Ah, fuck it. He lifted her against his chest and powered through the snowbank to his still-running truck, where he set her in the passenger-side seat. “Look at me.”
She faced him, her legs out. “I’m seeing clearly and have acceptable cognitive function. However, I might be sliding into shock.”
He reached across her and turned the heat up to full blast. “Let me see.” He turned on the extra cab lights and scrutinized her face. “Where is the blood coming from?”
“What blood?” She gingerly reached up and touched her eyebrow. “Oh. I see.”
Sirens wailed down the road, followed by swirling red and blue lights. The sheriff pulled to a stop first, with an ambulance and paramedic van right behind him. Monty arrived next in a Fish and Wildlife rig, followed by Special Agent Smudgeon in a battered blue truck.
Laurel looked over her shoulder. “Oh, crap.”
Huck’s chest lightened as the paramedics struggled through the snow. “She has a cut on her face somewhere, but I don’t see any other injuries.” He stepped back so they could get closer, not liking it. At all. So he opened the back door and motioned Aeneas in. The dog happily jumped inside and lay down out of the snowstorm.
Monty hustled toward him, slipping on the ice. “Is she okay?”
Huck nodded. “Yeah. Call for a tow to get the SUV out of the trees, would you? We want the state lab to take a look at it for bullets as well as paint from an obvious impact.” The entire rear of the blue SUV was scraped with white paint. Irritation clawed through him again. Laurel could’ve been killed.
She leaned to the side as the paramedic gently wiped off her face. “I returned fire, and I think I hit a tire, but I’m not sure. I definitely hit the truck.”
“Did you see the driver?” Huck asked.
“No. The driver was only a figure behind the dark window, and he or she kept the interior lights off. The truck was an older Chevy, no plates, big tires, and many dents. Probably rusty, but it was hard to discern in the dark.” Laurel winced as the paramedic finished removing the blood.
Huck leaned closer. “Does she need stitches?”
“I don’t think so,” the male paramedic said, reaching for his bag. “I’m Bert. What’s your name, gorgeous?”
“Laurel,” she said, snowflakes falling on her boots.
The paramedic was around sixty and built like a truck. His hands looked gentle, and his motions were quick. “The cut is right above the eyebrow, and a butterfly should do it.” He quickly bandaged the injury and then shone a light into Laurel’s dual-colored eyes. “Let’s check you for a concussion.” He ran her through a series of tests and then silently packed up. “You’re good to be transported to the hospital for more tests. All right?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m good.”
The paramedic frowned. “Your chest and ribs are going to be sore from the seatbelt, and your head might hurt from the airbag as well as the impact. You were smart to wait for backup in your vehicle instead of walking in the storm, so let’s be smart now and go to the hospital.”
“No.” Laurel put snap into her voice. “I’m fine.”
Agent Smudgeon hesitated at the end of Huck’s truck. “Laurel? I sent the information you gave Huck to our database and will write a report when I get in tomorrow. If you don’t want to go to the hospital, can I take you home?”
“I’ve got her,” Huck said, before Laurel could answer.
The sheriff came closer. “You can’t give any sort of description of the shooter?”
Laurel’s left cheekbone was starting to swell, and she held an icepack supplied by Bert against it. “I didn’t see the shooter. Only the truck.”
The sheriff sighed. “Should we insist that the girl goes to the hospital?”
Laurel cut him a glare. “The girl is fine. Why don’t you go find whoever was driving that truck?” With that, she swung her legs inside Huck’s rig and shut the door.
Huck looked down at the blowhard. “You heard her.” He moved past the man toward the wreck. Laurel would want her phone and laptop bag. “Get to work, Sheriff,” he called over his shoulder. “Now.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Laurel adjusted her position in the passenger side of Huck’s truck. Her head ached, and her ribs protested, but otherwise, she felt surprisingly healthy. Fortunate to be alive and relatively unharmed. Adrenaline still buzzed through her blood, and she needed an outlet for it.
Huck drove through the storm while Aeneas snored in the back seat. “You did good,” he grunted.
She looked over at him. “Excuse me?”
