Her words pierced his adrenaline, cutting thetension.
He laughed. “If I’d known I’d be ripping your clothes off the moment I got home, I would at least have brought youflowers.”
13
It had been a long time since Mia had felt this close to someone. Joaquin stayed with her and held her hand, leaving her side only to let the EMTs into the bathroom and to pack herthings.
“I don’t think you’ll be coming back here,” hesaid.
Joaquin insisted the EMTs wrap a warm blanket around her shoulders and do all they could to preserve her modesty in an apartment full of male cops. He even held off Wu, telling him that he could get their statements after Mia was discharged from theER.
She wasn’t used to having someone watch out for her like this, anticipating her needs, putting her first. It made her feel cared for, cherished. It was a balm to her shattered nerves. She closed her eyes, let him carry the weight of their situation. But images swarmed through her mind—the reflection in the steel door, a black hoodie in the shadows, shattering glass,bullets.
BAM!
Her eyes jerkedopen.
“Sorry,” said one of the EMTs, who was applying pressure to the wound near her hip. “I didn’t mean to hurtyou.”
“No, it’s not that. I’m just …jumpy.”
“Do you want asedative?”
“No. I’m fine,really.”
A big man in SWAT gear walked up to where Mia lay on the gurney, M4 in one hand, Joaquin’s camera bag in the other. It took her a moment to recognizehim.
“Marc. Thanks for coming to theparty.”
He touched a gloved hand gently to her shoulder. “I only wish we’d been on time instead of fashionably late. Wearegoing to find this bastard. Is there anyone you’d like us to contact on your behalf—yourfamily?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m fine.Really.”
“Those are your shell casings down there, right—the forty-fiverounds?”
She nodded. “I don’t think I hithim.”
“Maybe not, but you fought back. You scared him and sent him running. Unfortunately, we’re going to have to confiscate your firearm for now. It’s part of theinvestigation.”
“I think it’s in thebathtub.”
Joaquin walked up to them carrying Mia’s overnight bag. “Hey, Hunter, do me a favor. Catch this son of abitch.”
“You got it.” Marc handed Joaquin his camera bag. “Are you okay? I saw he fired at you, too. Your windshield isshattered.”
“What?” Mia hadn’t known this. “He fired atyou?”
Joaquin didn’t seem rattled. “Hemissed.”
ThankGod.
Marc walked toward the bathroom. “Ramirez, you give me grayhair.”
Joaquin rode in the ambulance with Mia, carrying her things through the door and holding her hand while the medical staff gave her IV antibiotics to prevent infection and got to work cleaning her up. The shrapnel wound on her ribcage didn’t need stitches, but the deeper graze on her hip had several small bulletfragments.
The doctor shot her up with a local anesthetic, flushed the wound with saline, then prodded it with surgical tweezers, pulling out bits of metal and dropping them in a plastic basin. “Just one more … little ..fragment.”
Mia gasped, clenched Joaquin’s hand, as the tweezers pressed deeper, hitting tissue that wasn’tnumb.