Something About You
Page 56
“Is Collin okay?” she asked when he hung up the phone.
“An ambulance is on the way. Everything’s okay now.” Jack pushed her blazer off. “Jesus, Cameron—what were you thinking?”
“I couldn’t just let him shoot you.”
“Wouldn’t have been the first time for me.” Jack saw that the blood was coming from her shoulder. Not wasting a moment, he yanked open the top two buttons of her shirt and pushed it aside to get a better look.
Cameron closed her eyes. “Tell me the truth—how bad is it?”
Jack hesitated.
She panicked. “Oh God—that bad?”
He decided it would be best to just lay it on the line. “So on a scale of one to ten of all the gunshot wounds I’ve seen, this is . . .”
Her eyes widened.
“. . . about a point two.”
She sat up. “A point two? I bled through my blazer. Don’t tell me that’s a measly point two.”
“Admittedly, I’ve seen a lot of gunshot wounds, so my curve may be steeper than most,” Jack said, blotting her shoulder with the blazer. “But the point is, you’re going to be fine.” His throat tightened—he’d seen a lot of things between the FBI and Army Special Forces, but he doubted he’d ever be able to forget the image of her stumbling back after the gun had gone off.
“Well, point two or not, it hurts. A lot.”
“Good. Maybe now you’ll think twice about getting yourself nearly killed by attacking a man with a gun.”
“Gee, with that kind of thanks, I’m thinking that’s the last time I take a bullet for you.”
“You’re damn right it is,” Jack growled.
She managed a slight mischievous smile. “You were worried about me, Agent Pallas.”
“From your tone, I’m guessing I don’t need to be any longer.”
They heard the sound of a siren as an ambulance pulled up at her house.
“You probably should go now—try to catch the guy,” Cameron said.
Jack looked down at her, cradled in his arms. “I probably should,” he said huskily.
He stayed right where he was.
Eighteen
THE STREET OUTSIDE Cameron’s house was pure mayhem. There were squad cars, unmarked police and FBI cars, an ambulance, and cops and agents everywhere. Wilkins had arrived shortly after the paramedics with several FBI teams. Quickly thereafter, Detective Slonsky had shown up at the scene with his own men.
The paramedic who had bandaged Cameron’s shoulder led her to the ambulance parked against the curb. The back doors were open and Collin sat inside, facing out toward the street. A second paramedic checked his eyes, looking for signs of a concussion.
The instant he spotted Cameron, Collin pushed the paramedic aside and vaulted out of the ambulance.
“Oh, thank God.” He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “They wouldn’t let me see you—they said they were keeping you isolated until they were certain the guy was no longer in the area.”
“Slonsky said the cops lost him in the alley.”
Collin pulled back. His eyes fell on her bloody shirt. “When I heard you’d been shot, I nearly lost it.”
“I’m okay,” Cameron reassured him. “The paramedic said I might need a couple of stitches, but I was lucky. The bullet just grazed the top of my shoulder.” She reached up and brushed Collin’s hair aside, being careful to avoid the ugly bruise on his head. “How about you? How does your head feel?”
Collin touched the bump. “Terrible. But my pride hurts far worse. I’m so sorry, Cam. When I think about what could’ve happened . . . I should’ve protected you better.”
She took his hands and squeezed them. “It turned out okay.”
“Luckily the cavalry came when it did,” Collin said.
Cameron doubted she’d ever be able to forget the sight of Jack bursting through the glass doors to rescue her. When they’d been on the rooftop deck, right before the paramedics had arrived, she’d noticed a cut above his cheekbone. And when he’d stood up to let the paramedics take over, she’d seen several more cuts on his hands. Visible reminders of the danger he’d put himself in. For her.
Detective Slonsky stood by one of the cop cars, talking to Officers Harper and Regan. When he saw Cameron standing by the ambulance, he headed over.
“We’re finishing our check of the house now,” he told her. “My guys will follow you over to the hospital and get your statement there.”
“Like hell they will.”
At the sound of Jack’s voice, Cameron looked over and saw him cut through the front gate, followed by Wilkins. Jack strode over to Regan and Harper. “Which one of you checked her bedroom?”
Harper straightened up, as if bracing himself for the worst. “I did.”
“Did you go inside her closet?”
“I took a look in there, yes.”
Jack waited, the anger visible on his face.
“But, no . . . I didn’t actually go inside the closet,” Harper admitted.
Slonsky walked over. “What’d you guys find?” he asked Wilkins and Jack.
“Some of the dresses had been knocked off the rack behind the door,” Wilkins answered.
“And there were two shoe imprints in the carpet. About a men’s size eleven, I’d guess,” Jack said. “Your men are off this case, Slonsky. And don’t even think about giving me any crap about jurisdiction.”
“An ambulance is on the way. Everything’s okay now.” Jack pushed her blazer off. “Jesus, Cameron—what were you thinking?”
“I couldn’t just let him shoot you.”
“Wouldn’t have been the first time for me.” Jack saw that the blood was coming from her shoulder. Not wasting a moment, he yanked open the top two buttons of her shirt and pushed it aside to get a better look.
Cameron closed her eyes. “Tell me the truth—how bad is it?”
Jack hesitated.
She panicked. “Oh God—that bad?”
He decided it would be best to just lay it on the line. “So on a scale of one to ten of all the gunshot wounds I’ve seen, this is . . .”
Her eyes widened.
“. . . about a point two.”
She sat up. “A point two? I bled through my blazer. Don’t tell me that’s a measly point two.”
“Admittedly, I’ve seen a lot of gunshot wounds, so my curve may be steeper than most,” Jack said, blotting her shoulder with the blazer. “But the point is, you’re going to be fine.” His throat tightened—he’d seen a lot of things between the FBI and Army Special Forces, but he doubted he’d ever be able to forget the image of her stumbling back after the gun had gone off.
“Well, point two or not, it hurts. A lot.”
“Good. Maybe now you’ll think twice about getting yourself nearly killed by attacking a man with a gun.”
“Gee, with that kind of thanks, I’m thinking that’s the last time I take a bullet for you.”
“You’re damn right it is,” Jack growled.
She managed a slight mischievous smile. “You were worried about me, Agent Pallas.”
“From your tone, I’m guessing I don’t need to be any longer.”
They heard the sound of a siren as an ambulance pulled up at her house.
“You probably should go now—try to catch the guy,” Cameron said.
Jack looked down at her, cradled in his arms. “I probably should,” he said huskily.
He stayed right where he was.
Eighteen
THE STREET OUTSIDE Cameron’s house was pure mayhem. There were squad cars, unmarked police and FBI cars, an ambulance, and cops and agents everywhere. Wilkins had arrived shortly after the paramedics with several FBI teams. Quickly thereafter, Detective Slonsky had shown up at the scene with his own men.
The paramedic who had bandaged Cameron’s shoulder led her to the ambulance parked against the curb. The back doors were open and Collin sat inside, facing out toward the street. A second paramedic checked his eyes, looking for signs of a concussion.
The instant he spotted Cameron, Collin pushed the paramedic aside and vaulted out of the ambulance.
“Oh, thank God.” He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “They wouldn’t let me see you—they said they were keeping you isolated until they were certain the guy was no longer in the area.”
“Slonsky said the cops lost him in the alley.”
Collin pulled back. His eyes fell on her bloody shirt. “When I heard you’d been shot, I nearly lost it.”
“I’m okay,” Cameron reassured him. “The paramedic said I might need a couple of stitches, but I was lucky. The bullet just grazed the top of my shoulder.” She reached up and brushed Collin’s hair aside, being careful to avoid the ugly bruise on his head. “How about you? How does your head feel?”
Collin touched the bump. “Terrible. But my pride hurts far worse. I’m so sorry, Cam. When I think about what could’ve happened . . . I should’ve protected you better.”
She took his hands and squeezed them. “It turned out okay.”
“Luckily the cavalry came when it did,” Collin said.
Cameron doubted she’d ever be able to forget the sight of Jack bursting through the glass doors to rescue her. When they’d been on the rooftop deck, right before the paramedics had arrived, she’d noticed a cut above his cheekbone. And when he’d stood up to let the paramedics take over, she’d seen several more cuts on his hands. Visible reminders of the danger he’d put himself in. For her.
Detective Slonsky stood by one of the cop cars, talking to Officers Harper and Regan. When he saw Cameron standing by the ambulance, he headed over.
“We’re finishing our check of the house now,” he told her. “My guys will follow you over to the hospital and get your statement there.”
“Like hell they will.”
At the sound of Jack’s voice, Cameron looked over and saw him cut through the front gate, followed by Wilkins. Jack strode over to Regan and Harper. “Which one of you checked her bedroom?”
Harper straightened up, as if bracing himself for the worst. “I did.”
“Did you go inside her closet?”
“I took a look in there, yes.”
Jack waited, the anger visible on his face.
“But, no . . . I didn’t actually go inside the closet,” Harper admitted.
Slonsky walked over. “What’d you guys find?” he asked Wilkins and Jack.
“Some of the dresses had been knocked off the rack behind the door,” Wilkins answered.
“And there were two shoe imprints in the carpet. About a men’s size eleven, I’d guess,” Jack said. “Your men are off this case, Slonsky. And don’t even think about giving me any crap about jurisdiction.”
