know—or didn’t trust. But as he started to retreat, one of the officers spotted him.
Blade almost swore out loud. She would have to be one of the rookies.
“You—freeze! Up slowly. Show me your hands.”
Tight-lipped, he did as directed. The pounding rain had him shrinking deeper into his jacket and muted the intentional heel-dragging of his well-worn Tony Lama boots. He knew what he looked like under normal conditions, and the weather and harsh light only made that worse, especially to an inexperienced cop. If he couldn’t get away, he wanted to attract the attention of her partner. In the meantime, he hoped the rookie didn’t panic.
“Hands!”
To his relief the female officer’s second warning caught the attention of someone else. Though Blade’s primary focus stayed on her and the .9 mm she gripped between her hands, he risked a glance toward the middle-aged man, who’d been slipping on his rain gear.
“You going to just stand there with your mouth open and let her shoot me, Parsons?” he drawled to the squinting cop.
As he peered at him, Phil Parson’s expression turned into a sneer. “I should,” he finally replied. “Might get a citation for enforcing the mayor’s ‘clean up the city’ program.”
“Your daughter seems to like what she sees.” Blade allowed a benign smile. Inside, however, he seethed. The asshole knew dressing like an assistant D.A. or rookie FBI agent could get him killed. Maybe his reply was a low blow and an outright lie—he only knew Parson’s daughter from the photo he’d seen on Phil’s locker door—but if the cop wanted to trade insults, Blade would have the last word. His work, his survival depended on it.
Not surprisingly, veins protruded at each side of the older cop’s eyes, spittle formed at the corners of his mouth. “Fuck you, Blade. My girl hasn’t been within miles of you. As soon as we got her out of that—that joint and into rehab, she became her old self again. She’s off of everything and I’ll kick any SOB who says otherwise.”
“Relax. I heard she’s one of the lucky ones.”
The cop’s cheeks puffed as he collected himself. He cast his confused partner a quick look as though wishing he could somehow retract his outburst from her memory. “Damn fool,” he grumbled at Blade. “What did you say that for, then?”
“Wanted your attention. I’m in a hurry.”
“You got it.”
Blade nodded at the car behind the two officers. “What’s wrong with her?” At this point he could definitely tell the driver was female and that she was lying back against the headrest.
Ignoring his partner’s continued stare, the broad-faced man shook his head. “Belly shot. And I suspect you know she’s small.”
“If she’s who I think she is,” Blade replied.
“Doesn’t look good. The EMTs just said they can’t risk waiting to stabilize her here.”
The technicians were, in fact, already removing her from the vehicle and making quick work of loading her into the ambulance. Although he’d seen scenes like this many times—too many—Blade kept his face blank, his tone flat. “Has she said anything?”
“Nah. Nothing sensible, anyway.”
“Come on, Phil, before I have to worry about a bullet in the back as well as the front.”
“Just what is going on here?” the female officer demanded.
Another close flash of lightning, followed by a loud peal of thunder, had Sergeant Parsons cringing. In the next moment, he snapped, “Put that thing away before somebody gets hurt.” To Blade he said, “It sounded like she mumbled something, but it could have been a moan. So what’s up with her? She something to you? We haven’t spotted a purse yet. Our check on the plates identifies the owner as Raymond Holms. Car could be stolen for all we know.”
Blade nodded, though he didn’t offer what he knew about the matter. He simply replied, “I’ve just seen her here and there.”
“And?”
New sirens were sounding in the north. He couldn’t tell if they were heading this way, but it was a good bet. “Who called this in?”
The female officer stepped forward. “I did. We were at the traffic light and I saw a dog sniffing around the car. The dog was on its hind legs and leaning into the window. I guess he smelled the blood. I’m Cathy Miles. I just started this week.” She took a step forward as though about to extend her hand.
“Give him your phone number while you’re at it,” Parsons muttered.
The rookie’s tentative smile vanished. “I—I’ll go see if they need—” Swallowing hard, she beat a fast retreat.
“Smooth,” Blade murmured.
Parsons waved away the criticism. “Hey. I’m sick of being given all the females to train. I feel like some kind of one-man feminist nursery school.”
“Ever think it’s because somebody thinks you’re a good teacher, or are you determined to be pissed because she’s cute and you can’t do anything about it?” Having seen and heard enough, Blade was ready to retreat himself. “Who’re they sending to take the case?”
“Snow.”
Always tenacious, Detective Gordon Snow took his time. Everyone else’s, too, but Blade would vote for the Snowman’s brand of caution any day. “I’m going to the hospital.”
“I’ll let him know that’s where he can find you.”
“Uh-uh. You forget I was here.” Blade pointed a finger over his shoulder. “Make that clear to your partner, too—and that if our paths cross again she never uses my name if anyone else is around. If there’s something Snow needs to hear, I’ll make sure he gets the information. You know how I operate, Phil.”
Despite the initial tension between them, he suspected Phil Parsons would oblige. The guy was a good cop, even if he was an old-school redneck when it came to women. Parsons would remember that Blade’s role in the world of night wolves required extreme caution.
The storm was moving east and Blade made it to Good Shepherd Medical Center in five minutes. Parking his two-tone gray 1982 El Camino between two larger trucks, as far away from the tall security lights as possible, he sprinted to catch up with the ambulance. He could see the EMTs wheeling the victim through the automatic glass doors of Emergency.
Only an arm’s reach from the entry himself, he collided with another person. He heard a surprised, pained gasp, and then a woman fell hard onto the concrete, immediately curling into a tight fetal position. Blade’s religious workouts kept him extremely fit, but she wasn’t exactly Tinkerbell. When they’d collided they’d been shoulder to shoulder, and while she was slim, his impression of her was of toned muscle, too.
A split second later it registered with him that she wore a uniform. He squinted in the harsh light to read the patch on her sleeve. Cody Security. His lips twisted. Just what he needed—appeasing a wannabe.
Impatient
