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But was the shooter? Only one way to find out. “Get off,” she gritted as she glanced back at the man holding her.
His jaw clenched but he rolled to the side. “Your funeral, babe.”
She’d lost her stake. Whatever. She had plenty more in the car. Dee jerked her gun free of the holster. She scanned the buildings, the darkness.
It was at times like these when being a human was a real vulnerability for her. The shifter hunters who worked for Night Watch would never have been caught off guard like this. They would have caught the shooter’s scent on the wind, heard him creeping up for the shot.
Even the demons would have gotten more warning than she had.
But when you played with the big boys, you didn’t get to piss and moan about the extra senses you didn’t possess.
So she scanned every building. Every shadow. Then, staying as low and keeping as much cover as she could, she went to the idiot.
“Help me! I’m dying! You’ve got to?—”
Her gaze darted over him. A lot of blood. Huh. And the vamp had run away from that? Who ran when the buffet was free?
“Help me! I can’t die like this, I can’t?—”
“You’re not dying.” Jeez. She yanked out her phone, then pressed the button that would send an SOS to the surveillance team at Night Watch. “It’s a flesh wound, moron.” She’d sure had her share of them.
“Dispatch.” A soft, modulated voice flowed over the phone.
“Need an ambulance.” She didn’t identify herself. Why bother? Stella would recognize her voice. “Four fifteen Brantley. Human down and?—”
Sirens wailed in the night. Of damn course. The shot would have attracted attention.
Her fingers tightened around the phone. “Never mind.”
Time for explanations.
Or, okay, lies.
“What do we say?”
The deep, rumbling voice came from the left. From Mr. Tall, Dark, and, yeah, Sexy, who’d tailed her over to the victim. She spared him a glance. “You can get out of here. I’ll handle the cops.” She’d had lots of experience with the Baton Rouge PD. Most of the uniforms owed her, anyway.
One black brow shot up. “It’s okay, you don’t have to thank me.” A grin flashed, one that showed a lot of strong, white teeth. “I was happy to save your life. Really. Think nothing of it. Yeah, I nearly got shot, but I’m okay. No need for concern.” His right hand lifted and gingerly rubbed his chin.
A patrol car rounded the corner, screeched to a stop, and Dee clenched her teeth. “Thank you,” she managed.
“Not very gracious, are you?” he murmured, and he knelt, his hands going toward the moaning guy’s wounds. “You should work on that.”
Her eyes slit. “I didn’t need saving.” Cops were approaching. She could see them from the corner of her eye. Their guns were up, their steps slow.
“Yeah, you did.”
She almost growled at him. Any minute now, the cops would be saying?—
“Put your hands up! Nice and slow and?—”
Ah, good. She recognized that voice. “Harry, we’ve got a gunshot vic here. He needs to be routed to Mercy General.”
“Dee?” Not real surprise. More like horror.
“Yeah. Be careful, the shooter could still be around.”
Harry and his partner immediately crouched. Harry jerked out his radio and barked some commands.
