CHAPTER FIVE INCONVENIENT
CHAPTER FIVE
INCONVENIENT
LUNA
When we reached the techs processing the scene, it was Cap’s turn to glare.
His was aimed at the droplets of blood marring the sidewalk before he transferred it to me.
“Thought you said you weren’t hit?” The vein exposed by his receding hairline seemed to throb like something out of a cartoon as his face grew red.
“This doesn’t look like the damn scene of someone who wasn’t shot. ”
It was more blood than I expected, but that didn’t change the truth.
I pointed at the form of the splatter. “If I was shot, the drops would be going toward the wall. They’re angled away from it. And since I can feel a few flecks under the skin, I’m guessing I got caught with a tiny shard from the brick exterior.”
I was underplaying it.
It felt like I had boulders inside the wound, not flecks. Jagged boulders that were growing more painful with every minuscule movement.
One of the techs glanced over from where he was inspecting one of the holes in said brick exterior. “That seems likely.”
My captain still didn’t look happy, but I knew his pissy attitude came from a place of concern. Concern he’d have for anyone, not just me. Because unlike some other people—namely that dick, Murdoch—he didn’t think I was somewhere I didn’t belong. He didn’t act like I was an enemy infiltrator.
Or worse, treat me with kid gloves because I was young and a woman.
The tech kept talking. “And it likely would’ve been worse if they used something other than a handgun.”
“Thank God for poor planning,” Cap muttered before the tech ran him through what he had so far.
I should’ve been listening.
I hated that I couldn’t get my brain to absorb any of the words he said.
But with Captain taking the lead, I had a second to think about something other than protocol. And that meant I was able to see how close I’d been to getting shot again.
Because based on the entry points, it’d been a fuck of a lot closer than I’d realized in the moment.
If Rhys had tackled me to the side, he’d have been hit.
If I would’ve tackled him to the other side, I’d have been hit.
Us going for the other and landing in the center was the only reason both of us were still alive and breathing.
A tremor went down my spine as I stared at the hole. Stared at my own mortality.
That would’ve been really inconvenient.
My brain replayed the shooting, but instead of how it actually happened, it filled in what could’ve happened. And it slowed it down like something from a movie. All that was missing was a gritty overlay and suspenseful music that built as bullets tore into me. I imagined the fiery burn.
Or rather remembered it.
My long-healed scar warmed with phantom heat at the memory.
Click.
Click.
Click.
I rubbed my shoulder to ease an ache that wasn’t really there.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Instead of the cinematic soundtrack of slow and angsty music, my replays were accompanied by that sound.
Click.
Click.
Click.
“It wasn’t poor planning,” I said slowly.
Whatever Captain Talbot had been saying to the tech cut off at my sudden interruption as he turned to me. “What makes you say that?”
“The car was driving slowly and without headlights before it gunned it. That’s what caught my attention and set me on edge. Then there was a clicking. It was faint, but I heard it just before something shiny moved.”
“There was an issue with the first gun,” he said, reaching the same conclusion.
“That’s my guess.”
I’d heard a gun dry fire multiple times, including from up close and personal. The lack of bullets was the only reason I’d ended up with only a shoulder wound and not a matching hole in my head to go with it.
I wasn’t sure what the issue had been with the first gun they’d tried, but it was a lucky break.
That variable gave my imagination a new scenario to picture as I stared at the holes in the brick.
Maybe it was the pounding headache. Or maybe it was the repeated brush with death. Whatever the case, the longer I stood there, the more the sidewalk started twisting like I’d climbed onto a spinning amusement park ride.
One I desperately needed to get off of before I threw up.
Or worse.
Infusing my body with steel, I stood statue still and forced myself to focus on what my captain and the techs were discussing rather than the holes that could’ve aligned perfectly with my head or Rhys’s.
There wasn’t much info to garner since whoever had shot at us hadn’t thoughtfully signed their name and current location to the bullets.
Cap looked over my head before waving someone closer. “Your turn with the EMTs.”
“I’m fine,” I said, even though I knew I was being a stubborn dumbass. The flannel was helping every time the blood started dripping, but it was also introducing all sorts of dirt and bacteria every time I pressed it to my head.
His scowl was full of gruff reprimand. “Obviously you’re not if you heard that as a question when it was an order.”
Knowing better than to ignore an order—plus, sitting sounded glorious right then—I let the paramedics lead me to their rig. I sat on the back bumper, though, keeping my eyes out on the crowd.
I just don’t want to miss anything.
I knew it was a lie even as I thought it. I was trying to see Rhys.
He wasn’t there.
A shot of alarm went through me as I wondered if he’d been sent to the hospital.
“Where’s Mr. Walker?” I asked, squinting against the bright light the paramedic was blinding me with.
She was probably around my age, and much younger than her partner, who was riffling around in the rig. He looked to be in his forties or so.
A flush coated her cheeks as her gaze darted toward her partner and then back to me. “I think he went inside.” Her expression and tone were both carefully neutral, but that flush still gave her away.
With his dimples and a low drawled darlin’, I was betting blushing was a common occurrence where Rhys Walker was involved.
“Did he check out okay?” I asked.
That time, it was the man who answered as he climbed down from the back with an armful of whatever. “Better than you. We need to clean your forehead and get a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”
“We should do it on the way to the hospital,” the woman said.
“I’m not going to the hospital.”
“You need to be checked for a concussion after hitting your head.”
“I didn’t hit it.”
I hit part of it. That’s different.
Neither looked like they believed my bullshit, but whatever.
“Did Walker check out okay?” I asked again.
“Some scrapes and tenderness.” The woman leaned back to meet my gaze. “But he also shot down any further eval.”
They got to work irrigating my forehead to clear out the boulders of brick before adding Steri-Strips to close it up.
They’d barely stepped away when I was up and feeling steadier than I had before that needed rest.
Mostly.
The woman started to list off concussion warning signs I needed to look out for, but I cut her off before she wasted more breath. With four older brothers, I knew the protocol up, down, and all around. I’d often been the one keeping watch.
It was only fair when I’d also often been the one causing the head injuries.
“I’m good. Promise,” I said with a smile that made my forehead pull and sting. “Thanks for patching me up.”
I thought about handing off the flannel I no longer needed to her to give to Rhys. But at the thought of orchestrating another meeting that would have her blushing, my hold on the fabric tightened to a death grip.
As I walked away, I heard him mutter, “And they say doctors make the worst patients.”
Since I’d fulfilled his order, I returned to Captain Talbot to see what I’d missed. He didn’t even let me reach him before saying, “Matthews is taking you home.”
“I’m fine,” I said for what seemed like the millionth time.
“Are you hearing questions again? Maybe he’ll take you to the hospital instead so you can get that checked out.”
I pressed my lips closed.
For, like, ten seconds. But then I opened them to point out, “I’m sure there will be more questions for me.”
“And they can wait. Or someone will call you if it can’t. You’re taking the weekend off.”
“But I’m already off Monday and Tuesday.”
“Lucky you, a long weekend.”
“Cap—”
His glare was already enough to make me cut it out, but then he lowered his voice to quietly issue the most effective threat in all of human history. “I could assign Murdoch to drive you home and sit with you to make sure there’s no concussion.”
“So you want this to turn into a murder investigation?” Because it would. If we were in a car together, one of us would throttle the other before we reached the end of the block.
My money was on me winning.
“Then let Matthews do it,” Cap said.
He wasn’t as bad as Murdoch, but my head hurt too much to listen to his excuses, gratitude, or an annoying mix of both.
Reaching out without looking, I grabbed the nearest patrol officer by his shirt and tugged him closer. “He’ll do it.”
Cap looked between us, clearly over my shit.
I glanced to the side to see who I’d grabbed. I vaguely recognized him, and not just because he resembled Superman. Or maybe Clark Kent, all clean-shaven and wholesomely cute. Either way, I didn’t know his name without checking his nameplate. “Murphy will drive me home. Right?”
His wide eyes went from the Cap down to me where they stayed.
Ohhhkay then.
I’ll take that as a yes.
I released my hold on him, but he stayed close.
“Call me if you find anything,” I said to Cap before hurriedly tacking on, “please.”
“You almost earned yourself a trip with Murdoch after all,” my captain muttered.
It’s the night of close calls.
After he was done giving orders to Murphy—or maybe they were more of a warning about me—he sent us on our way.
I scanned around as we moved to where he was parked.
There were a lot more people than before, likely coming to check out the fuss.
Most of them were in casual or party clothes that said they were out enjoying the nightlife, but there was a cluster of people who looked better suited for a country club than a dive bar.
I kept my mouth shut until we were closed in the marked patrol car. “You can drop me off at the precinct.”
“I’ve got to take you home. Orders.”
“Are made to be broken.”
“That’s rules,” Murphy corrected.
“Those, too.” I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. “My car is there. I’ll grab it and drive home. It’s basically the same as you driving me.”
“Those weren’t my orders, and I don’t want to piss him off.”
It took effort, but I rolled my head and opened my lids enough to look at him.
For a second, I thought it might work. Actually, I thought he might suggest he join me at home.
But after a dazed moment, he shook his head. “Sorry, but he’s scarier than you are.”
My eyes narrowed in a glare as I scowled at him.
He had the good sense to be a little freaked—my scowl was pretty damn mean—but he shook his head again. “Fine, I take that back. But he still outranks you.”
He had me there.
I closed my eyes again and spun a finger around. “Home it is then, Argyle.”
“Uh, it’s Murphy,” he said. “Should I get the paramedics?”
I let out my annoyance, my fear, my pain, my anger, and—because I had a wealth of it—even more annoyance in one long-suffering sigh. “Argyle. The limo driver from Die Hard.”
“Oh. I’ve never seen it.”
He had to be five or so years older than me, but I suddenly felt ancient.
Ignoring him and the mortality crisis that crept up again, I wadded up the shirt I’d basically stolen and used it as a pillow.
I added how good it smelled to my list of things I was ignoring.
I was less successful with that one.