Convict: A Bad Boy Romance (29 page)

S
tone’s eyes
roll back and then close.

He got shot
, I think. I know a gun went off and it’s too dark to see what happened. My heart seizes in my chest as I frantically run my hands over his chest, feeling for that telltale warm, wet spot. There’s nothing.

I move to his back, checking my hands for blood every few seconds. It could have ricocheted off the cinderblock wall and gone anywhere, but there’s no blood. There’s no blood anywhere. There’s no pool on the floor, and as far as I can tell, there’s no splatter on the wall behind Stone.

Hands shaking, I press two fingers to his neck and feel for a pulse.

It’s there. It’s strong. His chest is moving, his heart is beating. He’s alive.

“Paramedics are on their way,” Batali says behind me.

She’s standing over the two thugs, both on their stomachs, hands bound behind their backs, flopping like fish out of water. Tony’s near Hammer, who’s in the same position, and he’s got a split lip but he looks happier than a kid in a candy shop.

“That went well,” he says, surveying the scene. “I’m
very
pleased with the way we executed that plan.”

I’m still kneeling by Stone, my mind spinning. We need to get these men out of here, some to the hospital, some to questioning. We need to link them to the arson, and if Patricia can help, probably to a dozen other crimes in central California.

I wonder if one of them went to the Community College of the Sierras,
I think. I’m tempted to ask right now, but I know I couldn’t use anything I learned.

Cedar walks in the door.

“SWAT’s coming up the path,” he says, then crouches next to me. “A few the hard way, most the easy way.”

Cedar looks at me, then at Stone.

“Don’t move him,” he says. “He could easily have spinal cord damage we don’t know about. Let the paramedics do it when they get here.”

“I know,” I say, slightly annoyed. “I’ve taken a million hours of rescue and first aid too.”

“Don’t get—”

Stone’s eyelids flicker, and we both shut up. His left eye is just about swollen shut, and his right doesn’t look good, but I think he can still see out of both.

“Don’t follow me,” he mumbles.

It’s hard to tell, but I don’t think his eyes are moving in sync. I reach out and stroke his forehead, the only part that doesn’t look too bruised, with my fingertips.

“You’re okay,” I whisper. “I brought help.”

“I tried,” Stone murmurs.

* * *

W
hen the paramedics get there
, they put Stone into a neck brace and load him onto a back board. He’s awake the whole time, mumbling things that don’t
quite
make sense and trying to stand on his own. Eventually they have to strap him down to get him to stay still, and I hate it, but it’s miles better than letting him break his own neck.

They check me out, too, but aside from the bruises and scrapes I got climbing the mountain, I’m fine. A little shaken and a little dazed, but fine.

The paramedics have to take Stone and the thug whose leg got broken down the long way, because neither was deemed dire enough for the helicopter. I walk next to them, talking to them and talking to Stone, even though he’s really,
really
out of it.

Finally, we’re back at the SUVs, except the crappy dirt road is lined with vehicles now: ambulances, forest service trucks, two more San Luis Obispo County SUVs, and a bunch of unmarked Jeeps. I’m surprised that the Chief didn’t consider this excuse to get out the assault tank.

Before they put Stone into the ambulance, I kiss him on the forehead as gently as I can and force myself not to cry. He opens his good eye and looks at me.

“Hey,” he mumbles. “Luna. Detective.”

“Hey,” I whisper. I know half the police department is up here, probably watching me, but I don’t give a shit.

Let them watch. The whole messy truth is more or less on display anyway.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he says, his eye drifting closed again.

I laugh, biting the inside of my lip so I don’t cry.

Then they push him inside and close the doors. They don’t bother turning on the lights, because they’re in the middle of a forest at dawn, and it’s not like there’s traffic to get through.

I watch the ambulance until it disappears. I feel like someone is wringing all the water out of me, twisting and twisting until I’m spent.

I still haven’t cried. Somehow, through some miracle, I’ve kept it together. Maybe it’s because I’m with my coworkers, maybe it’s because Stone is so fucked up and I’m fine, I don’t feel like I
deserve
to cry.

There’s an arm around my shoulder, and I look over into my older brother’s face. He jerks his thumb at a forest service vehicle.

“They’re going to Tortuga General,” he says. “You want a ride?”

We get in, and before he starts the engine, Cedar looks over at me. Then he leans over, puts both arms around me, and holds me tight even though it’s awkward in the front seat of a car.

I burst into tears on his shoulder.

“Shh,” he says, stroking my hair with one hand. “It’s over. It’s fine. You’re gonna be fine.”

“What if he’s not?” I say. I’m nearly unintelligible, trying hard not to sob and failing. “What if he’s fucked up and can’t move or his back is broken—” I sniffle hard, “—or he can’t talk because he got brain damage and it’s my fault for not getting there earlier?”

I push the back of my wrist over my eyes, trying to dry them. It doesn’t work.

“I don’t think it was that bad,” Cedar says, using his most soothing voice. “He wasn’t unconscious for very long, he was trying to talk and move. He was loopy, that’s all.”

I sniffle again.

“If you’d listened during the first aid classes you
claim
you took, you’d know that,” he says, in the same soothing voice.

“Dickbag,” I tell Cedar, still resting my head on his shoulder.

“Cockwaffle,” he says.

“Assmonkey.”

“Boobface.”

“Butthair.”

Cedar’s shaking slightly, laughing, and I take a deep breath.

“He’ll be fine,” Cedar says. “You got there just in time. And I shot that lightbulb like a pro, even though you thought I couldn’t.”

“Yeah, you really saved the day, sharpshooter,” I mutter.

“I know,” he says, like he’s taking me seriously.

If nothing else, I can always count on brothers to annoy me into forgetting my problems.

“Okay,” I say, using the sleeve of the shirt I borrowed from Miranda to dry my face. I clear my throat. “Okay. Hospital. Let’s go.”

* * *

W
hen I get
to the hospital, I feel like I can barely keep it together. I’ve been up all night doing crazy shit, and I didn’t exactly get a lot of sleep the night before, either. All I can think about, over and over, is Stone’s head on that concrete floor, his eyes sliding in opposite directions.

It’s my fault
, I think, over and over again.
I should have moved faster, I shouldn’t have waited for so many people. I should have realized that SWAT team was heading to the wrong place sooner.

Then we
wait
. The woman behind the desk will only say that Stone’s been admitted, and since we’re not on his visitor list, she isn’t permitted to say any more than that while he’s still considered in critical condition.

The words
critical condition
don’t make me feel better, and she clams right up.

After an hour, Cedar stands up.

“Take a walk,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because you’re twitchier than a two-year-old on meth, and you’re driving me crazy,” he says.

“Do you know a lot of two-year-olds on meth?”

“There’s a path around the hospital,” he says, not taking the bait. “Go. Now.”

I cross my arms and look up at him. Then he grins.

“I’ll tell Mom you gave me a gun,” he says.

I narrow my eyes.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me, Loony.”

I stand and point one finger in Cedar’s face.

“I’ll take a walk, but I will
not
relax,” I say.

He just ruffles my hair. I smack his hand away, then go outside.

The walk kind of helps. I’m still ten kinds of keyed up, still terrified that I’m going to see Stone and he’s going to hate me, or blame me, or worse, not know who I am, but going for a walk at least gives me something new to look at.

When I get back, my parents are there, and Cedar hands me a giant cup of coffee.

“My God, sweetheart,” my mom says, pulling me back down into a chair.

“This is the mechanic, right?” asks my dad.

I just nod, sipping coffee. I don’t know how it’s going to make me seem
less
like a toddler on meth, but that’s Cedar’s problem.

“And he got kidnapped?” my mom asks, looking
very
worried. “He really seemed like such a gentle soul.”

I can’t even deal with that statement right now, so I take a long, long drink of coffee, then look at my parents and Cedar.

“He was in prison for stealing cars and informed on an international criminal organization before going into witness protection,” I say.

My mom frowns. My dad sort of shrugs and nods, like
yeah, that happens
.

“He was in
prison
?” my mom says, very carefully.

I nod and drink more coffee. Then I start from the beginning, skipping the dirty parts.

* * *

H
alfway through
, just as I’m telling them about Stone having me meet Tony, Raine comes in.

“Hey, guys,” he says. “How’s...”

He trails off, obviously trying to think of Stone’s name.

“Your... friend?” he finally asks.

“They won’t tell me,” I say.

My coffee is finished, and I’m slowly tearing apart the paper mug it came in, the dregs staining my fingers.

Raine frowns and looks over at the desk.

“Who, Nancy?” he says.

“I don’t know, is that her name?” I say, feeling exasperated and then feeling bad for feeling that way.

“Hold on a sec,” Raine says, and walks over to the desk.

We all watch as he goes up to the middle-aged woman behind it, then leans over the counter toward her, just slightly, and says something.

Nancy smiles. Raine grins. Nancy puts one hand on her chest and laughs, then tucks her hair behind her ear. Raine points at her and says something, still smiling.

Then she waves at him, and he turns and walks through a double door, glancing quickly at us.

My parents, Cedar, and I are all quiet a moment.

“Did Raine just flirt his way in there?” I finally ask.

“I think he did,” Cedar says, sounding completely baffled. “He does work here, though...”

We just look at each other.

“Finish your story,” my mom says.

I finish, though I rush through the end, with all the shooting and the violence and the part where Cedar and I both kind of put our lives in danger. Just as I do, Raine comes back out, winks at Nancy, and walks over to us.

“Stone, right?” he asks. “Sideburns and tattoos?”

“Yes, the guy you met when you locked my keys in my car,” I say, trying not to be impatient.