All I Need (Hearts of the South) (31 page)

Emmett and Walker let Stringham walk between them and take the lead toward the door, closing into a V formation behind him. The line of Stringham’s shoulders was impossibly tight, and instinct tickled to life in Emmett. He moved his hand to rest directly on the Taser’s butt.

Walker frowned. “Jake, drop the bottle.”

They hadn’t kept him off balance, and he was too close as they approached the door. The realizations sank in at the same moment Stringham swung the bottle into Emmett’s jaw.

Pain exploded above his chin. Emmett grabbed Stringham’s forearm and used the other man’s own momentum to bring him prone. Stringham’s body hit the dusty tile floor with a solid thud, and Emmett followed him down. Knee planted firmly on Stringham’s back, he pulled the forearm back and cuffed one wrist. Walker used pressure points to guide Stringham’s other hand back and Emmett rasped the other cuff closed and double-locked them.

Blood dripped from the corner of Emmett’s mouth. He brushed his wrist over his lips, the weird taste and smell echoing in his nostrils. “Fuck.”

“Sorry.” Walker glanced up from a thorough search of Stringham’s person. “We gotta practice that.”

“Yeah.” Emmett leaned down and grasped Stringham’s belt. “Up.”

Working in tandem, they brought Stringham to his feet and propelled him through the door.

* * * * *

“It’s about to start back up, isn’t it?” Mackey passed his wrist across his forehead.

“Oh, yeah.” Leaning against the counter, Cook fiddled with the squelch on his handheld radio. “Ambulances are out on calls or transport, and our guys are bringing in at least three with medical complaints from the disturbance out at Spirits.”

“Spirits?” Savannah glanced at Mackey and dropped the chart onto the stack already waiting. They’d had two burn victims from a kitchen grease fire on top of three teenagers with minor injuries following a traffic accident.

“Dive bar out on Highway 3.” Cook frowned, listening to the low buzz of calls on the radio. “We get at least a couple of calls a month out there.”

The back door slammed open, and a wave of auditory pandemonium rolled in. Oh, hell, no. Not in her ER.

She and Mackey spun toward the door, his scowl matching hers. They hadn’t even made it into the hallway yet, and the noise was crazy. A male voice, oddly familiar, yelled obscenities and threats.

“What the hell?” Cook strode toward the door, Savannah and Mackey at his heels. Layla came running down the hall.

Rob entered, escorting a wailing woman. Face tight, he jerked his head toward her. “Thirty-one-year-old female. When she can keep a breath, she’s blowing a .43.”

“Shit,” Cook breathed. Savannah got it. At a .43, the woman shouldn’t even be conscious, let alone walking and screaming.

“Layla.” Mackey pointed. “Exam two.”

“Let’s go.” Layla helped Rob guide the hysterical patient toward the exam room.

“If I lose my job over this, I’ll fucking kill you.” That almost-recognizable male voice again, drawing nearer.

“Man, shut up. You’re giving me a headache.” Emmett propped the door open with his foot, and he and his partner propelled before them a handcuffed man, disheveled and bleeding from a laceration at his brow. Savannah frowned as recognition clicked into place. Jake Stringham, Rob’s former friend, the one who’d made a play for Amy the year before.

Her attention zeroed in on Emmett. Blood spattered his collar, and an ugly cut bisected the corner of his mouth.

“Twenty-seven-year-old male. Complaining of chest pains and shortness of breath.” Heavy sarcasm laced Emmett’s tone. “BAC is .12.”

Cook indicated Emmett’s face with a finger. “What happened to you?”

“Mr. Stringham thought I’d go down with one hit to the face.” Emmett shook his head, disgusted. “As if. And if I had, it’s not like he could outrun Troy Lee or Chris, who was right outside.”

Cook glanced outside. “I’ll help Walker with him. Go help Troy Lee with Harry.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mackey’s brows lifted. “Harry Nix?”

“Yeah.”

“Mills, you can have that one. I’ll take care of Mr. Stringham.”

Somehow, she knew she was getting the shaft on this one. She caught Emmett’s gaze. “Exam four.”

“Meet you there.”

The man he brought in was thirty-four and had a seriously broken nose. He was also seriously intoxicated and half-crying, half-raging. Mucous mixed with the blood flowing from his nose. He resisted Emmett’s hold on his belt. “Ain’t nobody touching my nose. I want to see Tanya. We gotta work this out.”

Savannah snapped on a pair of gloves. She opened her mouth to ask the man’s name, but Emmett forestalled her.

“Harry, sit down and shut up. Nobody wants to hear your shit. You keep taking her back when you know she’ll only do it again. Live with it or leave.” Even with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, Emmett exuded authority. Savannah passed him a couple of pieces of gauze and pointed at his lip. “Right now, you’re going to sit there and let Dr. Mills treat you. Give her a hard time, and I’m going to give you a hard time. Remember, you
owe
me.”

“Aw, Emmett, that was an accident. I was drunk. I wasn’t even aiming for you.” Harry scowled, but he subsided onto the exam table, hands in his lap, like a recalcitrant schoolboy scolded by a teacher. “You holding a grudge?”

“Your accident almost killed me.” Emmett pulled the gauze away from his mouth, glanced at the blood, and grimaced. He rested his shoulders against the wall and pulled his phone from his belt. “Yeah, there’s a smidgen of a grudge.”

This was the guy who’d shot him? Savannah darted a surprised glance at him, but he was focused on entering report information into his phone.

“Don’t know why she does this.” Harry was the picture of dejection. “I’m good to her.”

“It’s not you, Harry.” Emmett tapped with one thumb, the other hand keeping pressure at his mouth. “It’s her.”

“Figured you’d get it because of your mom and dad.”

Emmett’s eyes closed, but the angle of his head kept Harry from seeing. “Yeah. I get it.”

Thanks to medical glue, cleaning and treating Harry’s minor lacerations didn’t take long. The broken nose was a different story, requiring a manual realignment. As she was finishing an aspiration of Harry’s septal hematoma, Walker appeared in the doorway. “Parker is here to transport.”

“We’re almost done.” She packed the nostril and fitted an external splint. Once Walker had escorted him from the room, Savannah cleared her materials away and wiped down the counter. She glanced at Emmett, who’d moved to the chair to finish his report once Harry calmed down. “Jake hit you?”

He indicated his lip. “Son of a bitch sucker punched me with a beer bottle.”

Savannah settled on the rolling stool and stripped off her gloves to don a fresh pair. “Haley, why don’t you see if Mackey or Layla need you? I’m going to make sure he doesn’t need stitches.”

“No problem.” Haley exited, leaving the door partially open.

Emmett tucked his phone in its pouch on his belt. “You are not putting stitches in my mouth.”

“Shut up and let me look.” She pushed his thighs apart and scooted the stool between his knees. Her own knee bumped his inner thigh. He jittered his right leg, his breathing seeming to come harder and faster. She rested gentle fingers on his lip, eyeing the laceration that bisected the corner of his mouth. She checked along his chin and jaw, seeking any signs of a fracture and finding none. “You’re vibrating.”

“Hyped up on adrenaline and testosterone.” His voice lowered to a rough whisper. “You’re touching me, all I can smell is you, and I’m trying to remind myself fucking you right here would be a bad idea.”

She pulled back to look into stormy blue eyes. “Oh.”

The images his words evoked tumbled through her mind—scrubs discarded, his uniform left on, his hard body filling hers over and over. She cast a rueful glance at the exam table behind them, and he hissed in a breath that had nothing to do with pain.

“Dear Lord, Savannah, I can’t know you’re thinking about it too.” He glanced away, one hand flexing on his thigh. “It’s not worth the grief if we get caught.”

She touched his lip with a gentle finger. “Later.”

“Oh, yeah.”

She pulled it together. This was so not the place, even if he was so the guy. “A couple of stitches would help that heal better and probably keep it from getting infected. I can put in small, tight ones, using soluble thread, and you’ll hardly know it’s there.”

Walker wandered back in, resting his shoulders against the wall to watch her work. She cleaned the area with saline, injected a local and waited. With Emmett’s words echoing in her ears, all she could smell—well, beyond the familiar disinfectant and sharp scent of saline—was him, a layer of sweat and male over a hint of soap.

Stitching him up shouldn’t be intimate, but it was, with his knees bracketing her thighs and his breaths playing across her wrists above the gloves. His gaze lingered on her face like a touch.

She tied off and clipped the third stitch. Eyeing her work, she touched his lip with her thumb. “The stitches dissolve in five to seven days. Nothing to eat or drink until the local wears off.”

He remained silent, and she lifted her gaze to find his eyes on her. They burned with hunger, but obviously eating and drinking were not his concern.

For what he wanted, she doubted she’d be able to make him wait until the local wore off.

And if she was completely honest, she didn’t want to make him wait.

She swallowed hard. “I’ve got to disposition at least one patient before I go. What do you have left?”

It was weird, with Walker standing there, and Emmett looking at her like he could eat her alive.

“Booking paperwork. Shift report.” His voice was a husky rasp. “I’ll meet you at home.”

Anticipation crowded out any weariness. She worked through her remaining tasks and, finally free, pulled in a deep breath of cool, damp night air as she descended the ER steps.

He waited, leaning against his truck parked a few spots away from her car. She feathered a hand through her hair, fatigue dragging at her but not extinguishing the lingering ripples of desire. “I thought you were meeting me at home.”

“Let’s ride out to the lime mine.” He didn’t smile, prodding the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue as though trying to grow accustomed to the unfamiliar feel of stitches.

Her pulse picked up. “Let’s.”

He pushed away from the vehicle and opened the driver’s door to usher her inside. She slid to the passenger seat. The drive only took minutes, her anticipation building with each mile.

Clouds obscured the stars and moon, but even with the sky dark, the pit yawned darker than the surrounding night. Somehow, the unknown had lost its unsettling unease and the dark was heavy with promise.

Once he killed the engine, he exited the vehicle, leather gear belt creaking. He extended a hand, and she let him tug her from the cab. She stepped close, the smell of him filling her awareness. “Still hyped up?”

“Yep.” He tangled a hand in her hair and pulled her nearer. “Okay with hard and fast?”

In answer, she grasped his lapels and leaned up to kiss him. A groan rumbled in his throat, and he cupped her ass, grinding her into him before he winced. She pulled back, stroking just below his stitches. “I’m sorry.”

“Uh-uh. I like a little hurt sometimes.” He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her scrubs and eased them down. “Lets me know I’m alive.”

She gave up on figuring out the complicated belt-over-a-belt configuration he wore and focused instead on shedding her shoes and scrub pants, which she folded over the back of the truck. The damp grass was smooth and cool under her bare feet. He unsnapped the top belt holding all his duty gear and placed it on the front seat, then reached for his belt buckle.

That one she could handle. Fingers folded into his waistband, she pulled him nearer, then fumbled his belt and fly open. He shoved the truck door closed and backed her against it. He pushed up her scrub top to rub his thumbs across her nipples inside her satin bra. The smooth abrasion sent desire zinging between her legs. He was already hard, and she curved a hand around his erection, sliding from base to tip and back again. Her reward was the throaty sound she loved, somewhere between a gasp and a harsh sob.

She leaned in, still stroking him, and bit at the uninjured part of his lower lip. “Did I mention my blood tests were as clean as yours?”

“Holy fuck.” He surged against her hand, and she laughed, swiping her thumb over the damp head of his erection. He slipped his hands under her thighs, lifting her against the door. Her breasts pressed against the rigidity of his bulletproof vest covering his chest, and polyester scratched at her thighs.

And she’d thought the way he walked in uniform was sexy.

Anticipation lay heavy in her belly. She wrapped herself around him. “Do not drop me.”

Hips pinning hers, he placed himself at her entrance and drove home. “How many times do I have to tell you I won’t let you fall?”

Caught between cool metal and warm male thighs, she burned. The angle allowed for short, stabbing thrusts, his pubic bone rubbing her clit on each stroke.