tackled him hard.
Across the bank, Carly watched the men grappling. Their images seemed blurred like old film flickering on a bad screen.
Only it wasn't film.
The danger was terrifying and real. Either the attack was a random robbery or these men were after Daphne. The daughter of the governor of Santa Marina would be worth a fortune to the right people, Carly knew, and even as a girl, Daphne had been coached in security procedures by her father's staff.
The man on the ground coughed struggling to sit up. McKay was busy grappling with the second attacker as the first surged to his feet, looking for his fallen weapon. Blind instinct sent Carly plunging down the rocky slope to get the gun first.
“Carly, stop,” Daphne hissed.
“Stay back,” she snapped. Stumbling, the attacker made for the weapon glinting in the sunlight. He smiled as he lunged forward not far from the rock where Daphne was hidden. The smile fled as Daphne hurled a champagne bottle at his face, and Carly swung up a metal pipe from the prop pile, toppling him to his knees.
Daphne closed in and hit him on the head with a sandbag to finish the job, while Carly gripped the pipe protectively, ready to help if necessary.
Something whined through the waterfall behind her, sending up a spray of glittering silver. The world seemed to tip, pain exploding through her side.
Her knees buckled. Around her, water flashed like smoke, and her vision blurred. She tried to ask if her crew was safe, but the words came out jumbled. She looked for McKay, desperate when she couldn't find him.
“Daphne?” The word was a mere breath of sound, swallowed by the savage burning at her side as she fell.
“Carly, can you hear me?”
McKay clamped a towel over Carly's side. Beneath the welling blood, he saw the ragged path a bullet had torn through her skin.
He cursed when she didn't answer. The sight of blood spreading over Carly's blue shirt had stunned him. Then his training kicked in and he scrambled to stabilize her, controlling the blood loss.
Daphne knelt beside him, her face white but determined as she fought down panic. In the distance came the sound of frightened questions. Otherwise all was quiet.
“How bad is it?” Daphne whispered.
“She hit her head when she fell. She probably has serious blood loss combined with a head injury,” he said grimly as Carly began to twist in his arms.
He managed to hold her still as he heard the distant two-note whine of sirens. “About damned time,” he said savagely. Even as he spoke, Inspector St. John seemed to melt out of the trees, flanked by three armed men. They had cuffed two attackers between them, and McKay was glad to see that being gentle wasn't high on St. John's list of priorities.
“Are any of you hit?” The officer rounded the waterfall, and his gaze swept down, hardening as it settled on Carly.
“She took a bullet. Possible trauma to the head when she fell.”
“We've got an ambulance en route.”
“Damn it, en route isn't good enough.” McKay snapped. Despite his steady pressure at her side, she was losing blood fast.
Daphne looked up with an audible intake of breath. “Inspector St. John, what are you doing here?” Her face
lost its last hint of color. “Did my father send you?” She swallowed pushing out the words. “You think this was meant for me?”
“No way to know, Miss Daphne,” the police officer said gently. “Not until we question these men.”
McKay saw her shudder, just once, before she clamped down on her fear. “Do something for Carly. My God if she doesn't—” She was blinking hard.
“She will,” McKay vowed. “I'll see she gets through this.” He was already replaying the attack, searching for clues to motive and source, cursing the fact that Carly hadn't stayed where she was supposed to stay.
But the blame was his. He should have been faster. He should be the one lying hurt, not Carly. Pain was part of his job description, right next to danger, no
Across the bank, Carly watched the men grappling. Their images seemed blurred like old film flickering on a bad screen.
Only it wasn't film.
The danger was terrifying and real. Either the attack was a random robbery or these men were after Daphne. The daughter of the governor of Santa Marina would be worth a fortune to the right people, Carly knew, and even as a girl, Daphne had been coached in security procedures by her father's staff.
The man on the ground coughed struggling to sit up. McKay was busy grappling with the second attacker as the first surged to his feet, looking for his fallen weapon. Blind instinct sent Carly plunging down the rocky slope to get the gun first.
“Carly, stop,” Daphne hissed.
“Stay back,” she snapped. Stumbling, the attacker made for the weapon glinting in the sunlight. He smiled as he lunged forward not far from the rock where Daphne was hidden. The smile fled as Daphne hurled a champagne bottle at his face, and Carly swung up a metal pipe from the prop pile, toppling him to his knees.
Daphne closed in and hit him on the head with a sandbag to finish the job, while Carly gripped the pipe protectively, ready to help if necessary.
Something whined through the waterfall behind her, sending up a spray of glittering silver. The world seemed to tip, pain exploding through her side.
Her knees buckled. Around her, water flashed like smoke, and her vision blurred. She tried to ask if her crew was safe, but the words came out jumbled. She looked for McKay, desperate when she couldn't find him.
“Daphne?” The word was a mere breath of sound, swallowed by the savage burning at her side as she fell.
“Carly, can you hear me?”
McKay clamped a towel over Carly's side. Beneath the welling blood, he saw the ragged path a bullet had torn through her skin.
He cursed when she didn't answer. The sight of blood spreading over Carly's blue shirt had stunned him. Then his training kicked in and he scrambled to stabilize her, controlling the blood loss.
Daphne knelt beside him, her face white but determined as she fought down panic. In the distance came the sound of frightened questions. Otherwise all was quiet.
“How bad is it?” Daphne whispered.
“She hit her head when she fell. She probably has serious blood loss combined with a head injury,” he said grimly as Carly began to twist in his arms.
He managed to hold her still as he heard the distant two-note whine of sirens. “About damned time,” he said savagely. Even as he spoke, Inspector St. John seemed to melt out of the trees, flanked by three armed men. They had cuffed two attackers between them, and McKay was glad to see that being gentle wasn't high on St. John's list of priorities.
“Are any of you hit?” The officer rounded the waterfall, and his gaze swept down, hardening as it settled on Carly.
“She took a bullet. Possible trauma to the head when she fell.”
“We've got an ambulance en route.”
“Damn it, en route isn't good enough.” McKay snapped. Despite his steady pressure at her side, she was losing blood fast.
Daphne looked up with an audible intake of breath. “Inspector St. John, what are you doing here?” Her face
lost its last hint of color. “Did my father send you?” She swallowed pushing out the words. “You think this was meant for me?”
“No way to know, Miss Daphne,” the police officer said gently. “Not until we question these men.”
McKay saw her shudder, just once, before she clamped down on her fear. “Do something for Carly. My God if she doesn't—” She was blinking hard.
“She will,” McKay vowed. “I'll see she gets through this.” He was already replaying the attack, searching for clues to motive and source, cursing the fact that Carly hadn't stayed where she was supposed to stay.
But the blame was his. He should have been faster. He should be the one lying hurt, not Carly. Pain was part of his job description, right next to danger, no
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