“Maybe he was trying to kill us, and maybe he wasn't,” Knox continued. “One thing's sure, though— if Lorenzo was behind the attack, it means he sent his brand-new trophy mate here to stand directly under a bomb when it went off, while he stayed safely at home, out of the line of fire.”
“Wh-what?” Paolo squeaked.
Knox smiled at him. There was no humor whatsoever behind the expression. “You might want to ponder that before you crawl back to him, Paolo. And if you decide to make a different choice, my door is always open.” He calmly pulled a business card out of his pocket and slid it into Paolo’s jacket, hiding it behind his rumpled pocket square. “Heath, get us some help over here, please. My voice is shot to hell.”
I stared for a long moment at the cold, calculating sonuvabitch who led my pack, trying to peer into his skull and see whatever schemes were hatching there. Then I turned and bellowed, “Medic!Medic! We’ve got a serious injury over here!”
We waited until a pair of firefighters started heading our way. Then Knox picked up his phone, slung an arm across my shoulders, and let me support his weight as we turned and limped toward the path that the first responders had cleared, leading to the exit.
FORTY-THREE
Jez
NORTHWESTERN MEMORIALHospital was a madhouse. Back at the destroyed hotel, the EMTs who’d loaded Gage and Tony into one of the first ambulances to arrive at the hotel had tried to tell me I couldn’t come with them. I’d showed them the bloody scrapes on my hands and feet, and they’d relented, squeezing me onto a jump-seat in the gap between the patient area in the back and the place where the driver sat.
The sirens hurt my ears as we hurtled down the road, Gage’s pain battering at my nerves like fire. It didn’t look like the ambulance was designed to hold two injured people; much less three. But there had been dozens of casualties in the demolished banquet room, so I guessed they were bending some rules to get everyone to the hospital as fast as possible.
Gage was on the gurney in the back. They’d braced Tony—still on his stretcher—crosswise across the cabinets set on either side of the work area.
“Broken femur,” the EMT reported, prodding at Gage’s unmoving body. “Possible cracked ribs, possible cervical spine injury. Good thing he’s an alpha.”
“What about Tony?” I asked, my voice wavering.
The nicer of the two men—the one who’d let me on the ambulance—glanced at me. “His vitals are stable. Looks like ahead injury, but they’ll check him out properly once we get to the ER. Try to stay calm, miss.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, the sting of my raw palms disappearing into the overall throbbing agony of the bond. I bit my lips to keep from bothering them while they were trying to work. The ambulance jounced around a curve at high speed, and I nearly cried out as Gage’s injuries flared white-hot.
When we arrived, two other ambulances were already unloading patients. The EMTs flung open the doors and started readying Gage’s gurney for transport. I stood up, only to fall to my knees with a poorly stifled scream when they lowered the gurney to the ground, jolting Gage’s battered body with the impact.
The nicer EMT cursed under his breath. “Miss? What’s wrong? Is it your feet?”
I tried to speak and couldn’t.
The man’s partner hopped back up, ducking under Tony’s stretcher to get to me. “She’s got a recent mating bite. Ma’am... is alpha this your mate?”
I managed a wordless nod, tears of pain squeezing from the corners of my eyes.
“Christ, how are you still conscious?” he muttered, low enough that maybe I wasn’t supposed to hear it. Then he spoke in a more normal tone. “You should have said something. Bill, let intake know about this. They’ll want her nearby to keep him calm.”
“Will do,” the other EMT said briskly.
Things got confusing after that. Strong arms helped me out of the ambulance. Orderlies showed up to move Tony’s stretcher, but I lost track of him in the press of bodies inside.
I didn’t want all these people touching me, but they were helping me stay near Gage. Someone deposited me onan uncomfortable chair in a treatment room. Someone else—probably a nurse—glanced at my hands and the soles of my feet.
