CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
KARSON
It turns out a hero’s lot is not glory or reward, but sacrifice.
—PITTACUSLORE
Itook an extra shift to keep myself from giving in and going to Citizen’s Safety Academy. I wanted to see Gemma, but I just couldn’t see her with Thad again. Last week, my presence seemed to actually push her toward him.
Static crackles over my radio. “Any units in the area of Arlington Heights. Child hit by car.”
My muscles react in spite of the way my extremities go numb. This is adrenaline. This is reflex. I’m shifting to pull onto the road before I even reach for the radio. I don’t waste a second or a movement. And I don’t even have to think about it. This is what I’m trained for. This is why I do this job.
“Copy.” I respond with my designator number, beating a chorus of voices slower than mine. “Show me en route.”
A map pops up on my GPS screen. I’m only four minutes from the location.
I hit my lights and siren, and step on the gas to weave around the cars that pull to the curb in front of me. My heart surges forward with images of my own nephew getting hit by a vehicle. I pray I’m not too late. I pray that whoever is with this child knows first aid or CPR if needed. I pray it’s not needed.
My cruiser climbs into the hills, and I have to slow to make turns and avoid other vehicles parked on the side of the tiny roads. “Come on, come on, come on.”
No wonder a child got hit up here. He or she could have run into the road after a ball, and a car rounding the corners wouldn’t have seen the kiddo before it was too late.
My stomach churns at the horror of being the person behind the wheel who’d hit a kid. The driver will probably need medical attention as well. For emotional damage if not for physical.
That’s it. I’m going to ramp up our campaign for speed bumps. I’m going to see if I can get the state to give away signs that sayCaution: Children Playing. There’s enough hurt from the evil in the world without adding in accidents. By focusing on bringing an end to the hurt of others, I can keep the focus off my own.
The blinking arrow on my screen shows only one more turn to reach my destination. All my senses go on high alert. I hold my breath, preparing for what I’m about to see.
I round the corner and scan the scene. Am I at the right place? There are no cars on the side of this road. There’s only an empty driveway with a boxy, black garage hidden behind trees and shrubbery. Maybe an ambulance beat me here and has already left with the kid.
Oh wait. There are a couple of children in the shadow of the entryway on the right side of the house. And there’s a woman with them. A blond woman. Gemma.
My stomach turns over.
Gemma looks up, but there’s no recognition in her eyes. She’s frowning and waving me over. Could she be the one who actually got hit by a car, and now she has a concussion?
She doesn’t seem herself. She’s gained weight and cut her hair. Is she intentionally letting herself go to prove she’s not about image?
The truth of the situation dawns on me. I’m in Arlington Heights. And if those kids are related to Gemma, then this woman in front of me is the evil twin. Though she doesn’t look evil. She looks worried.
I open my door. “Did you call 911?”
“Yes.” She scoops up the little girl in her arms. “Daisy got hit in the head by Forrest’s RC car when he drove it off the side of the hill.”
Hit by a car?I rub my temples and stride her way. I’d thought the twin sister thing was a lot to take in, but this? I’ll check out the girl to make sure she’s okay.
The woman holds a towel to the child’s head. “It knocked her out, and I was afraid to move her when she was unconscious in case it was a spinal injury. She’s awake now, but there’s a lot of blood.”
My pulse throbs louder at the possibility Gemma’s niece is injured. “Head wounds do bleed a lot. I can administer first aid until an ambulance arrives.”
Gemma’s twin brushes her daughter’s hair to the side to reveal a gash on her temple. “It’s not as bad as I thought it was at first.” Her light eyes peek up at me, familiar in their color and shape as well as the flicker of indecision. She’s torn as to whether to be worried or embarrassed.
“You did the right thing,” I say. And I hope for her sake that we will all be laughing about this later when what we thought was a car accident proves to be a false alarm.
There’s a little blood still tricking from the cut, but nothing particularly alarming. The child whimpers, but her pupils aren’t dilated or shaking. She seems less dazed than her mom does at the moment. Goodness, she seems less dazed than her aunt on a good day.
The boy hugs his mom’s leg. “I’m sorry.”
