Midnight Hero - By Diana Duncan Page 0,95
mayhem. She must be feeling more stable. “Yeah, reams of it. You’ll have to give a statement, too.” He wrapped the blanket more snugly around her slender shoulders as they climbed out of the ambulance and cold sleet smacked them in the face. A thick layer of ice crunched under his boots and coated everything with a silver sheen. “But not tonight. I doubt any of us are coherent enough.” His grin widened. “Except Letty. I heard her bending Wyatt’s ear about DiMarco outside the ambulance when Grady was doing his doctor impersonation. Good thing Wyatt has negotiator training.”
Bailey jerked to an abrupt halt in the center of the melee. Several ambulances had departed. Others lingered while medics stabilized casualties. Police officers and SWAT teams swarmed the parking lot and adjacent mall. Yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter flapped in the bitter wind. She hugged the blanket tighter. “DiMarco…” She hesitated. “Is he…did we kill him?”
“I don’t know. I can check once we get home, if you want.” He glanced at her pale profile, as white and translucent as the snow drifting against the building, and a band of pain constricted his chest. How would she react if they had killed DiMarco? Would she be able to recover? Post-traumatic stress took good cops out of action. Men who were trained to deal with violence and death. Bailey didn’t have the resources to deal with that enemy.
“Yes.” He could barely hear her low reply. “I need to know.”
“Yo! Irish!” Syrone’s shout hailed Con from inside an ambulance.
Con kept one arm around Bailey as they hurried over. Syrone was propped up on a stretcher. IV tubing snaked from one arm, and a BP cuff dangled from the other. Con patted the big man’s leg. “Hey, buddy! How’s it hanging?” He didn’t bother to disguise the deep emotion simmering beneath the lighthearted greeting.
“Low and mighty, thanks to both of you.” Syrone’s gaze held Con’s and the men exchanged unspoken respect. Each knew the night had brought them both too close to the Grim Reaper. “Considering.”
“You need me to contact Jazelle?”
“Nah, she’s meeting me at the hospital. Liam sent a squad car for her. He and Murphy found me. Man, I have never been so glad to see that hound dog. And the German Shepherd, too.” Chuckling, Syrone gestured at the leather jacket draped over the stretcher. “Couldn’t let them haul me off without delivering this.”
Con picked up the coat, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Hours ago, Bailey hadn’t wanted the ring tucked in the pocket. Tonight’s events had probably massacred any chance he’d had of changing her mind. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Hey, Bailey.” Syrone’s wide smile flashed. “You’re looking fine.”
“Ha.” She self-consciously smoothed her tousled curls. “What’s in that IV, Ecstasy?” Weariness tugged at her wan smile. “Get well quickly. The mall won’t be the same without you.”
“Aw, go on.” Syrone waved a broad hand at Con. “Get your woman outta this dump. Take her someplace warm and friendly.”
“That’s the plan.” He hoped.
Con draped his jacket over the blanket covering Bailey’s shoulders. They turned and walked down the row of occupied ambulances. Bailey kept her face averted. As they reached the last ambulance, Con gave her a gentle squeeze. “Look, sweetheart.”
She turned. A stretcher bearing Nan was being loaded into the back. Nan’s husband Brad hovered protectively alongside, cradling his daughter in his arms. Nan waved and blew them a kiss.
Con glanced at Brad, cuddling the baby, and then at Bailey. Purple bruises in the shape of a handprint marred her pale cheek. His throat tightened. He hadn’t noticed that before. He leaned over and brushed a soft kiss on the marks. She glanced up, her eyes wide and wounded, and his throat closed up completely. He’d imagined himself by her side as she brought their children into the world. With each passing moment, his hopes and dreams seemed to fade farther from the realm of possibility. His hands fisted. DiMarco had not only murdered his father, he might also have succeeded in killing Con’s future.
They continued the slippery journey across the dark parking lot. He’d parked his truck on the outer perimeter so she wouldn’t spot him when she left work. Her shoulders sagged beneath his supporting arm, and she stumbled several times. His poor darlin’ had to be running on fumes.
They’d just reached the crime scene tape when running boot steps sounded behind them. “Hey, bro!” Aidan yelled.
Con stopped, turned. “What’s up?”
Aidan skidded to a halt. He had Bailey’s