Hit 'N' Run (Under Suspicion #1) (28 page)

Holding it in the tips of her fingers, she looked behind her at where Tim struggled to his feet. She grabbed Mitch by his uninjured shoulder. “He’s coming back.”

“Stay with me now, Lorna,” his strong voice sounded weak but calm. “Slide that in here.” He tilted the weapon towards her.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Come on now,” he said, his blue eyes intent. “Focus. You can do this.”

She nodded. Her left hand formed around his to steady the movement while she slid the magazine home. It was then she saw Charlie Fong emerge from the other side of the clearing, making a mad dash for the chopper that hovered close. He needed to go only feet before the helicopter tipped to pick him up.

Expecting Mitch to shoot at Tim as he came closer, she was surprised when he pushed himself up and took careful aim at the helicopter that was brazenly landing in the clearing.

Smoke billowed just after the reports of the shots sounded, showing where the bullets found their intended target. The machine circled, tilting this way and that before coming to a full stop.

At that moment, Mitch collapsed, his eyes rolling back in his head.

Crawling forward, she grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him onto her lap. She brushed his hair back from his face. “No,” Lorna shouted as another chopper flew low overhead and the small clearing came alive with police officers. “No, Mitch. Please no.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

The man she loved lay limp in her arms. They were forgotten. An island of desolation. Tim had crashed and disappeared from her line of sight. Cops and helicopters surrounded them as though they were forgotten parts of the landscape. So many people filled the clearing, all with a purpose other than to help her and Mitch. She had a vague awareness of seeing both Tim and Charles handcuffed and taken to one helicopter as another landed. Lorna bowed her body over Mitch’s face, shielding him as best she could from the flying dirt and debris scattered by the rotor blades.

Uncertain where he was hit and scared to lift her fingers to his neck for a pulse, Lorna skimmed her lips across his pale cheek. “Come back to me, Mitch, please,” she begged. “You can’t leave me now. I’ve never even had a chance to tell you how much you mean to me.”

Tears, long unshed, flowed free as she rocked back and forth, unconcerned with the activity surrounding her. Reaching for his arms, splayed wide like eagle’s wings from his body, she laid the left across his wide chest, picking up the right to hold his limp fingers against her face. Turning her lips to his palm, she ached to again feel their strength surrounding her. To know someone was there to protect her. Someone she could trust. Ready to relinquish control, she didn’t want to be the strong one anymore. She longed to just let herself be and allow him to hold her close and tell her everything would be okay.

Placing his one hand on top of the other, she linked her fingers with his, feeling the slight rise and fall of his chest. The relief of his breathing was tempered by the amount of blood smeared across his shirtfront and his beautiful closed eyes. There wasn’t even a flutter to indicate consciousness. Bowing her head, she chanted, “Please, Mitch. Please come back to me. I can’t lose you again. I love you.”

Angry at a fate that would again dare to try to take someone she loved from her, she lifted her head to stare into his colorless face. “Do you hear me, you bastard?” she yelled above the fray and noise of the police surrounding her. “I love you.”

She searched his face for some—any—recognition of her voice. Life.

“Please. I can’t lose you.” She wept quietly, cradling him close with his head nestled in the shelter of her neck, much as she had cuddled Kris so many times.

His body stiffened, and a cough wracked his body. She jerked her head back, searching his face as she balanced the heavy bulk of his shoulders on her lap. His lids fluttered. “I-I h-hear you,” he whispered, barely audible.

Cupping his scruffy cheek in her palm, she could no longer see as pools of tears swam, an ever-present torrent in her eyes, constricting her throat.

His lips quirked slightly on one side, “Y-you’re s-so, so…”

Suddenly, arms were under her elbows, lifting her away as the paramedics arrived on scene to tend the fallen officer. “No,” she moaned, trying to get back to Mitch.
What was he going to say?
What if these were her last moments with him, the last thing he ever said to her. “No.”

“It’s okay, Miss. Let the paramedics do their job.” A rugged faced man with kindly eyes leaned close. “They’ll take good care of him.”

“You don’t understand.” She turned to the great big man. “He’s saying something. I have to hear.”

A small nod had her back on her knees, bending low over Mitch to hear. “So what?” she prompted.

The other side of his lip quirked, and she could see the echo of his boyish charm surfacing through the dead white of his face. “S-so,” he sputtered, closing his eyes as another cough shook forcefully from his body and the paramedics started to remove his coat, assessing where he was damaged. “F-forceful.”

With the cuffs of her hands, Lorna swiped the tears away. “What?”

Time was up. The medics worked fast. Stripped of his upper clothing, both pant legs sliced from ankle to hip, the paramedics placed Mitch on a litter and began to cart him towards the waiting medevac.

With a blanket draped over her shoulders, Lorna was assisted to her feet as the same officer took her by the elbow to escort her to the air ambulance.

“What did he say?” the officer asked as they waited just aside of the wide doorway to allow the team of three to get him inside to continue their assessment of Mitch, inserting an intravenous.

Stunned, Lorna turned her focus towards the man at her side. “That I was forceful?”

Further shocking her, the officer let out a hoot of laughter. “That’s so Mitch. Take the right opportunity and say the wrong thing. Good sign, though. If he’s saying all the wrong things, he must be going to be okay.”

“What?” She was confused now. “You know him? Why would you say that?”

“Yeah, you could say I know him. Know him well enough if this was it, he’d say all the right things for once,” the beefy man replied with merriment alight in his eyes. “I’m his partner, Hank.”

“Oh.”

“But you’d have to be, right?” Hank assessed her from head to toe. “Forceful, I mean, to survive this. Tenacious, just like our Mitch there.”

A paramedic had arrived at her other side, leading her towards another cot. “But…” Words were getting harder to form as she allowed the medic to strap her in after he inserted an IV.
What chemical concoction is in this? I can’t think. I’m suddenly drained
.

“It’s okay. We’re here, and you’re going to be okay,” the young medic reassured her as she reached a hand back for Hank.

“What is it?” the big man asked, squeezing her hand, his eyes kind for such a hard face.

“But what if that’s the last thing he ever says to me?”

“No.” His face crinkled. “He’s going to be just fine. Don’t you worry ’bout a thing. Mitch is a survivor.”

The ability to keep her eyes open was seeping from her control. All she could do was nod, feeling comforted by his words.

“Like you,” was the last thing she heard before passing into blissful unconsciousness.

***

Regaining awareness with a start, he croaked. “Lorna.”

“What?” The female’s reply was a far cry from Lorna’s voice.

The last thing he remembered was her teary, shocked face hovering over him, telling him something.
What?
It was important.
What did she say?
He had to know. “Lorna,” he breathed again before a spasm rumbled up through the depths of his lung, requiring release.

“Have some water,” the woman said, sliding a cool hand beneath his neck, slipping a straw between his lips. “You’ve been through some major trauma, young man. They operated right away. You need your rest. I’m sure your wife will be here just as soon as she can be.”

“She’s not—” he sputtered and stopped, opening his eyes to marvel at the girth of the woman leaning over him.
But she should be
.

“That’s it,” she cooed, lowering his head back to the pillow, pulling the straw from between his parched lips. “Just enough to wet your whistle.”

Lorna? His wife?
His memory flared with visions of her face, hair a matted mess, face scratched. How she sobbed over him, telling him—what? She loved him.
She told me she loved me. At long last, she told me.
Thrilled, his heart soared and he could no longer be restrained in bed.
What did I tell her?
He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. He had to see her. He had to get out of this godforsaken bed to see her.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” the matronly nurse asked as she pushed him gently but firmly back against the pillows. “I told you to lie back.”

“I’ve got to see Lorna,” his voice sounded weak to his own ears.

“I told you. She’s probably on her way.”

I wonder what that would be like?
Married to Lorna? Never a dull day, he was sure.

“If you just lie back, I’ll go check.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, grabbing the woman’s thick forearm. “She’s not my wife.”

“Okay,” she soothed. “That’s fine. I’ll go to the nurse’s desk to ensure she’s been notified. I’m sure she’ll come as soon as she can.”

“No, no.” He shook his head, causing ice-like shards of pain to shoot through his temples. “She’s here already, and she should be my wife. I have to tell her.”

He must have been causing quite a commotion for at that moment—the door banged open and Hank pushed his way through, on full alert. “What’s wrong?” Hank addressed Mitch’s caretaker.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” she responded curtly. “Now go back to manning your post.”

“You sure?” Hank’s sudden grin at the obvious situation—escaping patient—Mitch and the nurse in turn. “He’s a handful at the best of times.”

“I’m sure he is.” She retained one hand on Mitch’s chest while turning her substantial form more fully towards Hank. “But I’ve got it under control.”

“Doubt that.” Hank laughed outright, now moving to the other side of Mitch’s bed. “I’ve gotta tell ya, if you’ve the magic formula for handling this guy, I’ve a Chief who’d pay good money for that recipe.”

Unamused by the banter, Mitch turned his attention to his partner. “Lorna?”

“She’s down at the station,” Hank said, clasping Mitch’s shoulder. But Mitch would not give ground and lie back down. “They checked her out here, and I took her down to the depot myself. She won’t be long.”

“Station? What? After all she’s been through? That’s—”

“Oh, there now,” the nurse interrupted, straightening up by his bed to lay her hands on her well-rounded hips, rocking back on her heels. “You see. Nothing to worry about.”

Directing her gaze to Hank, she continued, “The young man has been quite concerned about his wife.”

“His wife?”

“No, not my—”

The nurse cut him off. “That’s right.” She shook her head. “Not yet, is what you said.”

“Planning to propose in your pajamas?”

Hoping the glare he alternated between the two people hovering above his bed would be sufficient to shut them up, he ignored the pain in his shoulder and thigh to pull himself up to a sitting position. “I want to see her,” he said between gritted teeth.

“Do you now?” She was bending her face close to his. “You’ve lost a great deal of blood. They operated on your wounds. You’re to rest. If I have to sedate you, I will. Your choice.”

Slumping back against the pillows, he looked at his partner, who merely shrugged, crossing his arms across his ample chest, a grin spreading from ear to ear.

When the nurse turned back towards them in apparent victory, Mitch mouthed, “You bastard.” This served only to widen Hank’s smirk and cause him to chuckle as he exited the room.

***

Would this nightmare ever be over?

Why did her nose tickle?

Everywhere she turned her attention, she ached, but her nose tickled.

The droning of voices was bringing her back from wherever she had been. She struggled to open her eyes, to focus.

“Why is she still out?”

Is that Mitch? Can it be? He’s okay
. She moved her head from side to side and tried to talk. Her nose still tickled.

“Stop that,” came a sharp voice, and the tickle on her nose ceased. “Though her wounds may, by your standards as an officer, be considered superficial, her body’s taken quite a beating during her, ah…” the woman’s voice paused, searching for words. “During her ordeal, let’s say. Exhaustion combined with severe dehydration is serious and she has to recover.”

“How long?” It was Mitch again, and her heart soared. He sounded impatient.

“Listen, I’ve already provided a detailed summary to the other officer,” the woman’s voice was clearly frustrated by the interrogation. “The only reason I even let you in is because you’re also a patient. Not long.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be back after I make my rounds.”

A whooshing sound let her know the doctor had left, and the tickling of her nose started again. She moved her head to rid the sensation. “That’s it, sleepy head.” Mitch’s deep voice pierced her fog. “Come on now, show me those beautiful eyes.”

He thinks my eyes are beautiful?
Making a concerted effort, she opened first one, then the other, trying to pull him into focus. Her first vision of him made her mind reel. Pale and bandaged, he looked both horrid and wonderful at the same time.
He’s alive. And he’s here with me
. Her hand twitched and he scooped it up, holding it within his uninjured one, his other hand secured in a sling.

Mirth lit his deep eyes as he seemed to read her mind. “You’re no prize yourself.” He smiled, acknowledging her reaction to him. “But you’re here safe and sound, and that’s all that matters.”

She reached a heavy hand to her hair to smooth it, and he laughed outright, shaking his head. “Oh, yes, you’re a fine mess. I’m going to take pictures and post them on the Internet,” he continued, letting go of her other hand to illustrate a banner in the air. “Masterful marketing guru, Lorna Tymchuk, who never has a hair out of place, looks like a right disaster…”