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While he waited, he turned in circles, wanting to move,needing to get to her, but not knowing which direction to go. She always used a car service as well to jet around the city. Had she been in an accident?
Come on, come on, come on. He shook the phone as if that would speed it up. Checked how many bars he had—they were full—and started hobbling down the sidewalk, because he couldn’t stand still any longer.
The maître d’ had recovered and rushed out the door, yelling at him about paying and the mess that he made inside. Demanding he come back.
Get to her. “Sorry! I’ll pay later!” He kept hobble-running away from the building.
The app’s GPS finally locked in, giving a softding. In that moment of sheer panic, it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.
Amelia was close. His head swiveled to the left, seeing a narrow path between the restaurant and the building next-door. It wasn’t big enough to even be an alley and the restaurant had placed a topiary there, hoping to keep people out.
It was the quickest way to get to where he needed to be. Rory pushed the large plant out of his way. The pot was so heavy, it simply tipped, sending dirt scattering over the sidewalk, and forcing Rory to climb over it.
His broad shoulders wouldn’t fit easily between the brick walls, so he had to turn sideways to squeeze down the cramped path. As he did so, he sent out a Code Yellow—the SFI version of SOS—to anyone in the area. The app told him the closest people were Parker Jeffries and Morris “Moe” Bouchard, otherwise known by his Rock Star codename, Henley.
The other end of the path opened up, and Rory’s insides dropped to his knees. He was in the alley behind the restaurant, and there was a figure on the ground.
“Amelia!” He hobbled as fast as he could to get to her. What was she doing here? Had the driver dropped her off in the alley?
Fucking idiot.
His cane slipped in a greasy spot and he fell, cursing as his knees hit the ground. He managed to accidentally boot the cane on the way down, and it spun out of reach, smacking into a wheel on the dumpster and disappearing under it. “Fuck!”
Hauling himself up, he barely registered a warm wetness running down one of his shins beneath his pants. The fabric had torn and the gritty asphalt had ripped open his skin.
He took a step, and his busted knee sent sharp pain up and down his leg. Without his cane he was off-balance and tumbled, banging into the dumpster and ricocheting off it.
His weak legs screwing him over, he ended up on all fours, unable to stay upright and balanced enough to walk. “Goddammit,” he swore violently under his breath, and then he started crawling. “I’m coming, Amelia.”
He repeated her name over and over again until he reached her side. “Shit. What happened? Talk to me.”
She didn’t so much as move and fear raced through him. He slammed the door on it and ran his now dirty hands over her, searching for an injury. His fingers came up sticky and wet when he touched the back of her skull, and he yanked out his phone to use the flashlight to get a better look.
“Oh no. No, no, no.” His guts turned to ice as the light illuminated her unconscious form. Taking in the amount of blood from the wound, he steeled himself to slip his fingers along her neck to find her artery.
Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Please, God, don’t let her be dead.
He held his breath, his own pulse creating a racket in his ears, his heart beating too hard. Squeezing his eyes shut, continuing his plea to whatever higher power might exist, he nearly cried out with relief when he felt a slow, but thready beat under his fingertips.
Ever so gently, he brushed a strand of hair out of her face. He was afraid to move her in case there was damage to the vertebrae in her neck or back, but he could see no other wounds, outside the obvious one.
Even as he checked her breathing, and managed to dial 911, he kept going over the questions beating against his brain like a timpani. Why the hell was she in the alley? Who had done this?
He desperately wanted to move her, to pull her into his lap to cradle her, but he’d seen his fair share of injuries in the field. Hell, he had experienced enough of his own to know better. He was no doctor, although he’d patched himself up numerous times to keep from ending up in the hospital and blowing his cover, and the best thing he could do right now was to slow the bleeding and make sure she stayed warm.
The next moments passed far too slowly as he covered her with his jacket, ever so gently pressed his handkerchief against the wound, and held her hand until Parker and Moe arrived. A squad car and an ambulance did as well within seconds after them, and he explained to everyone what had transpired.
It was damned little to go on.
The cops gave him the third degree while Parker retrieved his cane from under the dumpster and handed it back to him. The EMTs worked on Amelia in the light from the squad car, and one said, “You should get that knee checked out.”
He didn’t so much as glance down, his focus on Amelia as the medics gently placed her on a gurney. He started to follow them to the ambulance when the cop who’d been taking notes said, “You the guy who skipped out on your tab?” The asshole pointed at the back of the restaurant. “Sounds like you did a lot of damage in there, as well. I’m going to have to write up a citation.”
Moe typically annoyed the shit out of Rory, but tonight he was an angel in disguise. “I’ll take care of it. Come on, officer.” For whatever reason, he’d ditched his usual British accent and sounded a hundred-percent American. “The guy’s lady was attacked. You can’t tell me that under the same circumstances, you wouldn’t bust through walls to get to someone you loved.”
Parker jutted her chin towards the ambulance. “Go,” she told Rory. “We’ll handle this.”
On trembling legs, he busted his ass to catch up with the EMTs.
