“What happened?” she asked Jessie as they tended to his leg.
“It was Ismael Montero and those damn asshole buddies of his. They race around here like they own the frigging city,” Jessie grumbled, his gray eyes meeting hers. “I was walking past those cars back there, and they damn near crushed me. I’m going over to his shop after you fix up my leg so I can kick the effing tar out of him and all his stupid friends.”
Lexi exchanged looks with Trent.
“You know the people who have been racing around Dallas in those souped-up cars?” she asked Jessie.
The man eyed her as she cleaned his leg, barely flinching as she gently wiped blood out of the multiple lacerations.
“Of course I know them.” He snorted. “Everyone knows them. It’s Ismael. He runs a chop shop over on Northhaven.”
“Would you mind if I pass that information along to a detective I know?” she asked. “Those guys nearly killed a woman over on the Lyndon Johnson Freeway earlier tonight.”
The man shrugged. “Go ahead. As long as I get a chance to kick his ass first.”
Lexi shook her head. “I’m afraid your ass-kicking adventure might have to be put on hold for a couple of days. Your leg is broken and is going to have to be set and put in a cast.”
Jessie looked like he would have complained, but Lexi hit him with a big smile, which ended the arguing before it started. Huh. Maybe she should have used that one on Dane.
As Trent strapped the gurney in and prepped Jessie to move, Lexi headed around to the front of the truck, taking Detective Maxwell’s card out of her wallet as she went.
