I nod and jump back into Sam’s vehicle. I lock it, then again once more to be sure, and I wait. I’m peering out the window like a kid waiting for his parents to come back and let him out. It’s taking forever.
“What the hell is happening in there?” I can’t wait any longer. I’ve got to know if Sam’s okay. I pop open the door, stepping out into slush, but I pay no attention to it.
I make my way through the gate and then around to the back of the house. The door to my apartment is ajar and I stop to listen. I hear somebody mention an ambulance. I gasp when I look in at the bottom of the stairs and see the killer lying in a pool of blood. I hope he’s dead. Then I see Sam sitting on the floor, clutching his thigh.
I run down the steps. “Sam?” Blood is pouring out of him. Officer Sawyer is using his palm to put pressure on the spot.
“Hit the artery,” says Sawyer. “Ambulance is on the way, Sam. I need for you to lie down. He looks at me. “See if you can find something to elevate the leg for me, MacKenzie. I’m gonna make a tourniquet to try to slow the bleeding.” Using one hand, Sawyer unbuckles his belt pulling it out from the loops of his uniform pants. Next, he wraps it around Sam’s thigh above the wound and pulls it taught. Sam is white as a sheet. I quickly search what’s left in my apartment. There’s no furniture, so I race to my kitchen and pull out one of the drawers. Bringing it back to Sawyer, I place it on its end. “Perfect. Thanks, MacKenzie.”
I kneel down behind him, running my fingers through his hair over and over again. It’s the only thing I can think of to do that would soothe him. It always soothes me. I put my armsaround his shoulders. “It’s gonna be okay, Sam,” I whisper. I’ve never seen so much blood. I hear sirens and breathe a sigh of relief. “They’re here. I’ll go direct them this way.”
“No, stay with me, Mac.” His voice wavers.
Oh, shit. He’s scared. My big, strong man is afraid. “I’ll just go wave them this way. I’ll be back in two seconds.” I am back in two seconds, and I’m holding Sam’s hand when the first paramedic races down the steps.
I move away to give them room. “It’s going to be okay, baby. They’ve got this.”
“Don’t leave me, Mac.”
I have a wild thought that I don’t know if he means don’t leave right now, or don’t leave him ever. I shake away the cobwebs.
“I won’t leave you. I love you, Sam.” I do—I know I love him so much.
“I love you, too, MacKenzie. More than I can say.” He winces as one medic pushes a needle into his arm so he can start an IV. The other paramedic has cut open Sam’s jeans and applied a real tourniquet to his leg.
They are calling in to the hospital. “Base. We’ve got a penetrating trauma. Femoral artery puncture. ETA seven minutes.” One cop is coming down the stairs with the gurney. In only seconds, they’ve got Sam loaded on the gurney, setting their kits next to him. With a grunt, the three men lift him and jog up the steps.
“Wait. Where are you taking him?”
“Rush,” the guy in back yells.
“MacKenzie?” Sam calls for me.
I run upstairs and to the side of the gurney. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his key fob. “Drive my car over. I need you with me.”
“I’ll be there. Don’t worry. These guys know exactly what they’re doing, baby.”
He nods and winces as they jog over to the ambulance.
I run back to the apartment and down the steps, grab my purse, and run back up the steps. Martinez tries to stop me. “Hold up. We need a statement.”
I wave him off. “Screw that. I’ve still got Sawyer’s card. I’ll call you later—when I know Sam’s okay.” He nods and looks down at the asshole who’s dead on the floor. Good riddance to bad rubbish.
“Lock up when you’re done.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
MY TURN TO WORRY
When I finally get there,the only spot I can find is in a far corner of the parking lot. Running towards the ER entrance, I feel a hitch in my leg. When I look down, I see blood seeping through my leggings. I’ll deal with it later. I want to, no, Ineedto see Sam. I run right past the chick at the front desk. She jumps up and tries to stop me but I’m not stopping. At the nurses’ station, I gulp for air and ask, “Sam Stone. Where is he? I’m-I’m his fiancée.”
The woman smiles encouragingly. “They’re prepping him for surgery. Go down to level B-2. There’s a waiting area just as you step off the elevator. I’ll call to let them know his fiancée is on the way down.”
“Thanks.” I run out the door. A security guard is talking to the receptionist. As I pass, they turn to look at me. I wave and jog toward the elevators. I press the down button; luckily, the door opens immediately. The security guard is walking toward me, but again, I’m not stopping to chat. I push the B Level button and wave at him as the doors close. “I guess if I’m going to get arrested, you’ll have to find me first.”
As I sit down in the surgical waiting area, I realize that my body aches—everywhere. The blood is still seeping out of my legwound, but my arm is fine, and when I lift my shirt to check out my side, it’s okay, too. I reach into my purse and pull out my phone and Sam’s. I search his phone for Gill’s number. He answers, and I tell him what happened and where we are.
“On my way,” he says quickly.
