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“Comms! Clem is awake, combative, adrenaline-powered. Please advise,” Ethan called out. He could see the hospital. It would be great if someone could slide on over and figure out how to subdue Clem without causing him more harm.

“We advise: Safeguard yourself, Mrs. Harcourt, and K9 Tango. Use restraining action if it decreases the chance of a medical emergency. We are informing EMT and D.C. P.D. you need support.”

Ethan got his arm around enough that he could lift the door handle, hoping to tumble free of the glass and drag Clem’s ass out of the car where Ethan could put his knee on the man’s neck and hold him until more hands showed up.

The door was locked.

Ethan wrapped his hand around Clem’s face and shoved him back. But their arms were of equal length, and Clem was trained in hand-to-hand combat, too.

Clem was going for Ethan’s eyes. The stay-alive hormones were making the man into a beast of an opponent.

If Clem got Ethan’s neck tipped into the sharp glass, all bets were off. Ethan would call Tango into the fray.

Ethan pried his knee out from under the steering column and braced it on Clem’s chest, making enough room to reach the key fob, dangling from the ignition.

Once his thumb found the button, the locks popped up.

The sound of freedom.

Ethan bucked the door open and got a foot onto the gravel.

From there, he grabbed Clem’s hair and pulled downward toward the floorboard.

Clem tried to kick.

Ethan maneuvered his hip out from under the steering wheel, shifting toward the passenger seat, and moving his weight onto Clem’s back.

Trapped in a jackknife position that compressed his chest and made his breathing shallow, it had to be bad for the guy.

Ethan hoped he wasn’t killing Clem.

But as long as Clem was fighting, Ethan would hold that constraint.

As Ethan felt his own breathing normalize, Clem’s body went slack.

“Comms, Clem’s out again,” Ethan panted as he got himself out of the car.

“Copy.”

Blood dripping down his arm, Ethan rounded the front of the limo, over to the passenger side, opened the door, and checked to make sure Clem was still breathing.

Ethan dragged Clem back onto the seat, pulling his legs over to the passenger footwell. At least sitting up gave Clem’s lungs space to expand.

In case Clem decided to pop back awake again between there and the hospital, Ethan trapped the man’s arms behind his back, then pulled the safety belt in place, tightened it enough to restrain him and hold him upright.

Breathing heavily, Ethan shut the door and jogged back around to the driver’s side.

He opened Mrs. Harcourt’s door. “You doing alright, Ma’am?”

Her face was white, and her teeth were jutting as she moved her mouth like a puppet. She lifted her hand and pointed up and down his body, as if to bring his awareness to the fact that he was covered in blood.

Yeah, he knew.

He shut her door and settled into the driver’s seat, blinker flashing.

“Communications, be advised that I have constrained Clem. He is non-responsive. He does have breath and a pulse. I’m back in the limo, driving toward the hospital. I’ll be there shortly. Also, if you could add me to the hospital roster, please.”

“Copy. Osbourne, for your information, we have Creed Duchamp, Cerberus Tactical Canine Team Charlie, routed to the hospital location. Your duty to your protectee means you’ll most likely need to go into the hospital. We are accommodating that by providing a handler for K9 Tango.”