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Too deep.
Too close to something very, very dangerous.
“My purse,” I hissed out, trying not to move too much, planting my legs so he didn’t move me much either, knowing he could end me with just an accidental flick of his wrist. “It’s in my purse,” I told him. “On the desk.”
The blade moved away, not toward my skin, and the relief soared through me before I felt myself shoved.
And then I was falling.
Right onto the arm that was already aching.
I felt the snap, heard it, knew that if I made it, I would likely be facing a long recovery.
But I couldn’t think about that.
I had to think in the moment.
And at that moment, my attacker was running out toward where my purse was settled on the nurse’s station.
As for me, I was crawling on my legs and my good arm, cradling the bad one to my chest, right into the stock closet, locking the door, then kicking my legs up against the door as I braced my back on the wall.
My hand pressed into my throat, trying to gauge the amount of blood loss, how long I had to stay holed up in this room without getting help.
But he had the key to the medicine area.
And my wallet.
I didn’t carry a lot of cash on me.
But there was enough for a hit or two.
He was not going to hang around.
The pull of a solid high was going to overpower his desire to make sure I couldn’t identify him.
I sat there, tension in every muscle of my body, adrenaline soaring through my veins, too in shock to feel any of the pain anymore.
And all I could think about was him.
Not my attacker.
Seeley.
And how much, in that lowest of low moments, I wanted to see him more than anyone else. More than a police officer. More than a trained paramedic.
I wanted him.
With his kind eyes and his good heart and his intimate knowledge of what I would need when I was so down.
I blinked the tears out of my eyes, feeling them run down my cheeks as I finally unfolded my body, peeking out the door.
Seeing nothing, hearing nothing, I ran out, not pausing to reach for my purse, or the phone that was still off the hook.
I wanted out of the building.
I wanted to be out in public.
“Doc! Doc! What the fuck?” a voice called as I ran toward the street, screaming for help.
