Busted (Promise Harbor Wedding) - By Sydney Somers Page 0,64
making her head swim. She paused, still surveying the street for any sign of movement. Where the hell had he gone?
“Backtrack,” she told the other officer, a rookie she knew the rest of the station had nicknamed the Tank.
He retraced his steps, and she lingered out front in case their suspect was waiting for a calm moment to burst from his hiding place.
Thirty minutes later they still hadn’t found him, even after checking with neighbors. She’d spent twenty-eight of those minutes avoiding Jackson, who kept insisting she go to the hospital.
After she wiped blood from her eyes for the fifth time, Jackson stopped being so nice about it.
“We’re leaving.”
“No.”
“He got away, Hayley. There’s nothing else you can do.”
Screw that. She walked back toward the house. Inside the front door they’d recovered a nondescript black sack with four thousand dollars inside.
“These guys have it,” Jackson insisted. “And Phil just arrived.”
“I’m fine.” She had a vicious headache, but it was manageable. The dizziness had subsided to the point she was doing okay as long as she didn’t move too quickly.
“You need stitches.” It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned it. “Get in the truck or I’ll be on the phone with your mother.”
Her annoyance over losing their suspect spiked to a new high. “I’m having one of the others drive you home.” She’d used the threat to keep him at a distance since he’d noticed she’d been injured, but it was time to make good on it.
“I’m not leaving without you, and how good is it going to look if I have to be taken back to the station?”
“We’re almost done, Hayley.” Phil stood with his hands on his hips, his gaze trained on her forehead. “Go.”
“Please,” Jackson added. The worry in his eyes was the only thing that kept her from snapping at him.
“Fine.” She glanced at her partner. “If you find anything…” she began.
“You’ll be the first to know,” Phil agreed.
Grudgingly, she let Jackson usher her to the truck. With one more frustrated glance at the house, she slid onto the seat, stewing all the way to the emergency room about having been so close to wrapping up the investigation.
They must have been expecting her and motioned her through the doors, past triage, getting her settled on a gurney in record time. She wanted to apologize to the teenager with his arm in a sling and an elderly woman for being seen before them, but Jackson didn’t give her a chance.
He could be a pushy son of a bitch when he wanted to be, apparently. Almost intimidating. No wonder some players would drop with an exaggerated injury to avoid getting into it with him on the ice.
Jackson stayed right by her side, glaring at her impatiently when she wanted to get up instead of sitting while she waited for a doctor to check her out. It was the dizziness, she told herself, that kept her on her butt, and not the warning look Jackson shot her for moving.
“I’m fine,” she said. A few stitches was minor, and everyone knew head injuries bled like a bitch, making them appear much worse than they were.
“You gave me a scare tonight.”
The comment surprised her. She’d been expecting him to make some smartass comment offering to help her change into a hospital gown or something else that involved her being naked.
A doctor she recognized from being a regular at Stone’s pulled back the curtain and stepped inside. “Rough night, Detective?”
“I’ve had better.”
He looked her over. “Could be worse. Could have ended up with another cracked rib like the last on-foot pursuit of a suspect.”
No one was ever going to let her forget the boardwalk incident. She’d had an opening and took it. Any other officer would have done the same in her position, regardless of the guy being armed.
She knew she was better off staying quiet while he did his job. Jackson picked up the slack, chatting about the NHL draft, all the while staying right next to her. The sight of the needle required for the anesthetic didn’t worry her, but Jackson still slipped his hand into hers, giving a reassuring squeeze when she cursed at the icy burn from the drug.
Eight stitches later, the doctor finished and disappeared to treat other patients. The curtain hadn’t had a chance to settle back into place before it was jerked open.
Gramps stood there, frowning at the two of them.
Wonderful.
“You need to catch that bastard, Hayley,” her gramps growled.