He surged forward, but the skittish crowd locked around him.
“Jude,” Mack shouted, “Get us through!”
Jude didn’t hesitate. Built like a goddamn locomotive, he plowed forward, shoving men aside with brutal efficiency. Emil grabbed Mack’s sleeve and yanked him into the opening, and the three of them slid through the churned-up street. By the time they’d arrived at the wreck, Emil’s chest was taut with—dread? Worry? He buried the confusing emotions deep and sprang into action.
“Check on the women and I’ll secure the area.” He glanced back to find that Mack was already gone—already at the auto, arms wrapped protectively around the redhead in the front seat like he’d been there the whole time.
Jude, still standing beside him, raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think your orders were necessary, cap’n.”
“Noted,” Emil huffed. “Why don’t you help him out?”
“On it.” With a salute, Jude hurried to Miss Lewis’s side of the auto.
For a very, very brief moment, Emil debated following. But it was better, much safer, for all involved if he took control of the scene. His police training had prepared him for such an occasion. And…if he discovered those doe eyes were full of tears, he might just do something foolish like pull Olive into his arms. In front of her friends. In front of his friends, who would never let him forget it. He banished the terrifying thought and dedicated himself to wrangling drunks and directing the remaining autos around the wreck. Order had almost been restored when he became aware of a loud exchange at his back.
“Put me down, you mutton-fisted lumberjack!”
Emil turned to find Miss Lewis struggling in Jude’s arms, her lower half still in the automobile.
“I’m helping you,” Jude shot back. “Stop wiggling!”
“I can stand on my own!”
“Then why were you sitting there like a lump on a log?”
She groaned. “I hate your forestry puns.”
“No, you don’t,” Jude said cheerfully. “Now, here we go—” He lifted her fully, but she twisted at the same time, and he appeared to lose his grip. One hand shot forward and gripped her lower leg.
Miss Lewis yelped. Jude froze.
“Jude,” she hissed between her teeth, “if you don’t put me down this instant, I am going to pinch whatever bit of skin is under my hand right now.”
“There’s no reason to be embarrassed by?—”
“Not. Another. Word.”
“Christ, Sprite.”
She leveled him with a glare that made Emil wince. Jude, to his credit, only set her down gently, then took an exaggerated step back, his hands raised in surrender.
Emil still wasn’t sure what had just happened, but the whole thing was strangely amusing. A soft chuckle let him know he wasn’t the only one who thought so. He swiveled, drawn to the sound like a frond caught in an eddy, and found Olive huddled on a stoop. Winnie sat beside her, busily tending to any angry goose egg on Miss Carlisle’s forehead.
But he only had eyes for Olive.
She was pale, a smudge of dirt streaked across one cheek. That ridiculous hat still perched on her head, though one side was crushed beyond saving. And somehow the daft woman was smiling like her life hadn’t just been in peril. As if a common drunk hadn’t derailed their grand plans. She replied to something Winnie said in a light tone, but it didn’t feel right.
He took two steps closer and openly studied her. Her smile wasn’t quite natural. Her posture was a fraction too stiff. Both hands rested neatly in her lap, the epitome of respectability. But Emil didn’t miss how she subtly cradled one wrist, as if she thought no one would notice if she looked relaxed enough. And so far, no one had. Because the sweet fool hated drawing attention to herself.
It really, really bothered him that no one else had noticed.
Discarding his detachment like yesterday’s news, he crouched beside her. “You can stop pretending now.”
Her gaze flew to his, her smile faltering. “What?”
“You’re hurt.”
Winnie paused in her ministrations and looked over. “What?”
