“Give me that and stay out of our way,” I say, snatching the water bottle out of the gas attendant’s hands and then kneeling down at Tiffany’s side. Gently, I lift her chin up and she opens her captivating brown eyes. They take a second to find their focus, and then she smiles. “The medics are on their way. I’m going to give you some water. Open up and drink.”
She does as I ask without any kind of smartass retort.
That’s got me worried.
My heart’s rolling thunder in my chest while she sucks a few meager drops from the bottle before collapsing back against the wall of the gas station.
“I don’t feel so good,” she murmurs.
“I know. But we’ll have you fixed up in no time. Just hold on for me, OK?”
The corners of her lips twist upward a bit. “I’ll try.”
The sound of a siren rises in the distance. An urgent call that both puts me on edge and raises hope in my chest; anything to do with the law gets my back up, but Tiffany desperately needs medical attention.
“You hear that? The ambulance is almost here.”
She nods. “You owe me. Anna’s probably already filed the paperwork to get me fired. Which means my insurance is canceled. This ambulance ride will cost me a ton.”
“We’ll figure something out.”
“Says the man with a negative credit score.”
The ambulance screams to a stop in the parking lot of the gas station and two paramedics — both men in their late twenties, young, but with the same steady look of veterans — hop out and hurry to our side.
“Tell me what happened,” one of them says while the other one kneels down next to Tiffany and begins examining her wound.
I shrug, clear my throat and do my best to sound like some clueless civilian. “We were out hiking in the desert. She stepped on a rock, and it got deep in her foot. I got it out, but her wound got infected. So I brought her here because I didn’t have cell service and couldn’t call you guys from the middle of nowhere.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tiffany give me a confused look over the dumb yokel tone I put in my voice.
The paramedic nods. “Does she have any allergies? Any medications we can't use? Any medical conditions that we should be aware of?”
Tiffany pipes up. “No. Just get me to the hospital.”
“Let’s get her up and moving. We don’t have much time,” the kneeling paramedic says to his partner. “We need to get this wound flushed ASAP and we have to get her on some serious meds.”
“Give us a hand, sir? Can you help carry her while I fetch some gear from the ambulance?” he says to me.
I nod and one paramedic and I lift Tiffany in a two-person arm carry, while the other races ahead to grab some equipment. Just as we’re setting Tiffany onto the gurney in the back of the ambulance, the front door to the gas station opens and the station attendant comes charging out.
“Stop,” he shouts. “You need to stop!”
Both paramedics turn toward the man. Reflexively, the muscles in my shoulders tighten and my fists clench; there’s a look on the station attendant’s face that I do not like.
Then I see the cause for his shouting. My face. Visible right on the TV mounted behind the register counter. With the word ‘Wanted’ in red letters right below it.
“Son of a bitch.”
I draw my gun.
Chapter Five
Tiffany
Men.
Even when there’s a way to solve a problem with a simple conversation or some basic thinking, they’re so quick to resort to their fists. Or guns.
And, even though they seem experienced and dedicated to saving lives, the two paramedics tending to me are suddenly quick to remind me that, just like other men, they can be incredibly stupid — they try to fight Blaze.
The first one drops his medic kit — it hits the floor of the ambulance with a metallic crash — and throws a punch at Blaze that the big man easily ducks. The air whistles with his errant punch and Blaze retorts by seizing the man around the throat and ramming him backward into the sheeted steel wall of the ambulance. There’s a heavy thud as his head cracks into steel. Blaze lets go with one hand — still holding him by the throat with the other — and he rams his heavy fist hard into the man’s face. That fist is followed by another. And another. And then an elbow and a knee that impacts with such concussive force that the other man gasps in pain.
Bone cracks, metal dents, and blood flies in thick droplets, coating the inside of the ambulance.
I’d scream if I weren’t half unconscious.
The other paramedic leaves my side, rising to his feet and lunging at Blaze, grabbing him around the waist and pulling him backward and off his bloodied partner.
The two of them spin and roll, crashing into the opposite wall of the ambulance and landing with two heavy thuds on the floor.
A brutal fight for top position breaks out; the paramedic throws an elbow that sends Blaze’s head snapping backward, spit flying and wetting my forehead. Blaze is dazed for only a second before he roars and fires back, dismantling the other man like a brutal, bloodthirsty surgeon.
In seconds, he’s dumping both their unconscious bodies out of the back of the ambulance. Then, quick as lightning, he hops out right behind them and charges into the gas station. He emerges a moment later, blood on his knuckles.
I stare, horrified,
