Head Over Wheels (Steamy New Adult Romance) (36 page)

Pull it together girl. You're a rookie cop – at least you will be, soon. Dear God, if you get me through this, I promise I'll never sin again.

I'll repent, I'll repent, I'll repent.
I hopped on my bike, sped down the road, wheels slipping on the slick pavement. My jaw clenched; my ears sang. Every ounce of power concentrated in my legs, I gained as much momentum as possible. With the weather and stress everything around me looked smeared, but I managed to lock onto the shock on Vanessa's face as I reached her side, head down, wild eyes lifted, fingers gripping the handlebars as if they were wrapped around her neck.

Startled, she dropped the object she'd been holding, threw her hands out in front of her, rammed her hip into my bike and took off. "Shit!" I wobbled to a stop. She could disappear down any alley. I could lose her. Not now. Not when I'm so close. She was leaping off the curb, splashing through water gathering in the gutter, and I was in pursuit.

I was inches away when my tire hit a rut. I remembered thinking; Shit ... Next thing I knew, the wheels of my bike were spinning, I was flying over the handlebars and headlong into Vanessa, who immediately crumbled. While I body slammed her, my bike took its own flight.

Disoriented, I scrambled to my feet, frantically looking around. She was gone. How long had I been out? I hopped on my bike and launched into the night. Fueled by adrenaline, I was pumped. And I was on a mission. Without the need for anonymity, I snapped the headlight on and the glare washed both sides of the road.
This can't be happening. I'm almost there. Please, God. I need help!
Not to mention coffee and a hot shower. I was so cold I could barely feel my fingers, my toes. I licked cold rain from my stinging lips. Everything was happening in slow motion: my movements, my mind. Was I about to pass out?

Vanessa couldn't outrun me. Her wavering outline shimmered not more than five feet ahead of my light. Then I was rolling alongside her, leaping off my bike, tackling her before she had a chance to veer off in another direction.  As I landed beneath my bike, my head hit the curb. Stunned, I had no idea of where I was until I felt her beside me. Her recovery came a moment sooner than mine. Her boot hit my side which exploded with mind-numbing pain, literally knocking the breath from my lungs.

I heard myself scream, "You bitch," as I reached for her ankle, yanking her down beside me.

She ripped off my hat, snatched fistfuls of my hair, fighting me like a girl. It would have been humorous had my neck not been on the line. Her body covered mine and she grunted, clawing at my face. Our limbs tangled, we rolled, my calf muscles bracing my weight. I heard her yelling, "Bitch," calling out, "help me Lenny." I felt my forearm dig deep into her throat, jerked her head back, and easily flipped her. On my knees I began pummeling her jaw. Her eyes were closed, her mouth a gaping cavity filling with rain, with blood. Next thing I knew, strong arms were pulling me off, and I was in bathed in the beam of headlights.

"Kit Kat!"

"Pete?" Disoriented, I shook my head to clear it.

"I'll take it from here, babe." He set me aside.

"No," I argued as my tongue swiped my teeth, my mouth flavored with the taste of blood gushing from a wound just above my right eye, where my head had slammed the curb. "She's got an accomplice." Out of breath, I panted. "He could be in the alley next to the pawnbroker." I gasped for air. "Go get him, Pete, before he gets away."

I watched Pete hesitate. "Go! I've got this." He must have caught the determination in my eyes, urgency in my voice, because he backed off. "I need this, Pete. Please."

My gloves were soaked and a hindrance. I ripped them off, let them fall to the pavement. Dropping to my knees I cuffed her. I heard Pete's car door slam, his cruiser pull away. And then there was nothing but street lights and rain and a shooting pain in my pounding head. Exhausted, all I wanted to do was fall to the ground.

Vanessa's cruelty boiled in my mind, stabbing like a knife, like the pain in my side. The smugness on her face glistened and bled, and I fought the urge to pound her head into the pavement. When I lifted her arms, she moaned. When I grabbed the collar of her jacket, something cold and hard, like Vanessa, pressed against my palm. And as I hauled her to her feet, a sliver of gold fell into my hand; I balanced weight against worth, realizing it was nothing. Why such importance was placed upon items said to be precious was beyond my comprehension. Life, family, love, Indigo: they were precious, irreplaceable, unable to be purchased; meant to be treasured more than gold.

"Busted," I said. As my mouth was in the process of swelling, I creased one cheek as I slid the AMA necklace into my pocket.

She was on her feet and I was dragging her to the corner where I read her her rights. A search of her pockets revealed valuable bracelets and multiple rings.

"Are you carrying everything you robbed?" My anger blew against the side of her face.

Feeling as if I'd been branded by the tip of her boot, I wondered if she'd cracked a rib. My eyes burned, my head hurt, and I was dizzy, but I wasn't going down. I was about to enjoy one of the best moments of my life. "Busted, busted, busted," suddenly elated, I sang. "So, how does it feel?"

Her face was swelling, and bloody. She was mumbling something like, "Go fuck yourself."

Headlights broke the darkness. Red bubbles circled above a patrol car as it rolled to the curb, followed by another. Before shoving Vanessa onto the seat, I said, "After you,
puta
."

Her accomplice was cuffed and slumped inside the second patrol car, shooting daggers at me. Remembering his face, I blew him a kiss, then climbed in beside Pete, listening as he called in to the station. We arrived, delivering an agitated Vanessa, who I threw onto the desk of a detective on duty.

"H
ere's your midnight thief." I slapped the gold necklace down in front of the detective, then shook out Vanessa's pockets. "I'm Jewelia Delarosa, a cadet at the NYPD Academy. She's the one you're looking for."

The detective's eyes grew. "Yeah, so I see," he grinned, "I heard about you."

I wanted to vomit, to collapse, to laugh and to cry, all at once. Pete watched me with sympathy, pride and concern.

Since Vanessa was in possession of stolen property, any question of guilt was nil. Following an hour of questioning, she implicated the guy, confessing to the break-ins and her intention of gaining access to the lobby of my apartment building, planting the jewelry in the saddle bag of my bike, and reporting me to the police, who would have had all of the evidence they needed to put me away for four to seven, maybe more. She would have then been as happy as I was at the moment.

Her partner turned out to be an employee of a security alarm company. He was booked; so was Vanessa, but shortly thereafter she was driven to the hospital. Although I insisted my injuries were minor, Pete transported both of us to the E.R. in the same car, with me in the front, Vanessa behind the cage. By then she was awake and sobbing, cursing, and moaning.

Pete
stopped at the entrance of the nearest hospital, left us in the car, reappearing with an attendant, a wheelchair and a stretcher. While I was plopped into the chair, Vanessa was rolled through the door.

The E.R. was quiet, but for a few patients occupying the sizeable waiting area. Most suffered minor illness. One man seemed to be cradling a broken arm. Our incident had been called in prior to our arrival, so attendants were prepared.

Strapped to a gurney, Vanessa idled in a hallway like a shattered mannequin in line for repair. I was parked beneath the receptionist's window, which she slid open to ask my name. I heard her respond to the person she dialed, "Yes. One was beaten. Both are conscious. The other one went over the handlebars of a bicycle. Ah ha, you got it, head over wheels."

Pete was in the process of returning my handcuffs, and I'd been watching the receptionist, musing at the stark red of her hair, when a door to my left flew open. From the corner of my eye I spotted him. Back to me, he posed with a sexy hands on hips stance, competent, relaxed. I almost died when the well-built doctor in scrubs turned around.

"Oh my God," I whispered to Pete, "It's Indigo." I felt like I was about to convulse.

Looking from me in the chair with syrupy blood clotting on my cheek and chin, to Vanessa whose head rolled back and forth on the gurney, her entire face colored with blood and moaning, shock and confusion fought for control of his face. Without a word, he reacted as a professional, pushing Vanessa through the doorway from which he had emerged.

"So that's that," I said, a lump forming in my already swollen throat. The curb had also done a number on my neck. I reached up and felt the painful tissue expanding beneath my ear.

"I'll be back soon," said Pete. I knew it was his duty to accompany Vanessa.

So there I sat for approximately five minutes, until the door swung open again, and Indigo strode to my side. An odd look crossed his otherwise unreadable face when his glance slipped over my cuffs Pete had slung over the arm of the chair. I wondered if he thought I was under arrest as well.

"Jewel." It was amazing to see him, to hear him call my name. "What the hell happened?" After he wheeled me into a room, his expression eased.

He helped me onto a table and started peeling off my clothes, examining every part of me. "Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," I groaned, shock and expectation muddling my brain.

The events of the night were beginning to register. My brain was a web of disorientation: dazed, sad, elated. Every emotion in the book slammed me all at once.

"What are you doing here?" Were the first sensible words I uttered.

"I work here." Without facing me, he continued to assess my injuries. By then I was covered by a sheet, as well as his eyes.

"So, you didn't leave?"

"Obviously not, because I'm here." Scrupulous and thorough, he acted as though he was attending to a child.

"Are you happy practicing here?" Under bright light, I squinted up at him.

"Couldn't be happier." He palpated my stomach.

"Why didn't you try to find me?" My voice almost broke, like my heart.

"Are you serious?" That's when he met me square in the face, his eyes a combination of disbelief and concern. Their pewter glimmer said they were attempting to morph into something else. "You should go undercover – you're great at hiding."

I tried to laugh, but my ribcage hurt. "Get x-ray in here," he said to a nurse when he saw me flinch. Leaning over me, he brushed blood-soaked hair from my face and began cleaning my head wound, his breath flowing down on me, and my immediate instinct was to pull his lips down to mine. But I didn't.

"Do you undress all of your patients?" I made my voice, and my eyes, as sultry as possible, given the situation. I managed to deepen one dimple, but the other side of my face was too swollen to move.

"The nurses normally do that." He looked uncomfortable.

"So, I'm special?"

"Yes."

After giving me a good going over, he stood back and crossed his arms. "I recall saying you'd send me the battered and I'd patch them up, but after tonight I'm not sure I'm liking this."

My hand flew to my hair, my face. "I look like crap, huh?"

"You look beautiful, but I worry."

"I can take care of myself, doc."

The same nurse burst into the room with a bowl and set it on the bedside table. She looked to Indigo as if to ask, "What next?" but he dismissed her with a nod, so she left the room as quickly as she'd burst in. Accomplished without the need for words, I imagined it was some kind of hospital communication. For some odd reason, the thought struck me as funny, and when my lips spread into a smile, the pain shot into my jaw. "Ouch," I whimpered, bringing my hand to my face.

Indigo removed an ice pack from the bowl, sat on the bed beside me, and gently ran a finger across my cheek and around my lips. "Look at your mouth." His eyes, blue as his scrubs, watered. "It's so swollen," he whispered, then held the ice pack to the side of my face. With his other hand, he stroked my hair. "You really did a number on yourself, didn't you, Jewel."

"I had no choice ... and look who's talking ..." I mumbled.

He moved the pack to my mouth. "Keep your mouth shut ... if that's possible. Let me get rid of some of this swelling."

"I can hold it ..." I replaced his hand with mine.

"You're so stubborn."

"Speaking of ... Where's Vanessa?"

"Being treated in another room."

"You came back for me. Why didn't you treat her?"

"You're my priority." Running his hands up and down my body, he prodded gently.

Old feelings crashed in on me. I melted under his touch.

"Where'd you disappear to?" he asked in the same disciplined tone. But I thought I noticed the
something
in his eyes evolve as they lifted in a stare, inches from mine.

"The academy. Why are you still here? I thought you'd be in Paraguay by now."

Most of his tan had faded, leaving his face clear and smooth, his flush easily detectible.  "When you didn't answer my
many
messages, I realized you needed to work things out for yourself, without me screwing with your head  ... while I worked out my own issues." Even in his bowed position, I detected his frown. "But I kept in touch with Bill to see what was going on ... make sure you were alright."

"You cut your hair." As he listened to my heart, I reached up to run my fingers through the lush sandy crop.

"No one cared if it was long or short."

I brought a hand to my chest. "So, is it beating?"

"You've got incredible rhythm, Ms. Delarosa."

"Ms?"

"That's what your chart says. I try not to become too chummy with my patients."

"Is that a hint or something?" Praying it wasn't, my insides clenched.

"I sent you flowers." His voice was flat. "What do you think?"

"The roses were beautiful. Thank you. And the note ..."

His flush deepened. "I meant every word of it, Jewel."

I put my hand on his chest, searching for his heartbeat, my voice all too loud when I exclaimed, "I'm in love with my doc ..."

When his hand clamped lightly over my mouth, my brows met the bridge of my nose. "Ouch! This is at least the fourth time you've silenced me," I mumbled beneath his palm.

"Some things are necessary ... stop with the eyes  ...  you look like a bruised bug."

"Hey!"

He shook his head. "I don't know anyone who's as full of life as you are, Jewelia. God, I missed you." His eyes swept mine, and I was certain the memories were as constant for him as they were for me. "I'll tell you what, we'll get a cabin the woods." His face softened so, he looked ready to lose the cool that made the physician so hot.

I grabbed his hand. "No!"

"Okay, how about a place on the beach with no one else around. Then you can scream as loud as you want." A sexy grin broke the stoic look that seemed difficult for him to maintain.

I remembered his groans and a chill ran down my spine. "I want ..." When he leaned in close, I brushed his cheek with my fingertips.

His face was beside mine. He was whispering. "How do I know you won't disappear? Break my heart all over again."

"Oh, baby. I had no idea."

His head lifted, and he stared into my eyes. "So ... What do I have to do? Have them issue a warrant for your arrest?"

"Vanessa already took care of that."

"There's always house arrest." His tone deepened. "I'm sorry about what she's done to you." He stood, ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath. "After her father drove off that bridge ..."

"Drove off a bridge? I thought her parents were killed in a plane crash in his corporate jet on the way to Europe for a meeting?"

"Where'd you hear that?" He leveled a puzzled grin.

"Around. In circles." I giggled. "Like what my head's doing right now."

"You're dizzy?" He brought his face close to shine his penlight in my eyes again.

Blinking him away, I said, "It's been a hell of a night. I just need some R & R. Is Vanessa okay?" I disliked her, but didn't want to be the one to cause her hospitalization.

"Bruised but she'll be fine." Hovering over me, he stroked my hair.

"She said her name was Whitehall, but at the station they booked her as Simpson?"

"That's her name ... Simpson. I feel responsible. I should've clued you in on all of this, but I had no idea you'd be affected." He frowned. "She created her own world, started rumors that stuck, I guess. Her dad ran a small construction outfit, but it was nothing like she built it up to be. He'd sometimes take us to his yard when we were kids ... let us play on the machines. He was a nice guy. It was unfortunate that he lost his business."

"And she lost her mind. I can't believe I'm saying this after what she's done, but I actually feel sorry for her. She's out there Jimmy, blasting off to her own private planet."

"No one's called me Jimmy since you." His eyes, lively blue and gray, clouded. "I've tried to get her help, but like my father, there's not much you can do for someone unless he or she wants to help him or herself ... other than watch them kill themselves."

As he reflected, I held my breath, waiting for the brooding curtain to fall, but not an ounce of the painful past crossed his handsome face. He finished swabbing my head with antiseptic, and I tried to sit up. His hand on my shoulder held me.

"How's your father?" I smoothed my palm up and down his arm. He felt as delicious as ever.

"Doing well. He's back in neurology. He and my mother are trying to put their lives back together. Things changed after that day." His eyes burned into mine. I sensed the months had been as bad for him as they'd been for me, possibly worse.

"I'm sorry you had to go through all that, Jimmy."

After placing a bandage on my forehead, he kissed it. "Hopefully they'll work it all out, and Vanessa will finally get the help she needs as well. I'm sorry she dragged you into our mess."

"We weren't together. Why did she do this to me? Why does she still hate me?"

"They almost had to use the crash cart on me," he shot me a quick glance, then his gaze accompanied his fingers to the lump on my neck, "on more than one occasion."

When I gasped, he said he was joking, adding almost shyly, "She knew I was in love with you. Maybe that's the reason."

"Was? As in past tense?"

"I think you know better than that."

"Why do you sound so serious? Not what you're saying," I quickly corrected, "the tone of your voice."

He shot me a look of disbelief. "I'm at work, remember?"