Линси Сэндс - Meant to Be Immortal [calibre]

She was screaming for the men, shouting their names, CJ realized, and then it was like watching a film with pieces cut out. Julius, Decker, and Bricker were suddenly behind Marguerite as if appearing out of thin air. The men took in the situation at once and both Bricker and Decker charged on Jefferson, crossing the room in what seemed like a blink. But Julius stopped by his wife, and slid a supporting arm around her. Then CJ was distracted from what was happening in the room when Mac pushed himself up and to the side to get off of her.

“No!”

CJ’s gaze shot back to Marguerite at that screech. She saw the horror and dismay on her face and was briefly confused at what had caused it . . . until she looked down and saw the large black hole between her breasts and the blood soaking her shirt around it. Dear God in heaven, no wonder she couldn’t breathe, she thought faintly.

“Marguerite!” Julius’s voice, full of alarm, drew CJ’s attention again and she saw that Marguerite was hunched over now, clutching her large stomach, a grimace of pain on her face. Struggling to draw breath into her lungs, CJ eyed her worriedly for a moment, and then closed her eyes briefly before opening them again to gape down at her chest. There was so much blood, and the hole was huge. It— Wait, that wasn’t a hole, she realized as she was finally able to take a breath. It was the button of her shirt. She’d pulled on a casual white shirt with black buttons as large as quarters on it that morning.

Managing another labored breath, CJ pulled the material of the top of the blouse away from her skin and peered down at her chest beneath the cloth. Blood had soaked through, and painted her bra and chest red, but there was no wound that could have caused it. No reason for her to have had trouble breathing even. She must have had the wind knocked out of her when she’d hit the floor, CJ thought.

“But then where did the blood come from?” she muttered, and then realization struck and she turned sharply to Mac. He was lying facedown next to her, completely still. She couldn’t even see a hint of movement to suggest he was breathing.

Dragging herself upright, she grasped his shoulder and pulled him over onto his side and then onto his back and stared with dismay. Mac’s face was pale, and like her, his chest was blood soaked, but with his own blood. Obviously, the large dark red stain on her top had been transferral, because he really did have a hole in the center of his chest and there was no mistaking it. T-shirts didn’t have big black buttons on them.

Cursing, CJ staggered to her feet and stumbled into the bathroom for a towel and rushed back.

“Mac?” she said shakily as she dropped to her knees and pressed the towel to his wound. “Stay with me, honey. It’s going to be all right. Mac?”

When he groaned, his eyelids flickering, CJ could have wept with relief. He looked so pale and there was so much blood that for a minute she’d feared she’d already lost him. Pressing more firmly down on his wound, she looked around.

Julius had shifted Marguerite out of the doorway and was on his haunches next to where she sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. Her knees were up and spread, the skirt of her dress draping between them as she leaned forward between her knees, clutching her stomach and panting.

Good Lord, it looked like Marguerite was in labor, CJ thought, but was quite sure it was too early for that. By at least three months, but possibly by as much as four months. Damn Jefferson! If Marguerite lost her baby because of him—

“Has someone called an ambulance?” she asked anxiously, her gaze moving back to Mac.

“On it.” Decker’s answer drew her attention to the fact that he was standing with a cell phone to his ear next to where Bricker had Jefferson flat out on the floor. With nothing to tie up the officer, Justin was sitting on the man, holding both of his hands in one of his and glancing from Mac to Marguerite with worry.

“Did you hear that, Mac?” CJ said, bending to press a kiss to his cheek. “Help is on the way. Please hold on. Don’t die on me. Please,” she begged, her voice cracking.

“Help is on the way, Aunt Marguerite,” Decker said reassuringly a moment later. “Just hang in there.”

CJ glanced around to see him putting his phone away, and then looked at Marguerite again when she moaned. The woman was clutching her stomach protectively and rocking where she sat, her face contorted with pain and worry.

“Just breathe and try to relax, mi amata . It is your upset causing this. It is too early for the baby to come. You need to try to relax,” Julius said anxiously, brushing strands of her long hair off her face with the hand that wasn’t clasping hers. “Breathe with me.”

CJ watched with concern as Marguerite struggled to calm her breathing, and then turned her attention back to Mac and lifted the towel to see if the bleeding had slowed at all. But it was hard to see anything with the shirt in the way. Biting her lip, CJ hesitated, and then yanked his T-shirt up to get a better look at the wound. She had to wipe away the blood left behind from where it had soaked into the shirt, but a quick swipe of a clean portion of the towel did the trick, and then she found herself staring down at the hole in his chest. That was all there was to see. Blood did not bubble up to fill the hole and spill over the sides . . . which seemed odd to her. If it weren’t for the fact that she could now see his chest rise and fall as he breathed, she’d think he was dead. But he was definitely breathing. Still, it seemed weird that no blood at all was filling the hole in his chest, she thought, and bent closer for a better look. CJ stiffened when she saw what she thought was metal just an inch or two inside the hole.

“What kind of gun does Jefferson have?” she asked suddenly, resisting the urge to prod the hole and feel if it was actually the bullet she was seeing.

“A Glock 35,” Bricker answered. “Why?”

“Well, that can’t be the bullet, then,” she muttered. Glocks were powerful; the bullet would have gone deeper and— The bit of metal didn’t seem as far down in the wound as it had a moment ago, she realized, and leaned forward again, trying to get a better look. She could hear Bricker and Decker talking quietly with Julius, but her attention stayed glued on whatever it was she was seeing in Mac’s wound. She stared for the longest time and could swear she was actually watching it rising in the hole, though it was incredibly slow. Still, it was moving and was definitely metal. What the hell kind of bullet crawled back out of its victim? And why wasn’t there more blood?

She peered around again, hoping for some help or answers, but only Decker, Julius, and Marguerite were there now. The two men had helped Marguerite to her feet and were half walking and half carrying her to the bed. CJ watched them get her situated and then searched the room for Bricker and Jefferson, but they were gone. Guessing that Bricker had taken the disgraced officer out of the room to wait for the police away from the trauma he’d caused, she turned back to Mac.

The bullet, if that’s what the metal was, was only a quarter inch inside the wound now. If she’d had a pair of tweezers handy that were sterile, she could have plucked it out. CJ actually considered running to the bathroom for tweezers and alcohol to do just that, but wasn’t sure it was a good idea. What if the bullet was like a cork? Maybe it was being pushed out by a fountain of blood that would gush out like a geyser when the bullet was removed. Mac could bleed out in minutes if that’s what was happening. Maybe she should cover the wound and keep the bullet in instead. Dear God, she didn’t know what to do. So, she did nothing. She simply held Mac’s hand and prayed while she waited for help to arrive. She also did her best not to listen to the voice in her head that was telling her he would die, just as her parents had, just as her baby had . . . and she’d be alone again.