Page 2

I dragged myself to my feet and jogged over to where he sat on the ground, dazed and holding his bleeding leg. Blood had already soaked through the jeans and was making a sticky mess. While he was distracted, I took the opportunity to kick the gun away.

“I’m surprised you can feel anything, considering how much meth you’re on.”

He blinked up at me. “What happened?”

“Hands behind your back. Now,” I said as I kept my gun trained on him. “Rourke!”

“Right here,” my partner called as he rounded the house and joined me. “He had his girlfriend tied up in there. She’s a mess.” He stared at me. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

“Dislocated. Can you cuff him?”

“Shit,” Rourke said as he took out his handcuffs and walked over to Carl. “On your stomach, come on.”

Rourke made quick work securing Carl and called in for an ambulance. Once the call was in, he shushed Carl and took off his belt. Working fast, he tightened it around the man’s leg.

“You’re fine, drama queen,” Rourke told Carl, giving his leg a little slap. “The bleeding is already slowing.” Rourke rose to his feet, a grin stretching his lips. “How the hell did you manage this shit?” he asked as he waved a hand toward me. “You always have to choose the path of most resistance.”

“You told me to take the back, asshole, remember?” I nodded to Carl. “Is he gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, he’s good.”

“Fuck you! He shot me!”

Clearly, Carl disagreed. Rourke ignored him and checked out my arm. He whistled as he took it in and grimaced.

“Can you pop it back in and stop staring at it?” I asked.

“They say you’re not supposed to do that, you know? Protocol is to wait for the ambulance.”

I was going to put one of my boots right up Rourke’s ass. He knew damn well I wasn’t going to wait around until the ambulance showed up just to do the same thing. I stared at him until he caved.

“Alright, stop pouting, princess. Brace yourself.”

I holstered my weapon and leaned against the wall of the house. Rourke took hold of my arm more securely, examining it closely. I closed my eyes and waited, bracing myself. Just when I opened them to yell at my partner, my shoulder cracked as he popped it back into place.

“Oh, fuck you!” I bellowed. “You… goddamn…”

“I know,” Rourke said. “Hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?” He walked over to one of the windows and peeked inside. “Girlfriend’s still there. I’m going to go in and question her soon as they get here.”

The distant sound of sirens was fast approaching. I rolled my shoulder, pulling a face at the lingering throbbing that had been left behind. It felt a lot better, but it was definitely going to swell up and be a pain later on. That was a problem for future me.

“I’ll stay and—”

“You’re not doing shit,” Rourke interrupted. “Backup is on the way, and I can handle a little questioning. Go home. It’s not like you have plans tonight anyway.”

“I’m fine,” I argued.

“Go. Home. Don’t make me have to talk to the Sergeant.”

I glared at him. “You’re a little bitch.”

“Love you too,” he teased as he waved at the paramedics jogging down the alley. “Get out of here.”

Groaning, I gave in. As much as I wanted to stay, I had to admit that the fun part was over. Now came questions, paperwork, and bureaucratic bullshit. While I didn’t love it, sticking around and doing everything right was a great way to continue to get noticed. And I needed to be noticed if I wanted to make detective.

* * *

“Didn’tRourke say you were going home?”