by Freya Barker
My breath catches in my throat when I follow the path of the beam and catch the shimmer of metal. There, nearly thirty feet below, crumpled against an outcropping of rocks, are the mangled remains of Kerry’s car. A trickle of smoke curls up from under the distorted hood, but that is the only movement I can see.
“Gomez!”
My head snaps up at the sound of my name, and I see a familiar figure trotting my way.
“How did you...?”
“Scanner.” I answer his half-finished question, surprised I’m even able to utter that single word. My eyes wander back to the wreckage below.
“Hey, man,” Keith Blackfoot says, clapping his hand on my shoulder. “It could’ve been worse.”
Anger, hot and instant, burns under my skin as I swing around, my fist already flying at his face. His big hand is lightning fast and catches my wrist in midair.
“What the fuck, Damian? The hell is the matter with you? I thought you’d like to know she only has some scrapes and bruises,” he snarls. Confusion must’ve been clear on my face because he adds in a gentler voice, “The EMTs are checking her out, brother. She’s fine.”
I look over his shoulder and see two EMTs leading a small figure, wrapped in a blanket, from the back of a patrol car to the doors of the waiting ambulance. I quickly glance back at Keith, whose expression has gone from pissed off to bemused. “Sorry...I...”
“Go,” he chuckles. “Make her go to the hospital. She’s got a stubborn streak a mile long.”
With just a nod in response, I start jogging in the direction of the ambulance.
“Yo, Gomez!” I stop and turn when I hear Keith calling from behind me. “Keys!” he yells. Pulling the keys from my pocket, I toss them in his direction and he easily catches them in his fist, holding them up. “Keeping your six, brother.”
I start moving to the open doors of the ambulance, knowing Keith will make sure my ride will be taken care of. The man is a serious pain in my ass and more than once have I wanted to deck him, but in the end, he always has my back.
“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST slap a few Band-Aids on so I can go home? Aren’t there any real patients for you to worry about?”
I can hear Kerry’s voice before I even round the emergency vehicle. The woman is pissed and not afraid to let it be known, but I can hear a slight wobble in her voice, indicating the temper is more likely a coping mechanism than actual rage. My first visual of her confirms it: sitting on the stretcher with her hands clenching the blanket around her, those luminous gray eyes look wild, and her teeth are furiously chewing her bottom lip.
“Sir?” One of the EMTs stops me as I’m about to climb into the rig. “You can’t come in here.”
I pull my badge free and wave it in his face. “Where she goes, I go,” I growl, watching Kerry’s head spin around when she hears my voice.
“Damian?” My name comes out on a sob and with a last dirty look at the young EMT, daring him to hold me back, I climb in and sit down on the stretcher beside her.
“You know you don’t have to keep throwing yourself in front of cars to get me to come running,” I joke, watching her eyes go even wider as I lift my fingers to brush the stray hairs from her face. “A simple phone call will do the trick.” I pull her bottom lip from between her teeth. It’s bleeding and looks like it’s been mauled by a pack of rabid dogs. I gently rub it with my thumb to soothe the swelling, and she lets out a shuddering breath.
“I can’t,” she says, tears pooling in her eyes when I look at her, my eyebrow raised in question. “My phone is at the bottom of the mountain,” she sobs, falling forward and planting her face in the middle of my chest.
And that’s where she stays as the EMT quietly goes about inspecting her injuries. Then he carefully informs her the cut on the side of her head will not only need stitches but a scan to make sure she didn’t sustain more damage than can be seen on the outside. Kerry’s head shoots up, almost hitting me in the chin, and her first instinct is to refuse. This time I’m putting my foot down, though. I tell her it’s one thing for a woman to be strong enough to take care of herself, but it’s another thing to ignore medical advice just to prove a point. When she starts pulling away, I tighten my hold on her and tuck her head back to my chest.
“Gypsy, strength is knowing when the time is right to let someone else take care of you,” I whisper with my face pressed in her hair. Then I add, “Let me.”
I feel her resistance slowly draining from her body, and I help her lie back, kiss her forehead, and move to sit on the fold-out seat by her head, while the young paramedic straps her securely to the stretcher. When the doors are closed and the ambulance starts moving, she turns her head to me. “Are you coming?” she asks surprised.
“Yes, I am.”
“Why?” She seems genuinely confused, and it strikes me as funny and sad at the same time. I lean forward and reach for her hand, giving it a little squeeze.
“Because I’m taking care of you.”
CHAPTER 12
Kerry
“I’m coming.”
I drop my head back to the pillow and stare up at the ceiling tiles.
I’m exhausted after a sleepless night of scans, probing and prodding, not to mention the midnight visit from Keith Blackfoot, who painstakingly questioned me on anything I might remember about the incident.
He insists I go over every detail of my day leading up to the accident, but when I mention Kim loading the box of books in the back of the car, the energy in the room instantly turns thick.
“Box?” Damian repeats. “How come I don’t know about this?”
A little confused, I turn from him to the detective. “But I told you about that last order last week—The one I didn’t have yet?” I don’t miss the sharp look exchanged between the two men. I’m guessing this information was not shared.
“I assumed it was in the mail,” Blackfoot says curtly. “I didn’t know your friend was holding it for you.” The implication hangs thick in the air. I glare from him to Damian and back.
“Look here,” I start, but Damian doesn’t give me a chance.
“How did Kim end up with your shipment?” he asks, his eyes steady on mine as he covers my hand with his, sliding his fingers between mine.
“Not sure,” I say honestly. “It was supposed to be shipped to the Durango store. I was waiting for it when Kim mentioned she’d received a box for me. It’s happened once or twice before that a shipping label had the wrong zip code on it or had part of the address torn off, and it ended up at the other address.”
“We need that box,” Blackfoot directs at Damian.
It’s Damian who insisted I give Kim a call before she finds out I got hurt from someone else. He correctly assumed she’d probably be pissed if I didn’t tell her myself. As it is, she’s pissed anyway. Angry and maybe even a little hurt I didn’t contact her last night. Damian offered, but I didn’t want to get her all worked up over some scrapes, bruises, and a concussion right before bed. Running a store with a baby at home is stressful enough, and I know sleep is at a premium.
But I knew he was right when he pushed the brand new phone he’d left me on the bedside table in my hand, and simply raised an eyebrow.
“Kim,” I say with as much patience as I can muster up. “Honey, I haven’t slept all night and I’m exhausted. The doc is about to release me, and then I’m going home to crash. I promise you if I need anything, you’re the first one I’ll be calling.” I feel bad playing the pity card on her, but I really do want to go home, dive into bed, and not surface until tomorrow.
“You won’t call,” she huffs, sounding a little insulted. “You’ll just do what you always do; handle things on your own.”
“Kim...” I feel guilt sticking in my throat. It wasn’t too long ago I had been hurt because Kim had kept some things from me. It had felt like betrayal. I’m about to change my mind when she gives in.
“I know, I know. Okay, fine. But I’m telling you, I don’t like the thought of y
ou going to an empty house with no one to look after you. And please tell me you’re not driving yourself. Get a cab, or at least let me call Marya to pick you up.”
Shit. The store. That’s another phone call I have to make soon.
“Damian will drive me,” I tell her, my eyes locking with his. He’s been beside the bed all night. Even when they wheeled me from one test to another, he’d been sitting calmly in that chair when I got back to the room. After ignoring my insistence for him to head home, more than a few times, I’d given up trying. Sometime over the course of the night, I found myself expecting him to be there. A huge concession on my part but one that slipped in almost naturally overnight. And I hate admitting to myself that knowing someone has your back feels pretty damn good. Damn him.
“Damian is there?”
Shit.
“He showed up at the scene and forced his way into the ambulance.” I watch little lines appearing around Damian’s eyes as his mouth curves into a smile. Or maybe it’s a smirk. Either way, he looks more than a little amused. Irritating man.
“He stayed with you?” Disbelief is dripping from her voice.
“He wouldn’t leave.” I enforce, now full-on annoyed as I watch his smile get bigger.
“Let me talk to him,” Kim demands, throwing me for a loop.
“Why do you need to talk to him? I’m fi... Hey!” I throw daggers at the man in question when he snatches the phone from my hand, gets up to walk to the window, and puts it to his ear.
“Kim? Hey. I’ll look after her. I’ll give you a call later with an update. What? No, I’m not planning to. I know. Yes, I know.”
I can only hear his side of the conversation, and as soon as he turns and puts the phone down, I pounce. “What did she want? Planning to do what?”
“Relax,” he says with a smile as he sits back down. “She’s only looking out for you.”
“I know that,” I bite off ungraciously, not comfortable being the subject of discussion when I’m not participating in it. Talking to Kim reminded me to mention the box of books in the back of my car. I paid five thousand bucks for those babies, I didn’t want them to get lost.
I don’t have a chance to pursue it any further when the door pushes open and the attending with one of the nurses walks in.
“Ms. Emerson, it looks like you were lucky. Other than being a bit banged and bruised, eight stitches to close that cut on your head, and a mild concussion, you managed to escape without serious injury. You are free to go home.”
I barely let the man finish before folding back the sheet and swinging my legs off the edge of the mattress. “Told you I was fine,” I mumble stubbornly at no one in particular, before a wave of dizziness has me grab onto the side of the bed.
“Whoa—easy does it, babe,” Damian shoots out of the chair and stabilizes me with his hands on my shoulders.
“As I was about to explain,” the doctor continues rather sardonically, “you received a hard knock to the head, and even though there doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage as a result, you’ll likely experience some headaches and occasional bouts of unsteadiness. You may want to take it easy for a few days. I’d recommend having someone check in on you regularly.”
“Taken care of,” Damian’s deep baritone sounds over my head, and I slump my shoulders in resignation. For now.
Leaving a sheet with instructions and a prescription for painkillers, the doctor exits the room.
“Sir,” the nurse who’d been silent up to that point directs at Damian. “If you’d give us some privacy, I’ll help getting Ms. Emerson dressed.”
“I think I can manage,” I sputter, having reached my limit of being talked about. “Been pretty proficient at it for at least forty years now.” I’m being facetious, but I’m tired and cranky, and my head is starting to pound like a son of a bitch.
The older woman shrugs her shoulders and points at a closet door over her shoulder. “As you wish. Your clothes are in there and feel free to call for help when you need it.” I’m not imagining the sarcastic tone of her voice but I shrug it off. Seems I’m not making anyone happy today. I’m glad to see the back of her when she leaves the room and pulls the door shut, a hint more firmly than is necessary.
“Nice to see you’re making friends.” Damian’s calm observation ruffles my remaining feathers but mostly because his remark cuts. He’s right, I’m being an outright bitch. “I’m gonna help you into the bathroom and quickly grab your clothes. Sit your ass down on the toilet if you get woozy. I’ll be right outside the door.”
I’m grateful when he does as he says, hands me my clothes and shuts the door, closing me into the bathroom. If he’d insisted on helping, I might’ve just let him and that has nothing to do with the fact his hands on me make me feel warm all over. Nothing at all.
DAMIAN
“How’s she doing?”
It’s the first thing Bella asks. I spoke to her briefly last night when Kerry was taken for a scan, wanting to warn her not to wait up for me. She’s immediately concerned when she picks up the phone.
“She’ll be fine,” I answer truthfully, even though I’m not just talking about the injuries she’s sustained. The entire picture is one that begs me to recognize these are not isolated incidents: the break-in at her store, the missing computer and list, and now a hit-and-run accident. My gut tells me this is all connected.
Thank God for the presence of mind of the truck driver last night. He not only managed to give police a decent description of the vehicle, but also part of the license plate number. On top of that, he’d reacted quickly when he saw Kerry’s Subaru teetering on the edge of the drop off and was able to drag her from the vehicle just seconds before it crashed down the mountain. Saving Kerry from being crumpled on the rocks, along with her car, thirty feet below.
Despite the recent steady flow of new investigations, which had taken precedence over the Interpol investigation, the case involving the stolen books and manuscripts just found its way back to the very top of my priority list.
I meant what I said. Kerry will be fine—I will personally make sure of that.
“Do you need me to do anything?” my sister wants to know.
“Actually,” I consider. “It would be great if you could grab me a change of clothes. She just went down for a nap, and I don’t think I should leave her. I’ll have Luna drop off my files and work from here for a bit. I’ll text you directions.”
In the pregnant silence that follows I can hear the wheels turning.
“Can I just say I’m thrilled right now?” she finally says, a smile evident in her voice. “Mama and the girls are gonna be over the moon.”
“Bella...” I groan, definitely not looking forward to fielding phone calls from all the women in my family. “I’m just keeping an eye out. She doesn’t have any family close by.” It’s not the only reason and I’m sure Bella sees right through it, but still I’m relieved when she concedes.
“Fine. I’ll let you off the hook for now, even though you and I both know what a load of crap that is.”
“Thanks, sweetie.” My sister makes me smile. One of the reasons we get along so well is her ability to call a spade a spade. Unlike my mom and my other sisters, who twist themselves into pretzels in attempts to be tactful and sensitive—something that grates on my nerves—Bella just gives it to you straight. In between the eyes with a two-by-four.
I quickly shoot her directions when I hang up the phone and proceed to dial the office. Jasper answers, apparently Luna is in the field, so I quickly tell him what I need.
I hang up the phone just as I hear a toilet flush. It’s barely been thirty minutes since she went down, so I’m a bit surprised to hear the soft slap of bare feet on the floor coming down the hall.
“You’re still here.” Her voice sounds groggy and no less tired than it did earlier.
I don’t respond, I just watch as she pads over to the couch, plops down and pulls up her knees, holding her head in her hands. Even with her hair
looking more like a bird’s nest, the dark bags under her eyes, and wearing ratty old men’s pajamas, she still manages to stir me. Body and soul. I abandon my perch on the kitchen stool and go to sit beside her, putting my hand on her knee.
“Head hurts?”
“Hmmm...neck is killing me.”
“I bet it does,” I sympathize, shifting sideways with one leg propped on the couch and pull her toward me. “Turn your back to me, Kerry.” For a moment, I think she’s going to refuse, but then she shrugs her shoulders and does as I ask. I’m tempted to pull her even closer into me, but given the current state of my body, she’s probably better off where she is.
“Oh my God,” she groans, the moment my fingers dig into the muscles between her shoulder blades.
Using firm steady pressure, I slowly work the tight knots out of the muscles in her shoulders and neck. The little pleasure moans and groans coming from her are sheer torture, and I finally resort to pulling a throw pillow in my lap. When I feel her shoulders start to slump, I encourage her to scoot down and put her head on the pillow. I curse myself for even suggesting it, but she seems to relax under my hands and she needs her rest.
“Stop moving, babe. You’re killing me,” I whisper when she shifts around, trying to get comfortable. Her movements stop immediately as she glances up at my face. The tension is largely gone from hers and replaced with a hint of humor in the tilt of her lips at my current predicament. She slips down a little further, relieving a bit of the pressure, and chuckles when I blow out a sigh of relief.
I slip my hands palms up under her, cupping one at the base of her skull and with the fingers on the other, I gently stretch the muscles in her neck, alternating occasionally. Her eyes are locked on mine, completely open and unguarded, giving me full access to her emotions. We don’t talk, and other than my hands on her neck and head, we don’t touch—Still, I swear it’s the most intimate experience I’ve ever had.
