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“Ma’am?” he called out. He would have liked to have kept his voice as quiet and calming as possible, but sirens were still whining, and cars were whizzing past on the other side of the freeway.
The woman didn’t appear to have heard him. She was staring at the scene before her as though unable to comprehend it.
Jonathon put his gun away. He didn’t think she was a threat, and even if he’d read her wrong, there were enough cops on the scene with guns to neutralize her if the need arose.
“Ma’am,” he said again, moving toward her.
Up close she looked frail and vulnerable. She was thin—a little too thin. Her skin was as white as freshly fallen snow, and out in the cold—for which she wasn’t properly dressed—it looked nearly translucent. She had enormous green eyes, which would have been beautiful if they weren’t dulled by shock. Her hair hung several inches past her shoulders and shimmered like gold as it caught the late afternoon sun. His heart did a strange little pitter-patter. She was gorgeous. Before he got too carried away, his gaze was drawn to her bloody neck. There was a gash—maybe five inches long—which looked deep enough to need stitches. Blood had poured down her neck, soaking her china blue sweater, but the bleeding appeared to have slowed—or maybe even stopped completely. She had probably received the wound shortly before the car chase began.
His movements seemed to capture her attention, and she turned toward him in extreme slow motion. For a moment, her face was blank, but then her eyes began to clear a little. Shock faded to fear, and her mouth moved, but no sound came out.
“Ma’am, I’m here to help you. Can you tell me who hurt you?”
She took a stumbling step toward him. “He has a gun,” she whispered.
As her words hit him, his gaze snapped from the woman to the car, knowing instinctively that whoever hurt this woman was still in there. Jonathon had time to yell a warning to his colleagues then fling himself at the woman, tackling her to the ground, before gunfire filled the air.
Using his body as a shield, he pressed her down, keeping her firmly in place and out of the line of fire. They were virtually sitting ducks here. They were right beside the car, guns firing on either side of them, and he couldn’t get to his gun without leaving the woman vulnerable. She felt small beneath him; her whole body was trembling. Jonathon could practically feel the bullets flying above him from the still-open driver’s door of the car. His colleagues returned fire, but he heard several grunts of pain and knew that people were being hit. Helpless to do anything about it, all he could do was stay where he was, protect this woman, and pray that none of the cops on the scene were badly hurt.
Eventually, everything stopped.
The woman hadn’t tried to fight him off, and he didn’t move a muscle until he heard confirmation that the shooter was down. Slowly, he levered his body off hers. Her eyes were closed, and she didn’t acknowledge him in any way. Concerned that she may have hit her head when he’d knocked her to the ground, he quickly ran his hands over her scalp. He didn’t find any bumps, and when he brought his hands away, he didn’t see any blood. Her head might not be bleeding, but the tackle seemed to have caused the wound on her neck to start gushing again.
Yanking a handkerchief from his pocket, he pressed it to the cut and yelled over his shoulder, “I need an ambulance!”
“Already on the way,” Allina dropped down beside him. “Is she okay?”
“In shock, I think,” he replied. “Ma’am, can you hear me?”
The woman gave a tiny nod of her head.
Relieved that she was at least conscious, he tried to question her further. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Clara.”
The word was whispered so quietly, he hardly heard her. “Are you hurt any place else, Clara?” He had no idea what else the man who’d obviously carjacked her had inflicted upon her.
“Is . . . is . . . is he . . . dead?” Her eyes fluttered open to stare up at him imploringly.
He glanced sideways. The shooter was slumped half outside the car. The top of the man’s head—what was left of it—was resting on the road. A bullet had entered through his left eye and taken half his face with it. That was not a sight Clara needed to have seared in her mind, so Jonathon surreptitiously maneuvered himself so he fully blocked her view of the shooter’s body. “He’s dead,” he assured her.
A long sigh escaped her lips, and her eyes fell closed again.
“Clara, an ambulance is coming, but I need to know if you're hurt anywhere else,” he prompted since she had neglected to answer him.
Perhaps she wasn't even aware of any injuries she might have—she was clearly badly shaken up. When again she offered no response, he took it upon himself to run his hands up and down her body in search of injuries. Clara didn’t protest, nor did she wince at his movements. She was beginning to shake in earnest now—a combination of shock and cold, he presumed. There wasn't much he could do about her going into shock; the paramedics would deal with that when they got here, but he could at least wrap her up in some blankets and put her in his car. Shrugging out of his jacket, he eased her shoulders off the ground and slid it under her, then buttoned it up in front.
“I’m going to take her to the car,” he told Allina.
His partner nodded then hurried to their car, opening the back door, then the trunk where she retrieved some blankets. Jonathon gently hooked his arms under Clara’s knees and behind her back and scooped her up. As he stood, he took in the scene for the first time. There were three cops down; two were sitting up and talking, but one looked serious. A stray bullet must have caused a car on the other side of the freeway to crash, or the driver had been distracted by all the shooting and hit a pole. Four people stood around the vehicle, none appeared to have sustained more than minor injuries.
Carrying Clara to the car, he slid into the backseat and settled her on his lap. The idea of leaving her alone never even entered his mind. Nor did the idea of simply setting her down and sitting beside her. It was purely practical, he assured himself. She was cold, and his body heat would help to warm her. It had nothing at all to do with the initial jolt of attraction that had shot through him the moment he’d gotten close to her.
“Here you go.” Allina passed him the blankets and gave him a look he decided he didn’t want to decipher.
Wrapping Clara in the blankets, he tucked her head under his chin and tried hard not to like it when she snuggled closer.
* * * * *
