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That was the last thought I had before I passed out.
“Francesca? Nem? Talk to me,” Wolfe demanded in the background.
A dark screen spilled over my eyes as my eyelids gave in. I wanted to answer him but couldn’t. I heard him slap his wheel.
“Damn it all to fucking hell. I’m on my way.”
I dragged my eyes to Smithy with whatever energy I had left. His head began to bob as the airbag shrank back, and he groaned in pain.
“She’s fine,” Smithy croaked. “Bleeding from her mouth and nose. Her eye doesn’t look too good, either.”
“Fuck!” Wolfe yelled.
Smithy unbuckled himself and reached across, unbuckling me, too.
“Should I…?” Smithy started at the same time Wolfe barked, “Yes. Draw your weapon. And if they get close to her, by God, kill the bastards before I do. Because I would be much less humane.”
I passed out after that.
It felt like a thick blanket of nightmares covered me, suffocating and scorching hot. I was there but not really.
I didn’t know how much time had passed.
The first thing I remembered were the blue and red police lights shimmering behind my closed eyelids, and Smithy explaining to the police officers that we didn’t see them, and that they took off without getting out of their vehicle.
Their license plate was missing, of course, but they were probably just punk kids who wanted to vandalize an expensive new car.
Then I felt Wolfe’s arms wrapping around me and carrying me, bridal-style, to an ambulance. He tucked me in a gurney and barked when someone else tried to touch me.
“Sir,” a male paramedic snapped, “we need to put a brace on her neck and strap her to a backboard to stabilize her in case of spinal injuries.”
“Fine. Be gentle,” he snapped.
When I opened my eyes, I noticed that Wolfe wasn’t alone. A chubby man in a fancy suit with a black mane stood next to him.
A paramedic shined a penlight into my eyes, patting my body and looking for any visible injuries. My forehead was bruised, and my entire face felt swollen and sore.
“If she lands in the ER, we’ll need to issue a statement,” the guy next to Wolfe was texting on his phone, still staring at it. “It’s going to look bad.”
“I don’t care what it looks like,” my husband retorted.
“When an airbag goes off, you have to go to the hospital. If you don’t, you have to sign an Against Medical Advice form. I would strongly suggest we just take her and get her checked.” I heard a soft female paramedic’s voice and blinked my eyes open.
She was an attractive woman in her late twenties, and I wondered, briefly, if my Lothario husband was going to put his schmuck in her, too.
Suddenly, I despised her, to a point I wanted to tell her I was feeling fine, just as long as she left us alone.
“Darling?” Wolfe probed, his fingers skimming my face gently. Too gently for me to even believe they were actually his. “We’re going to take you to the hospital.”
“No hospital,” I groaned into the palm of his hand. “Just…home. Please.”
“Francesca…”
“It’s fine. The airbags went off but didn’t touch us,” Smithy interfered.
“She’s going to the hospital,” Wolfe argued.
“Sir…” the man beside Wolfe tried to argue.
