Whyhad she run after Vick? Why hadn’t she waited on Sam and Fisher to right themselves and give chase? They were trained to deal with bad guys with weapons. She wasnot.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes begging Sam to forgive her for screwing things up.
“Not your fault, sweetheart.” He gave her a wink. No sooner had he finished the gesture than the world exploded.
Or, at least, shethoughtit did.
A loudboomcleaved the quiet morning in two. Vick screamed like he’d been shot. And when he stumbled backward, he dragged her with him.
They hit the ground together, the custodian landing on his back, her landing on top of him.
She expected to feel the blade sink into her side. Feel thepopof her lung. So she was a little surprised when the next thing she knew Sam was yanking her to her feet.
“Wha—?” was all she managed before he holstered his weapon and ran his hands over her face, down her sides, grimacing when he found the blood soaking through the fabric over her flank.
“How bad is it?” His baby blues were fixed on her face. His voice was so filled with violence, instinct almost had her stumbling back.
“Nothing fatal. Maybe some stitches—” was all she managed before Fisher yelled, “Shit!” He followed that up immediately with, “Fuck, Sam! Ya must’ve nicked something vital. He’s bleedin’ like a stuck pig!”
She blinked down to find Fisher straddling Vick’s waist, his hands applying pressure to a wound high up on the custodian’s chest near his shoulder.
It was then she realized Vick had screamed like he’d been shot because Sam hadshothim. Sent a slug straight through the shoulder of the arm that’d been holding the knife to her side. Now, the blade lay on the pavement five feet away.
“Should I call 9-1-1?” Gonzales stood in the center of the parking lot, his hand lifted to shade his eyes against the ever-strengthening sun.
His coworkers filled the control room’s door behind him, their eyes wide, their expressions ranging from horror to fascination.
“No!” Sam barked. “We’ll take him in ourselves and hopefully get some answers outta him along the way. Where’s the closest trauma center?”
27
I-35 South,Fifteen Minutes from Dell Seton Hospital
“How’s he doing?” Eliza yelled from the driver’s seat as she sped down the highway at breakneck speeds, honking at cars that didn’t get out of the passing lane quickly enough.
Hannah was in the passenger seat. And Sam and Fisher were both crammed into the back with Vick.
“It’s slowed!” Sam told Eliza, continuing to apply pressure to the custodian’s wound. No. Vick wasn’t a custodian. He was a conspirator. Atraitor. “But he’s not outta the woods just yet. Don’t let off the gas!” he added.
“Wasn’t planning on it!”
Sam felt the car lurch as Eliza put the pedal to the metal.
Vick’s cheeks were no longer pink with pain and exertion. They’d taken on a grayish cast. And his lips were so pale they would’ve blended into the skin of his face were it not for their cracked texture.
“Don’t let me die,” the man pleaded, fisting the lapel of Sam’s suit jacket in his bloody hand.
“You’re not gonna die,” Sam assured him. “If you’ll just keep still and keep that wound from opening up.”
Silently, Sam cursed himself for his shitty aim.
He’d been six measly feet from the man, for fuck’s sake. His bullet should’ve gone through meat and gristle and missed anything major.
But his fear for Hannah had made his hands shake.Him,Sam Harwood, the man known for his eagle-eyed focus and nerves of steel. He’d been trembling like a newborn colt all because the woman he loved more than life had winced in pain when the knife nicked her side.
I shoulda waited,he silently berated himself.I shoulda centered my breaths, calmed my heart, and taken my shot when I could guarantee my aim.
But the instant the custodian had given him an opening, when he’d thought Sam was preoccupied with winking at Hannah, Sam had taken his shot.
