Point of Danger (Triple Threat #1) - Irene Hannon Page 0,114
through the crowd.
She jerked back.
Frowned.
Had someone shoved her?
Another crack snapped through the air.
This one, however, was more muffled. Fainter. In fact, all the noise around her began to fade.
How odd.
And why did her legs suddenly feel weak and—
All at once, a searing pain sucked her into a vortex, and she slumped toward the ground.
Had she been . . . shot?
Maybe.
Because the last image that registered as the world around her faded was the ashen face of the man she’d hoped would play a starring role in a future that now might never be.
No!
As Eve sagged against him, Brent holstered his Sig and swept her into his arms, his gaze riveted on the round, ragged—and widening—red stain on the right side of her abdomen.
Despite all their efforts to protect her, Al had bested them.
But he wasn’t going to win.
Lord, please don’t let him win!
“Ms. Reilly’s been shot! Close ranks!” As he barked out the order, the cops around him complied while the other officers in the vicinity became more aggressive, driving the crowd back with every available means short of using bullets.
Thank God.
They had to regain control here.
“Let’s get her back to the tent, away from this mess.” The lieutenant muscled in and spoke in his ear, motioning for nearby officers to accompany them as he hustled the group toward the protective canopy.
Brent followed him, trying not to jostle Eve. She was breathing, but her complexion had lost every vestige of color.
Once inside the tent, he gently set her on the ground and knelt beside her.
Her eyelids fluttered. “Brent?”
At her barely-there whisper, he leaned close. “I’m here, Eve.” He took her cold hand. “Hang in. Help is coming.”
She didn’t respond.
On her other side, the officer she’d shoved aside dropped down beside her. “I’m also an EMT.” He rolled her a bit to the left. “It was a through and through. Pretty straight trajectory. That’s a plus.”
Meaning the bullet probably hadn’t ricocheted too much off bones or organs and left a ton of unseen damage in its wake.
“What can I do?” Brent had to force the strained question past the constriction in his throat.
“We have to put pressure on the wounds, front and back. Sterile pads would be ideal, but whatever we can muster will suffice.” The man lifted Eve’s wrist and pressed two fingers to her radial artery.
Brent fumbled with the buttons on his shirt and ripped it off. Folded the fabric and tucked it under Eve, against the exit wound.
One of the other officers handed him a stack of paper napkins.
He pressed those against the smaller entrance site and exerted pressure, sandwiching the two wounds.
In the background, multiple sirens pierced the air.
Please let the ambulance be one of them!
One of the other officers started to elevate her legs, but the EMT waved him off, keeping his attention on his watch. “Not with an abdominal injury.”
The man backed away.
Brent watched the rapid, shallow rise and fall of her chest.
Shock was setting in.
Across from him, the officer raised his head. “For the record, she saved my life. I didn’t see the guy with the gun—but he was aiming for me. She must have spotted him, then shoved me out of the way.”
The pressure in Brent’s throat intensified. That sounded like Eve. She was the kind of woman who cared passionately about others, who would rather take a bullet than put someone else at risk.
The kind of woman any guy with half a brain would want to pursue.
And if God gave him another chance to test the waters of romance, he intended to paddle with both oars toward the copper-haired radio personality who’d breathed new life into a heart that had long lain dormant.
Was that Cate’s voice . . . and Grace’s?
Eve strained to hear the hushed conversation taking place just out of earshot.
Yes, it was them—but why were they hovering nearby while she was sleeping?
She shifted—but gasped as pain knifed through her right side.
The voices fell silent.
Had she been dreaming them?
And why did every muscle in her body ache?
Did her discomfort have anything to do with the strange dream she’d—
“Eve?” Someone smoothed the hair back from her forehead with gentle fingers. “Can you hear me?”
Grace again.
She forced her sluggish eyelids open.
Grace stood above her, features fuzzy—but clearly worried. On her other side, Cate gave her an appraising inspection.
Why were they—
Oh!
A swirl of memories engulfed her.
The belligerent crowd.
The guy with the gun.
The intense burning sensation.
Brent’s strong arms and ravaged face as she fell.
Brent!
He’d been close to the shooter too—and at least one more