Midnight Hero - By Diana Duncan Page 0,76
lofty branches had slowed the descent and cushioned their fall.
The robber lay crumpled in the snow batting. Unconscious, but alive, both legs at awkward angles. Looked like he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Her fingers clenched into fists. If he had killed Con, she would personally strangle him with her bare hands.
“Con?” Her frantic gaze scanned the rubble, but she didn’t see Con. If the robber had survived the fall, maybe Con had, too. “Can you hear me?”
She prayed harder than ever before as she searched. What would she do if he was as incapacitated as the robber? Her forearm brushed the walkie-talkies at her belt, and she swallowed hard. If he were badly injured, she would call in the SWAT team.
Bailey spotted the pistol near the robber’s limp right hand. Her lip curled in loathing. She took a deep breath and picked up the barrel between her thumb and forefinger, pointing it away from her. The gun was much heavier than she’d expected. And deathly cold. Was the safety on? She didn’t know where the safety was, or what it looked like. A three-story fall hadn’t caused the gun to fire, so it was probably okay in her pack for a short time. As long as she was careful. With a shudder, she eased it inside.
“Con!” she called again, her throat tight and aching. “Where are you?”
A low groan filtered out from beneath huge, twisted boughs twenty feet ahead. She scrambled over a mountain of flattened packages, squelching the urge to claw the debris aside. Exerting supreme control over her screaming emotions, she gently scooped up crushed ornaments and shredded garland. One at an excruciating time, she lifted branches.
Con lay sandwiched between layers of boughs. His beloved face was scratched, bruised and streaked with blood, but he was conscious. Relieved tears stung her eyelids. “You’re alive!”
He groaned again. “Yeah. I can tell by the pain.”
She wanted to fling her arms around him, but didn’t dare. “Did you lose consciousness? How badly are you hurt?”
He hesitated, as if taking stock. “I’m not sure if I went lights out or not. It’s all a blur. Nothing seems broken. My chest smarts where the Kevlar absorbed the rounds. That’s SOP.”
“SOP?”
“Standard operating procedure.”
“Okay, anything else?”
“My head hurts like a mother. Oh, and I can’t see so hot.”
He couldn’t see? Panic assailed her before she realized why. “There’s a cut above your right eyebrow. Blood is running into your eyes.”
“Head wounds do that. Don’t freak, darlin’.”
“Do I look like I’m freaking?” Other than the fact that she was trembling from forehead to toenails. Avoiding the pistol, she rummaged inside her pack for bandages. Good thing she’d stocked up when she’d scavenged first-aid supplies for Syrone. “For Pete’s sake. After tonight, a little thing like a minor head wound will hardly spazz me out.” She hoped it was minor. Please, God, let it be minor.
He grinned. “That’s my slugger. Sexy and strong.”
“Here.” She pressed folded gauze to the wound. “Hold this in place.” She gently cleaned his ravaged face with a wet wipe.
“You’re still blurry.” He reached up with an unsteady hand and his thumb caressed her bottom lip. “He drew blood on my woman. That’s a killing offense.”
“Easy there, Conall. Don’t go all Clan of the Cave Bear on me.”
“He hit you.” His eyes glittered with heated fury. “I wanted to hurt him, baby. Bad.”
“I know.” Surprisingly, she’d felt the same when she thought the robber had killed Con. Even more surprising, she’d accepted it. Without shame. Without guilt. Con belonged to her, and by heaven, no one would deliberately harm him and get away with it.
She gently kissed his warm, bristly cheek. He wasn’t the only one who possessed the instinct to protect his mate. “You did what you had to. You saved my life. Given the chance, he would have killed us both.”
He blinked, his face etched with amazement. “Glad you understand. Do you know where he landed? What is his condition?”
“In the batting, twenty feet back. He’s unconscious and it appears both his legs are broken. He’s no longer a threat, and there’s nothing we can do for him right now.”
“See if you can find the pistol.”
“Done. It’s in my pack.”
“Come again?” He did a double take. “You picked up a gun?”
She’d rather eat raw worm pudding than handle a gun, but a girl had to do what a girl had to do. “I could hardly leave it there for him to shoot us with. Can you stand? We should get