now,” he said. “I had a run-in with a perp. EMTs on scene patched me up to stop the bleeding, but it hasn’t stopped, and they recommended I see a doctor.”
A woman in the waiting room glanced up, then did a double take. “It’s him! The man that caught that killer on the loose!”
Gunner gave the receptionist a pleading look. “This is only going to get worse.”
The receptionist nodded. “Follow me,” he said and led them through the double doors and up to the ER nurse’s desk.
“Is there a doctor who wouldn’t mind taking Mr. Kingston now?
It seems he’s become something of a hero, and it’s going to cause a stir in the waiting room.
I’ve got to get back to the front desk, but they’ll get you fixed up in no time, Mr. Kingston. ”
The nurse glanced at the schedule to see where the ER doctors were at the moment. “What kind of a hero are we talking about here?” she said, half joking.
Holly didn’t like the way those words came out of the nurse’s mouth and answered for him.
“He got hurt taking down the killer the FBI was looking for. He was a bloody mess when he got home, and he’s hurting. A lot. But he’s not going to say it, so I’m saying it for him.”
The nurse gave Holly a look. “And you are?”
“She’s mine,” Gunner said.
Holly burst into tears.
He reached out with his good arm and pulled her close. “It’s been a hard day. Is there somewhere we could sit until a room is available?”
The nurse’s whole demeanor just changed, as she waved at one of the aides. “Shelly, take him to Room 8. If the linens haven’t been changed yet, do it before you leave.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Shelly said. “This way, please.”
A few minutes later Gunner was stretched out on the bed, and Holly was sitting in a chair beside him.
“This sure puts a kink in our pajama party,” Gunner said.
Holly rolled her eyes, then managed a wry smile. “Yes, it does, but I do take rain checks. And don’t fuss at me. When you hurt, I cry. That’s how it’s always going to be.”
The words were stuck in the back of his throat. He held out his good hand, and she took it, holding on as if she was never going to let him go.
And while they were waiting for the doctor, Gunner’s phone began to ring. He quickly handed it to Holly. “It’s Asher. Would you do the honors and answer it, then put it on Speaker?”
She nodded. “Hey, Asher, this is Holly.”
“Hey, Holly. My brother is all over social media. Is he okay?”
“More or less,” she said. “Just a sec and I’ll put the phone on Speaker.” As soon as she had it switched, she laid it on the bed near his head.
“Hey, Ash, I’m just a little bruised. My right arm caught the worst of the impact when we hit the pavement. I’m missing a little skin and have a cut that needs stitches,” Gunner said.
“Oh, we saw the video. And the blood dripping down your arm afterward, and the cops hauling Whistler off to jail.”
“Well, I’m sorry about the shock value. Nothing’s broken. Everything will heal. It’s just gonna hurt for a while, but this nightmare is finally over,” Gunner said.
“I will not rest until you get your ass out of Dallas,” Asher said. “Dad saw the video. Someone at the bar showed it to him. He’s crowing like the only rooster in the pen about his son, the hero, and Dylan’s only comment isn’t for polite company.”
When Gunner heard the rooster reference, he winked at Holly. “Holly drove me to the ER. Trust me when I say, I am in good hands. She’s already squashed a nurse who made light of the situation.”
“Good for her. Hey, Holly, thanks for being there for him, and welcome to the family.”
Holly was beaming. “Happy to be here. Oh… The doctor’s coming.”
“Right! If the doctor decides his brain is falling out, let me know,” Asher said and hung up.
“My brain is fine,” Gunner muttered, and then the doctor walked in.
“I’m Dr. Stanley. This is my nurse, Rita. I know what brought you here, and I saw the video of you take a flying leap into the air and T-bone a man on a Harley. So, we need to remove your shirt and jeans. You don’t have to move. Rita is going to cut them off for you.”
Gunner eyed Rita. “Slowly, if you please.”
She stifled a giggle. “You aren’t my first victim, and yes, I will cut slow.”
“Many thanks,” Gunner said.
When the shirt came off, the doctor frowned at Gunner’s chest and midriff. Severe bruising was already evident.
“If you don’t have cracked ribs, I’ll be surprised. They’re bringing a portable X-ray machine.”
Holly had moved out of the way as they were removing Gunner’s clothing.
First the shirt, then the jeans. That’s when she saw the bruises already making themselves known.
There was a big one on his right thigh, and another one near his right knee.
All on the side he fell on. It was terrible to see him in so much pain, but she would not look away.
Have mercy, Lord. How is he still upright and walking?
The portable X-ray arrived. The technician took photos as directed—of his chest and his jaw—then left to get them ready for the doctor.
Once they removed the field dressings from his arm, they began cleaning up the raw places and flushing the cut of any possible debris.
When they finally numbed the area where they were going to put stitches, she breathed a sigh of relief.
For Gunner, numbing was a godsend. He gave Holly a wink to let her know he was okay and then closed his eyes as the doctor took the first stitch.
* * *
When the homicide detectives in the downtown division of the Dallas PD found out Beau Whistler was in custody and that Gunner Kingston had taken him down, they were torn between pride that he’d been one of them and guilt for how he’d been treated when he’d turned in his resignation.
When Greg Rance saw the video, his first thought was that the man was crazy, and the second thought, that he was absolutely fearless. They’d lost a good man because of an informant, and he’d been a royal jerk. It was a hard pill to swallow.
Cliff Beale was proud on Gunner’s behalf and didn’t mind telling anyone who would listen that Kingston had once been his partner.
Frankie Adams was sitting quietly at her desk, watching the video over and over like some action-adventure movie.
It was hard to imagine this wasn’t fake.
That there hadn’t been any stunt men taking over to create this reality.
The way Gunner held Whistler down—without a weapon to protect himself—without handcuffs to subdue him.
Bleeding like a stuck pig without flinching.
It was so damn heroic she wanted to cry.
She didn’t know what made men like that, but she wished one of them was hers.
* * *
Andy Samuels’s daughter had taken her father home yesterday, and today he was in his favorite recliner, dozing off and on, just happy to still be alive. He could hear his daughter humming as she moved throughout the house.
A short while later, he turned on the TV, switched the channel to local news, and got the shock of his life.
Not only was the manhunt over, but Gunner had been the one to catch him and take him down.
As he was listening to the commentator and watching the video, he realized they had not once referred to Kingston as a detective, and he wondered if the lottery money had come in and Gunner opted out of law enforcement.
If this was so, Andy didn’t blame him. The stress of the job had been his downfall.
“Good job, Kingston. Godspeed.”
* * *
Travis Dillon was the first one at the ranch to see the video and went to look for his dad. They’d been branding all day, and he found him taking a break with some of the hands.
“Dad! Y’all have to see this!” he said, then pulled up the video.
The hands gathered around Garrett, looking over his shoulder as Travis handed him the phone.
“That’s Gunner. Catching the guy from the FBI manhunt.”
They watched in awe, laughing and pointing at specific moments, and then watched it a half-dozen times more.