The goon had moved away with the group, toward Westminster Bridge. The bear was lumbering the other way. Jamie dropped his hands.
“Oh my God,” Samira breathed.
“I’m sorry. There was a guy, from the station. It was the only thing I could think of.”
“Eshi. I mean, don’t apolog—” She touched her lips with two fingers. He yearned to do the same. “It’s fine.”
Fine.
Fine.
Fine wasn’t the reaction he normally shot for when he kissed a woman. Goddamn, those lips were just as smooth as he remembered. And insistent. And he’d remembered her a lot since—
Movement, to the south. The bear had tripped and was falling like a tree. No, not a trip—he was clutching his chest. He landed with a smack, his arm bouncing lifelessly on flagstones.
“Shite,” Jamie said, taking a step. The goon had turned, watching. “Samira, I can’t not...”
“Of course. Go.”
“Come with me.”
Jamie sprinted to the guy and shoved two fingers to his throat. Rain peppered his gray face. No carotid pulse. Fuck. Not breathing, either. He laid the guy flat, unzipped his coat and pulled it aside. His sternum was still.
“Has he been shot?” Samira said as she caught up.
“No. He’s a heart patient. Went down clutching his chest, grimacing. Has to be a heart attack.”
“CPR?” Samira said, holding the umbrella over them, her voice tight.
“I can go one better.”
“What do you mean?”
“A precordial thump. Jump-start his heart. Not standard hospital procedure but the indications...” Jamie clenched his right fist and held it above the guy’s chest, mentally measuring the gap. Twenty centimeters, right? “Okay,” he whispered to himself. “Go.” He smacked the side of his fist onto the guy’s lower sternum then snatched it away. The guy jumped, twitched—and lurched up, eyes wide, like a dead man coming out of the grave. Which he pretty much was. He scraped in a breath and clutched Jamie’s arm.
“Fuck,” Jamie said. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
Shite, now what? They couldn’t get him back into the hospital through a locked gate. They couldn’t leave him. They’d have to wait for a passerby they could send for help.
“Jamie, that thug,” Samira murmured. “He’s coming.”
He was coming, all right, and at a fair clip. No gun drawn but his eyes were narrowed at Samira. Crap. It’d confirm his suspicions if Jamie and Samira took off. And a shoot-out was best avoided. The priority was to get Samira out of there. Then deal with the goon. Then the bear. Triage, basically.
“Quick, Sa—s—sweetheart,” he shouted. “You’ll have to go for help. This guy needs a resus team, quick. I’ll boost you over the wall.” He lowered his voice. “Go straight to Mariya. Hide somewhere near her desk and I’ll come for you when I’ve sorted out this goon.”
Before she had time to think, he pulled her to the wall and linked his hands in front of him, ready for her foot. Rain sluiced his face. He blinked hard. Behind him, the bear groaned.
“Now, sweetheart!” he shouted. “Go!”
Samira puffed out her cheeks and put the ball of her shoe into his hand. “I don’t know how to do this—jump like this.”
“It’s easy. I’ll hoist you to the top. Just be careful jumping down—bend your knees. One, two, three.”
He heaved, and she caught the edge of the wall and pulled herself up. One of her heels fell, and Jamie caught the shoe before it took out his eye. She slipped the other shoe off and disappeared, grunting as she landed on the other side. It felt wrong to let her out of sight, even for a minute.
He swiveled, hand hovering by his holster. The goon had gone. Shit. The bear hoisted himself to a sitting position.
“What happened to that guy who was running for us?” Jamie said. “Did you see?”
“Nah, sorry. Bloody hell. What just...? Did I...? Are you a doctor?”
“Your heart stopped.” Jamie ran to the low wall separating the path from the river and looked over. Stones, rubbish, water... The goon had to have gone after Samira.
Gunfire rang out—muffled potshots from a pistol, over the wall. Then the echoing whine of an approaching helicopter.
Shit. Samira.
THE HELICOPTER SWUNG out over the wall, to the north. Gunfire popped. Beside Jamie, the glass dome of a streetlamp smashed. Bullets plinked along flagstones. He sprinted for the hospital wall, sheltered from view by the spindly canopy.
“Sorry,” he yelled to the bear. “I gotta draw their fire away.”
“Might be an idea,” the guy said, shakily. He had to be wondering what alternative world he’d been resurrected into. Just keep breathing, pal.
“I’ll send help. Just...take it easy, relax.”
“Relax. Sure.”
The shooters weren’t door gunners, just guys with assault rifles. Not as precise.
More ground fire, over the wall. An alarm wailed, echoed by another, farther off.
Jamie found a foothold and launched over the wall, under tree cover. As he landed, he skidded on wet leaves. No sign of Samira or the gunman. He’d royally fucked that up. Once in a while the first idea wasn’t the best idea... The smokers’ door was banging in the breeze. Don’t latch. Don’t latch. He peered up through the branches. He’d have to cross open ground but better that than the chopper spraying the trees and taking out the bear.
He launched into a sprint, pumping his arms, dodging cars, breathing hard. Gunfire plinked into steel, punched asphalt. As he bounded up the concrete steps, a gust swept the door. It latched. Shit. He hammered on it, turned, flattened, drawing his weapon—not that a Glock would take out a helicopter. The chopper veered toward him. He released the slide. A dozen alarms and sirens clashed.
The door fell away behind him. He stumbled back.
“Fuck me.” Mariya stood, hands on hips. “Is that a gun?”
Gunfire hammered the porch, tearing through the awning. Jamie pulled the door shut and shoved Mariya farther inside.
She shook him off. “Are you a good guy here or—?”
“Where’s Sa—?” he said. “Where’s my friend?”
“She
