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She gently unwraps Sharpe’s arm to inspect his shoulder, pressing and probing, which elicits a wince from him. “This was dislocated?”
He takes a deep breath. “Yes. My partner set it right after it happened.”
Janice nods as she continues her examination. “She did a good job. Can you move your arm?”
Grimacing in pain, Sharpe lifts his arm and moves it as Janice directs him.
“Good job.” She pulls out bandages and wraps his shoulder in a sling. “Now, let’s check for any torn muscles.”
She palpates his shoulder muscles, and he winces a few more times, despite Janice’s efforts to be gentle.
“I don’t think there are any major tears. Just some minor strains and bruises,” she finally announces. “You’re lucky. Rest should fix you up.”
He nods gratefully. “Thank you. How are the rest of my people?”
“They have a few scrapes and bruises. A couple are going back to the hospital for some oxygen, but nothing serious.” She gives him an admiring smile. “All of us appreciate the service you did today, and in the past. The news is already playing footage of that monster. I don’t know how you guys keep saving us from these things.”
“The same way you keep coming in to pick up the pieces when it’s over.” Sharpe grips her shoulder with his good hand. “It’s a team effort. We appreciate your service, too. You keep us on the streets.”
A blush rises in her cheeks. “Well, maybe you can take a break for a couple of days while your shoulder heals.”
Her gaze shifts to me. “Keep an eye on him, and make sure he doesn’t overexert himself. And give him some pain medication when you get a chance.”
I nod in agreement. “Will do.”
Janice stands and stows her equipment. “You’re good to go, Captain. Take it easy.”
Sharpe gingerly tests the sling before standing, the top of his head nearly brushing the roof of the ambulance.
I climb out ahead of him, then offer a hand to help support him as he awkwardly climbs down with only one arm for balance.
Noise and chaos fill the streets. Work trucks had dealt with the three-car pile-up, and cars had been towed to make room for the ambulances to get in.
Now, emergency vehicles and news vans fill all the gaps, blocking off the street. Reporters swarm close to the temporary barrier that had been erected, with cameras and microphones at the ready.
“Great,” Sharpe mutters, not thrilled about the impending media circus. “How are we going to get out of here?”
I squeeze his good shoulder. “We have a car parked around the block if we can push through the frenzy.”
We make our way over to the barrier on the left, where a smaller swarm of news people wait. Flint already stands in front of them, his beautiful face enthralling the interviewers.
As we step up next to him, the wave shifts, and questions fire at us as microphones are thrust into Sharpe’s face.
He keeps his responses brief as we push our way through, and I stay close to his left side, making sure no one gets close enough to jar his shoulder.
Finally, we break free from the media to find Marc with our borrowed sedan waiting on the other side. I hustle Sharpe into the front passenger seat before climbing into the back, followed closely by Flint.
The media people try to surround our car, but Marc taps the gas, making it clear we’re leaving, and they’ll either move or be run over.
The city’s lights flash by as we drive away from the scene, a blur of color and movement. Dusk had fallen while we waited to receive the all-clear from the paramedic.
I lean back in my seat, exhaustion washing over me as the adrenaline rush subsides, leaving me drained and craving rest.
Marc’s voice drifts over me as I close my eyes. “Mayn got your cruiser out ahead of the media and took it back to the station. O’Hara and Troy went with her.”
“I should return to the station.” Exhaustion fills Sharpe’s voice. “I need to assess how my people are doing.”
I rouse myself. “You’re supposed to take it easy.”
