“Magnus?”
I found him down, lying on his face, between the two cars.I couldn’t possibly have hurt him.“Magnus?”
His face rose from the snow. “Shit. I need help.”
“We have to get out of here right now.”
“Help me up.”
I reached down, ran my hands under his right arm to half lift him. He grimaced in pain as he came up as far as his knees. “I got shot,” he muttered thickly. “Shot.”
“Holy fuck.”
I didn’t know what to do. But if I didn’t get him into my car and out of that parking lot in like thirty seconds, we were both dead. “C’mon. I got you.”
I shoved my way under his right shoulder, and half dragged him out from the cars and toward mine. My back sang with the effort, nearly stretched beyond my abilities. He helped, staggering along, gasping for breath.
At my car, I shot a rapid glance at the SUV. The driver still yelled, and the gunman shouted at him to shut up. Sirens wailed in the distance, drawing closer.No cops. Not yet.
Leaning Magnus against my car, I fumbled to open the rear passenger door. Swinging it wide, I all but shoved him onto the seat, kicked his legs in, then slammed it shut. Running around to my side, I saw the gunman struggling to climb into the back to open the driver’s side rear.
I flipped him the bird. Whether he saw it or not, I didn’t care. I leaped inside, started the engine, and hit the gas. Snow still covered the windshield, and the wipers only cleared it a small amount, barely enabling me to see where I was going.
Still, I swung past the SUV, my tires skidding as I spun the steering wheel, and drove to the street. I swung right and entered traffic without hitting anyone. Peering through the hole the wipers made, I caught sight of red and blue flashing lights as a cop car sped past going the other way.
“You still with me,” I called.
“Yeah.”
“You bleeding all over my leather, man?”
“Don’t know.”
“You’ll clean it up, I’m telling you.”
“Gotcha.”
I had to see. I had to do what I could to halt Magnus from bleeding. Not just all over my leather but dying of blood loss. Why I felt I had to save his life, I didn’t know. I knew I had to.
Driving down an alley a few blocks from the apartment, I stopped my car. Turning up the heat, I left the engine running, then got out to go around to the back seat. His face pasty white, Magnus still managed a wry grin.
“Where did you get hit?” I demanded, leaning inside.
“Upper shoulder,” he mumbled. “Left. My arm won’t work.”
The back seat wasn’t intended for much except sitting. In the cramped space, I worked his left sleeve from him, encouraged him to roll onto his side. Blood coated his shirt all the way to his waist. Tearing his shirt, I winced at the round hole that oozed blood faster than I liked.
I ripped more of his shirt from his torso, wadded it up, then pressed it against the wound. “Give me your hand.”
Magnus’s right hand eased over his shoulder. I took his fingers and pressed them against the cloth. “Hold that. Keep pressure on it.”
“Okay.”
I covered him with his jacket, looked him in his eyes. “I can’t take you to a hospital.”
“I know.” He closed his eyes. “He’ll find me there.”
“Where is this safe house?”
