Hide My Light: A Romantic Suspense Thriller Novel (Hide Me Series Book 3) by Lisa Ladew
Authors: Lisa Ladew
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whole and unharmed. But at his feet was Katerina, still and quiet, her eyes closed, her hands curled into skeletal fists.
“Katerina,” he cried. He bent and lifted her to him, noticing she weighed no more than a feather.
Her cheekbones stood out in acute relief, sharp enough to cut glass, the skin stretched across them painfully. “Oh, Katerina,” he moaned. “What did you do?”
That was obvious though, wasn’t it? She had healed him. Healed him at her own expense. He pressed two fingers to her wrist and was glad to feel a heartbeat there, but it was soft and faint and fluttery. He was the one who had been shot and she was the one now possibly dying. He looked around and realized they were alone. The van was stopped in the middle of traffic and horns honked as people went around him. Where had the three gunmen gone? He looked in the back of the van and saw Kurt Kane, slumped in the very rear seat, obviously gone beyond a chance of help. He grimaced and wondered what that had been like for Kane, and for Katerina.
He slid to the side door and opened it, holding Katerina on his lap, then he lifted her gently and climbed out into traffic, trying to get his bearings. From what he could tell they were at least a mile from the hospital. Too far for him to carry her. Although he felt like he could. He felt full of energy and ready to run a marathon, but no matter how fast he could run it could be too long. He needed a car.
He stood in the path of traffic and started to wave people down. “Help us,” he cried. “We need help. We need to get to the hospital. Please!”
Almost immediately, someone stopped. It was a blue minivan with a teenage boy driving.
“Oh thank God,” West said. “Thank you for stopping. Can you take us to the hospital?”
“Jump in,” the boy said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to the sliding door behind him. West threw him a grateful look and opened the door, gently lifting Katerina in and kneeling with her between the seats.
“That her blood?” the boy asked as he stepped on the accelerator and hung a right.
“No, that’s my blood. I was shot.”
The boy’s eyes met his in the rear view mirror and West saw only admiration and belief there. “Hashtag awesome,” the boy said and West blinked, not sure he had heard correctly.
West dropped his eyes to Katerina’s face. What the boy had said didn’t matter. Only Katerina mattered. He was dismayed to see that the color in her face had gone paler, and the darkness under her eyes, darker. He pressed a finger to her throat and still felt a fluttery pulse there, but her breathing was slow and shallow. Her shirt had blood on it and he lost it for a moment, thinking she had been shot too. But then he realized it was his own blood, rubbing off on her. He grimaced and tried to wipe it away but ended up just smearing it.
He looked back up at the road, and was gratified to see the hospital in front of them. The boy drove quickly and competently. As the boy maneuvered the minivan into the emergency room drop-off lane, West tried to express his gratitude. Words seemed inadequate and he felt tears threaten. “Thanks, man,” he finally croaked. “You may have saved her life.”
"Yeah, dude, get her in there,” the boy said as his vehicle came to a stop, but West was already moving. He yanked the side door open and jumped out, running through the emergency room double doors with Katerina in his arms. He approached the glassed-in reception desk, passing the dozens of people in the waiting room. Katerina lay limp and motionless in his arms, not making a sound. Her body felt hot and light, dry as kindling.
He knew the woman behind the desk but in his dismay he had forgotten her name. He held Katerina up so she could see her. “She’s really sick, buzz us in,” he said. The woman took one look at his face and reached for the buzzer. West ran to the doors and pushed them open, walking down the hallway he’d traversed so many times
“Katerina,” he cried. He bent and lifted her to him, noticing she weighed no more than a feather.
Her cheekbones stood out in acute relief, sharp enough to cut glass, the skin stretched across them painfully. “Oh, Katerina,” he moaned. “What did you do?”
That was obvious though, wasn’t it? She had healed him. Healed him at her own expense. He pressed two fingers to her wrist and was glad to feel a heartbeat there, but it was soft and faint and fluttery. He was the one who had been shot and she was the one now possibly dying. He looked around and realized they were alone. The van was stopped in the middle of traffic and horns honked as people went around him. Where had the three gunmen gone? He looked in the back of the van and saw Kurt Kane, slumped in the very rear seat, obviously gone beyond a chance of help. He grimaced and wondered what that had been like for Kane, and for Katerina.
He slid to the side door and opened it, holding Katerina on his lap, then he lifted her gently and climbed out into traffic, trying to get his bearings. From what he could tell they were at least a mile from the hospital. Too far for him to carry her. Although he felt like he could. He felt full of energy and ready to run a marathon, but no matter how fast he could run it could be too long. He needed a car.
He stood in the path of traffic and started to wave people down. “Help us,” he cried. “We need help. We need to get to the hospital. Please!”
Almost immediately, someone stopped. It was a blue minivan with a teenage boy driving.
“Oh thank God,” West said. “Thank you for stopping. Can you take us to the hospital?”
“Jump in,” the boy said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to the sliding door behind him. West threw him a grateful look and opened the door, gently lifting Katerina in and kneeling with her between the seats.
“That her blood?” the boy asked as he stepped on the accelerator and hung a right.
“No, that’s my blood. I was shot.”
The boy’s eyes met his in the rear view mirror and West saw only admiration and belief there. “Hashtag awesome,” the boy said and West blinked, not sure he had heard correctly.
West dropped his eyes to Katerina’s face. What the boy had said didn’t matter. Only Katerina mattered. He was dismayed to see that the color in her face had gone paler, and the darkness under her eyes, darker. He pressed a finger to her throat and still felt a fluttery pulse there, but her breathing was slow and shallow. Her shirt had blood on it and he lost it for a moment, thinking she had been shot too. But then he realized it was his own blood, rubbing off on her. He grimaced and tried to wipe it away but ended up just smearing it.
He looked back up at the road, and was gratified to see the hospital in front of them. The boy drove quickly and competently. As the boy maneuvered the minivan into the emergency room drop-off lane, West tried to express his gratitude. Words seemed inadequate and he felt tears threaten. “Thanks, man,” he finally croaked. “You may have saved her life.”
"Yeah, dude, get her in there,” the boy said as his vehicle came to a stop, but West was already moving. He yanked the side door open and jumped out, running through the emergency room double doors with Katerina in his arms. He approached the glassed-in reception desk, passing the dozens of people in the waiting room. Katerina lay limp and motionless in his arms, not making a sound. Her body felt hot and light, dry as kindling.
He knew the woman behind the desk but in his dismay he had forgotten her name. He held Katerina up so she could see her. “She’s really sick, buzz us in,” he said. The woman took one look at his face and reached for the buzzer. West ran to the doors and pushed them open, walking down the hallway he’d traversed so many times
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