“He’s in bad shape,” Lorenzo finished.
Letting out a long breath, Keara sat up again and barked into her radio, “Sam, get that medevac from the Luna hospital. Nate needs it.”
She scanned his prone form, looking for injuries that needed immediate attention. She’d gotten basic training in first aid over the years in Houston. It had been a long time, though, and she frantically ran through the mental checklist she used to know by heart.
She didn’t see any way to help him. He was unconscious with a clearly broken arm, but the blood on his head wasn’t still flowing.
“Medevac is coming,” Sam’s strained voice informed her. “They’re twenty minutes out.”
“Help!”
Keara’s head popped up at the cry. She put her hand on Lorenzo’s arm and asked, “You okay?”
“Fine,” Lorenzo said.
There was no doubt he needed to get checked out by a doctor, but she nodded. “Stay with Nate. Call me if anything changes.”
Then she pushed to her feet and hurried across the park to the person calling. The grass felt strange beneath her boots, crunchy where it should have been soft. As she ran, she passed by other Desparre citizens, some simply looking dazed and others clearly injured.
There was a family, fairly new to Desparre, with a six-year-old and a new baby on the way, hugging each other and crying. The owner of Desparre’s downtown bar, wrapping his bleeding arm with his own shirt. A loner who lived up the mountain and came into the park every few weeks but still stuck with his own company, sat on the ground, looking dazed. He had a hand to his head and both legs were bleeding, but nothing was gushing.
Keara scanned each of them, but kept moving. None needed immediate attention.
The fire at the gazebo was growing, flames devouring most of it now. The structure was relatively far from other buildings, but it was close enough to the woods to be a concern. She lifted her radio and said, “We need to manage this fire.”
“On it,” Tate Emory answered and from her peripheral vision, she could see he was also on his cell phone, probably with the tiny fire department. They were located on the edge of Desparre and they served the whole county, including Luna and other neighboring towns. They were also all volunteer and had similar hours as her officers.
“I’ve got some citizens lined up to bring buckets from the bar while we wait for the fire department,” Tate told her. “We should be able to keep this from jumping.”
“Good. Radio if you need more help,” she instructed, then jammed her radio back into her belt.
At the edge of the gazebo, she discovered who had called for help. Talise Poitra owned the grocery store in downtown Desparre. She was friendly and quick to advise outsiders, which Keara had discovered her first week in town. Talise had celebrated her seventieth birthday last month and hung balloons all over the grocery store. She’d stopped by the police station with cake and told them she insisted the entire town celebrate with her.
Right now the woman with the long gray hair, easy smile and deeply weathered skin from a lifetime in Alaska was holding her leg with one hand and her ear with the other. A deep gash ran the length of her right thigh and blood spurted out at regular intervals.
Swearing, Keara yanked at the sleeve of her police uniform until the arm ripped off. She dropped to her knees and tied the fabric around the top of Talise’s leg. But no matter how hard she yanked the knot, blood was still pumping.
“I got it,” Jax said, suddenly beside her, his belt in hand. “Brace yourself,” he told Talise, then tightened the belt over the fabric.
Talise went pale, her eyes rolling backward as she swayed. But she stiffened before Keara could grab her. Her hands dropped to the ground, bracing herself, and Keara saw more blood on the woman’s right ear.
Fury overlaid the dread she’d been feeling. This was her town. These people were her responsibility.
She put her hand on Talise’s arm, trying to comfort her, even as her gaze met Jax’s.
“Two bombs,” he said, his tone filled with meaning she didn’t understand.
She shook her head and he added, “Two bombs in less than a week. Just one town apart.”
The implications sank in fast. The crimes they’d been poring over this afternoon had been filled with differences. The only commonality they’d shared besides the symbol was that the perpetrator hadn’t struck again in the same jurisdiction, or even the same state.
“It’s not the same person,” she breathed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The day had gone by in a blur of blood and fire and pained cries. But rushing from one person to the next hadn’t been able to fully distract him from the panic.
Over his years on the Rapid Deployment Team, he’d gotten used to mass casualty events. They didn’t get any easier, but the fear and panic of his first few scenes hadn’t returned in years. Not until today.
Only after most of the victims had been checked by paramedics and Keara was helping put out the last of the fire had he realized why. A flame had sparked, creating a loud boom that sounded like a bullet, and his gaze had leaped immediately to Keara.
In that moment it hit him. He was worried about her safety. He was worried about her.
Recognizing where the panic was coming from created a different kind of worry, but he’d pushed it aside and spent the rest of the day focusing on the victims.
Jax was exhausted. So was Patches, who’d joined him at the scene as soon as it was clear enough to be safe. The two of them had talked to as many victims as possible. They’d also spent time comforting the Desparre officers, who had never seen anything like this.
For all of his exhaustion,
