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“He attacked me,” the kid wailed. “My arm. My arm is broken. And my head. I’m seeing double. Ow.”
He put on quite the show as the officers separated us. I knew for a fact that I hadn’t done him serious damage, but the kid continued to carry on as two officers held him back. Blood dripped down my arm and something was wet on my cheek, but I was more concerned with finding Danny, who was at the edge of the growing crowd with Barbara. Detective McIntyre came charging out of the building, sport coat flapping, heading right for Danny and Barbara.
“You know this kid?” he asked Danny.
“It’s my usual produce person.” Danny’s voice trembled. “Or at least he was until they switched it up several weeks ago. I think his name is Rue. They replaced him with Autumn. But that’s all I know.”
“That’s enough.” McIntyre nodded sharply, then moved to talk to the cops restraining the kid, who was continuing to loudly assert how injured he was. Meanwhile, a different officer wearing blue vinyl gloves was pressing a large gauze pad to my arm, muttering something about slow EMTs.
“I’m fine.” I tried to pull away, only to be shoved to a seat on the steps.
“Rate at which you’re bleeding says otherwise,” the officer snapped. “Nasty scrape on your head too. Yup, you’ve earned yourself a nice ride with the ambulance crew.”
“Me too. I need a hospital too,” the kid yelled.
“I don’t.” I tried again to convince the officers near me, but they were busy debating whether I was bad enough for a tourniquet. My arm felt like lightning had sliced through it, hot and cold at the same time, all tingly and achy as the adrenaline wore off. Fuck. This one was going to hurt later, but I still wanted to find Danny.
“Love is fine. You did good work, spotting that knife.” Detective McIntyre came to stand in front of where I sat. “You go get stitched up, and then someone will come get a statement from you. I’ve got questions for Love, and his lawyer can manage him. You worry about you.”
“I’m—” I opened my mouth to protest again, only to be hit with a wave of dizziness and nausea. “Fuck. Okay. Take care of Danny.”
“We will,” he promised me as the crew of EMTs finally arrived on the scene. In the background, various media types were yelling questions. It was exactly the sort of circus Danny had wanted to avoid this whole time. Shit. I’d kept him safe from the knife, but I couldn’t protect him from the coming media storm.
My stomach rebelled, queasiness building, especially when I caught sight of my arm as the EMT and cop changed places. I’d done good but not good enough. I should have guessed sooner on the link to Danny’s reliance on deliveries rather than going out. Should have. Should. Have. My mouth felt packed with sawdust, and it was tough to get two thoughts together as they loaded me into the ambulance.
The ride to the hospital and reception at the ER passed in a loud whirl of voices and medical sounds and increasing pain in my arm and head. Then time slowed to a crawl while the medical powers that be decided to have a look at my head in some sort of MRI contraption after my arm was stabilized to their liking. They shot me full of numbing meds for the stitches, and I could already tell I was going to hate life when they wore off.
After the MRI, a young uniformed officer was waiting to take my statement about exactly what I’d seen and when and what my intent was when I tackled the kid. I tried to be patient with the cop, but the whole time, I just wanted to be wherever Danny was.
“Is Danny okay?” I asked the cop, who rolled his spindly shoulders. He was young and brash, dismissing my concerns with a lazy gesture.
“Think so. He was still with McIntyre last I knew, but his lawyer’s with him.” That brought me little peace of mind, but the guy didn’t let me ask any follow-up questions, instead frowning and inquiring, “So, what exactly is your position on the payroll?”
Fuck. This was not some sleepy little mountain town. If I said boyfriend on the record, every news outlet in the region was going to run with the story. The mother of all clusterfucks.
“I’m doing a favor for his brother’s security firm.” I went with the brass tacks version of the truth that stripped away everything that had happened the last week. Guilt made my nausea return. This was the best answer for the official record, but I didn’t feel great about it, especially knowing that the cops would probably turn right around and ask Danny to verify what I said. And sure enough, the officer said as much as he wrapped up the seemingly-endless questions.
