“Never mind. Call!”
Returning my focus to Emi, I shift my hold to her arms as she tries to sit up again. “Emmylou, keep still. That’s an order.”
“I’m not a soldier. You don’t get to order me around.” Slapping at my arms, she pushes up on an elbow. “Shit. The world isn’t supposed to spin like that.”
“I told you to stay down.” I hate not being armed. That asshole could still be around. Watching to make sure he was successful. I have a concealed carry permit, but I was just going to the fucking grocery store.
My vision isn’t totally clear. Vague shapes move at the other end of the parking lot—in the direction Baseball Cap guy headed. But one look at Emi and I know I can’t leave her side. Not until the EMTs take a look at her. She lets me ease her back down to the ground, and thankfully, doesn’t try to sit up again.
“Why are you here?” she asks, a wobble to her voice. “I keep running into you…”
“I was out shoppin’. Same as you. I only live a couple miles away. You’re safe with me, sweetheart. I promise.”
She blinks hard, then turns her head. Her eyes widen as she sees the still burning vehicle. “My car. Oh, God. My car’s…”
“Replaceable. It might have been a pretty little thing, but it was just a thing. The ambulance is on its way. Cops too, I reckon. I’m gonna find your key fob. I want to see it before they take it into evidence. But you need to lie still, okay?”
I’m not sure she understands me. But she manages a little “uh-huh” and presses the heel of her hand to her forehead. Moving slowly, carefully, I search the few feet around us until I find the hunk of black plastic. Looks completely normal. No strange scratches or evidence anyone tampered with it.
The sirens are getting closer now, and I sink down onto my ass next to Emi. “So, you gonna tell me who’s threatenin’ you and why they want you dead?”
She rolls onto her side and curls inward. “It was probably an electrical fault.” She doesn’t sound convinced, but it’s damn clear she doesn’t want to talk to me about it.
“Whoa there. You could have a spinal cord injury. Or a concussion.” Up close, her makeup half-blasted off by the explosion, she’s so real. As real as the other night when we had dinner at the sports bar. But with one hundred percent more bruises and scrapes. Her lips curve into a pout—or a grimace, I can’t quite tell—when I try to get her to stay still.
“I don’t have a spinal cord injury,” she mutters and sits up. Then…fuck. Leans into me with her head against my bicep. “A concussion…that’s a distinct possibility.” After a moment, she sighs. “You were really here shopping. Beer and lasagna and…popcorn?”
“Yes, ma’am. Lucky I was, too. I think I saw someone messin’ with your car before you came out of the store.”
“Oh, God.” She presses closer, and I wrap my arm around her slight shoulders. “I didn’t think the threats were real…I have to call Nelson.” Looking around, her eyes unfocused, she murmurs, “My purse…I have to find…”
I tighten my arm around her, keeping her where I know she’s safe—tucked against my side. “I’ll find it for you in a few minutes. As soon as the ambulance gets here.”
Before she can protest, Austin PD and the EMTs arrive. It shouldn’t feel so wrong to let the medics guide her to the ambulance while I tell one of the fresh-faced officers from the local precinct what happened, but it does.
“And you’re sure this guy was messing with her car?” the officer—Devlin—asks. He can’t be more than twenty-three, and I think this is the most excitement he’s ever had on the job.
“Yes. Get a sketch artist out here and I’ll give them a full description.”
“Um, I don’t think I’m authorized…” He turns to his partner, and the other guy shakes his head.
“Fuckin’ hell. Look, I was a Ranger for more than a decade and Austin PD before that. I know it’s not standard procedure. But I can ID the guy. Call your Sergeant. Tell him who I am and what I used to do for a living. He’ll make it happen. Otherwise, he’s hearing from me first thing in the mornin’.”
“Yes, sir,” Devlin says. “Sorry, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir. Just…make it happen. And send someone to the hospital to keep an eye on that woman. You hear me?” Glancing over at Emi sitting in the ambulance with a blanket around her shoulders, something stirs in my gut. I hardly know her. But while I held her…we shared something. A moment. A connection. One I don’t want to end.
But it does, because the ambulance doors close and the vehicle whisks her away to Austin Memorial, leaving me alone with the last of the units on scene packing up.
“Sir?” Devlin clips his radio back in place as he approaches. “You can reach out to Detective Mitchell in the morning. The sketch artist went home a few hours ago.”
Shit. Of course they did. It’s almost 10:00 p.m.
“Will do. Thanks.” What the fuck was I expecting? All hands on deck for what looks—to anyone who didn’t see the guy in the baseball cap—like a bad car fire?
I should head to the hospital to check on Emi. The EMTs cleared me and I can’t do shit here but watch as they load the remains of her car onto a tow truck for transport. So why am I leaning against my tailgate scanning the parking lot? Because my gut is screaming that the cops missed something.
As soon as the last patrol car leaves, I walk the perimeter, looking for anything out of place. A pair of footprints are clearly visible in mud at the far corner, and I pull out my phone and snap a couple of photos. Cops should have seen these, but even after they found out what I used to do for a living, they didn’t give my theory about the guy in the black baseball cap much more than a passing nod. Fuckers.
