ground, as Courtney’s shoulder slammed into the car.
The burst of strength used up all of Jonas’s reserves. He coughed through the smoke as he struggled to see the face of the guy shoving him harder into the pavement. All Jonas could think about was getting to Courtney and carrying her out of there and finding help for the others.
He shoved and hit. Then the guy was gone. The pressure lifted, and without the knee on his chest Jonas’s breathing slowed again.
He lay on the pavement staring up at the now-dark sky clouded with a thick film. Then Courtney’s face swirled in front of him, her hair streaming down and her skin damp with sweat. She was saying something but he couldn’t hear her. Her mouth moved.
The ground vibrated. At first he only saw shoes. Hoses hit the ground around him. Rich swooped in, taking Courtney by the shoulders and wrapping her in a blanket.
Jonas blinked as firemen and police poured through the area from every direction. With a hard pop, his ears opened. He heard the spray of water and Walt’s shouts for help.
Then thick air swept over him with the darkness roaring in right behind.
When Jonas opened his eyes again, he saw ceiling tiles. Rows of white and nothing familiar. He lifted his head and scanned the room. Heart-rate monitor, a thin sheet drawn up to his stomach and a bed with rails.
He exhaled, his breath filled with fury. “I’m in a damn hospital.”
“Yes, you are.”
His gaze shot to the chair next to his bed. Courtney sat in jeans and a T-shirt, with her legs tucked up under her and a magazine on her lap. Her skin was pink and shiny, and her hair was pulled back off her face.
“You’re okay.” He meant to say the words in his head, but when she smiled he knew he’d said them out loud.
She held up her hand and showed off a white bandage. “Minor stuff.”
He looked closer and saw the dark circles and tiny cuts on her forehead and hands. Her left eye watered and she rubbed it twice in the minute since he woke up and saw her. Her elbow balanced on the armrest but her whole side moved when she did, suggesting an injury to her ribs and maybe her arm and back.
She was hurt.
He tried to get up and his chest caved in. Coughs shook him until he couldn’t see. When he leaned back again, Rich and Courtney loomed over him wearing matching looks of concern.
Jonas hated pity. After his partner got shot, everyone in his division at DEA stopped talking when he walked by. There were whispers and awkward private comments about getting a raw deal.
He’d gone from an excellent shot to the guy who failed to pull the trigger on time. From being on probation over an innocent incident in one case to forced temporary leave over another. He knew how to shoot and when to shoot, but the bogus lawsuit over the kid left him questioning his judgment, and in that second months later his partner paid the price.
Henry McCarthy, dead at thirty-one.
“Tell me what happened today,” Jonas said.
“It’s simple.” Rich stationed his body at the end of Jonas’s bed. “Someone blew up Stimpson’s house and tried to take you with it.”
Knowing people were hurt and in trouble while he was strapped to a bed ate at Jonas’s insides, hollowing him out. “Injuries?”
“Stimpson is dead. We’re not sure if the fire killed him or covered up the homicide.”
“Everyone else?”
“The officer in the sedan.” Courtney swallowed the last part of the sentence. She clamped her lips together as if the idea of saying one more word pained her.
Rich cleared his throat. “It happened during the day, so most people were out. We have some folks in the hospital but nothing life-threatening.”
“You’re one of the worst,” she said, the anger clear in her voice.
Rich nodded. “And you look like crap.”
Jonas didn’t care about that. He’d been injured before, spent time in the army and tracked down drug dealers with the DEA. He was in good shape. His body would heal.
The damage to
The burst of strength used up all of Jonas’s reserves. He coughed through the smoke as he struggled to see the face of the guy shoving him harder into the pavement. All Jonas could think about was getting to Courtney and carrying her out of there and finding help for the others.
He shoved and hit. Then the guy was gone. The pressure lifted, and without the knee on his chest Jonas’s breathing slowed again.
He lay on the pavement staring up at the now-dark sky clouded with a thick film. Then Courtney’s face swirled in front of him, her hair streaming down and her skin damp with sweat. She was saying something but he couldn’t hear her. Her mouth moved.
The ground vibrated. At first he only saw shoes. Hoses hit the ground around him. Rich swooped in, taking Courtney by the shoulders and wrapping her in a blanket.
Jonas blinked as firemen and police poured through the area from every direction. With a hard pop, his ears opened. He heard the spray of water and Walt’s shouts for help.
Then thick air swept over him with the darkness roaring in right behind.
When Jonas opened his eyes again, he saw ceiling tiles. Rows of white and nothing familiar. He lifted his head and scanned the room. Heart-rate monitor, a thin sheet drawn up to his stomach and a bed with rails.
He exhaled, his breath filled with fury. “I’m in a damn hospital.”
“Yes, you are.”
His gaze shot to the chair next to his bed. Courtney sat in jeans and a T-shirt, with her legs tucked up under her and a magazine on her lap. Her skin was pink and shiny, and her hair was pulled back off her face.
“You’re okay.” He meant to say the words in his head, but when she smiled he knew he’d said them out loud.
She held up her hand and showed off a white bandage. “Minor stuff.”
He looked closer and saw the dark circles and tiny cuts on her forehead and hands. Her left eye watered and she rubbed it twice in the minute since he woke up and saw her. Her elbow balanced on the armrest but her whole side moved when she did, suggesting an injury to her ribs and maybe her arm and back.
She was hurt.
He tried to get up and his chest caved in. Coughs shook him until he couldn’t see. When he leaned back again, Rich and Courtney loomed over him wearing matching looks of concern.
Jonas hated pity. After his partner got shot, everyone in his division at DEA stopped talking when he walked by. There were whispers and awkward private comments about getting a raw deal.
He’d gone from an excellent shot to the guy who failed to pull the trigger on time. From being on probation over an innocent incident in one case to forced temporary leave over another. He knew how to shoot and when to shoot, but the bogus lawsuit over the kid left him questioning his judgment, and in that second months later his partner paid the price.
Henry McCarthy, dead at thirty-one.
“Tell me what happened today,” Jonas said.
“It’s simple.” Rich stationed his body at the end of Jonas’s bed. “Someone blew up Stimpson’s house and tried to take you with it.”
Knowing people were hurt and in trouble while he was strapped to a bed ate at Jonas’s insides, hollowing him out. “Injuries?”
“Stimpson is dead. We’re not sure if the fire killed him or covered up the homicide.”
“Everyone else?”
“The officer in the sedan.” Courtney swallowed the last part of the sentence. She clamped her lips together as if the idea of saying one more word pained her.
Rich cleared his throat. “It happened during the day, so most people were out. We have some folks in the hospital but nothing life-threatening.”
“You’re one of the worst,” she said, the anger clear in her voice.
Rich nodded. “And you look like crap.”
Jonas didn’t care about that. He’d been injured before, spent time in the army and tracked down drug dealers with the DEA. He was in good shape. His body would heal.
The damage to
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