Jill Shalvis - Serving Up Trouble

“Stop,” George said when she was on her knees, weaving wildly. “Don’t move again.”

A dizzy nauseousness rolled through her belly. “Not moving,” she said. She couldn’t move again, at least not without throwing up.

“I mean it,” he said in a light voice that he might have used to chat over tea. “I’ll shoot you in the thigh this time.”

Angie believed him. But at least she was up on her knees now, not helpless, and wouldn’t ever be again.

“George,” Sam said, continuing to look into Angie’s eyes with an expression that made her breath catch. “There’s one thing you’ve for gotten.”

“Of course there’s not,” he said, and for one flash took both his eyes and gun off Angie to glance at Sam.

Now, Sam’s eyes told her, and with every ounce of courage she had, she tossed herself to the side and out of the way. Someone screamed, but then her hearing faded.

Except for the scream, that is, which annoyingly enough, went on and on and on, echoing in her head.

Sam took a flying leap at George. They landed hard, and rolled.

And rolled.

Then the gun went off. Angie knew this because her hearing came back for that one explosion, then vanished again.

Then men were spilling into the room from the door, from the window, and her vision was blocked.

Surreal time took over, just like at the bank. She was jostled when Ellie started to struggle anew, her face red with rage.

Angie thought maybe she cried out because she hurt so badly. Sam. Where was Sam?

A uniformed man knelt by her, and though his mouth was moving, she couldn’t hear him.

Get out of my way, she wanted to say. I can’t see Sam.

But the pain crept up on her now and she couldn’t get rid of it, couldn’t speak. Only a few moments before, with the adrenaline pumping through her body, she’d been able to forget the pain for a few seconds at a time. Not now. It clawed through her like nothing she’d ever experienced.

“Sam,” she managed.

Someone, several someones, she thought fuzzily, urged her to lie down. One of them ripped the material at her shoulder, jarring her, and she cried out because, while she couldn’t hear and could hardly see, she sure as hell could feel, and her entire body was on fire.

Why was that again?

“It’s bad.”

“Keep her still.”

“I’m putting pressure on the wound.”

“Lots of blood.”

Then the men hunched over her were shoved aside, and Sam dropped to his knees with the most intense expression she’d ever seen on his face, and she’d seen plenty.

He was looking at her body, doing some thing, pressing in a way that made her stars dance faster, brighter. “Angie.”

Oh, that voice, she thought dreamily, feeling herself smile. She would never get tired of that voice. She closed her eyes to hear it better.

“Angie. God.”

She opened her eyes. “We did it, didn’t we? We caught the bad guys.”

“Yes. Oh, baby, I’m sorry.” His voice was lower than normal, and full of agony as he gently scooped her close to him with his free hand, the other still pressing hard near her collarbone.

“Don’t be sorry.” She pressed her nose to his throat. A nice sort of numbness was taking over. “I’m tired now.”

“No, don’t close your eyes. Talk to me. Angie, talk to me.” He hugged her tight and she sucked in a sharp breath as pain speared through her unexpectedly, reminding her fuzzy brain she had been hurt.

“Sam? Can you…call me baby again?”

“Baby,” he said. “Now stay awake if you want to hear me say it again.”

She smiled and drifted nicely on that for a while.

“Where’s the damn ambulance?” Sam shouted above her in the scary-cop voice.

Wasn’t that just like him. Hiding his fear with a shout. “I’m okay.”

“Don’t talk,” he demanded, then proceeded to yell orders at everyone around them.

“I just can’t believe it was Ellie and George.” Knowing that hurt almost as much as her body did.

“I know.” He pressed his mouth to her temple. “You were so damn brave, Angie.”

He thought she was brave.

His mouth was bleeding and he had a cut over one eye. From his tussle with George, she realized. His shirt was ripped, and she thought maybe he’d never looked more… hers. “You’re so pretty,” she whispered.

He looked down at her, at some thing below her neck, and paled. “Angie.”

“I want to marry you,” she said dreamily, picturing it in her head. “And have a son just like you.”

“Just be still,” he begged, looking terrified. “Don’t move.”

She figured it was the marriage thing that made him so pale. “I scare you, I know.”

“You’re scaring the hell out of me,” he agreed, his hands holding her still when she tried to sit up. “Now shut up. Can you do that while I try to get your bleeding under control?”

Oh, yeah. She’d been shot. She lifted her head, forced her eyes to focus and took a peek. “Oh…my.” Her entire torso was awfully red. Bright red. Her stomach rolled. “Is that…blood?”

Then she passed out before she could hear the answer.

Sam was already on his knees or he’d have fallen to them and prayed to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in anymore.

Instead, he continued applying pressure to Angie’s wound in spite of her moan of pain. “Don’t move,” he demanded, burying his face in her hair. “Hold on. You’ve just got to hold on.”

Luke hunkered at their side. “The ambulance is nearly here, sweetie,” he said to Angie. “Just take it easy for a moment, okay?”

She didn’t respond and Sam nearly had a coronary. “Angie? Talk to me.”

Nothing.

Bending closer, he rubbed his jaw to hers. “I love you, Angie. Please open your eyes.”

Her eyes remained closed. Lifeless. “Damn it, where is that ambulance?” he shouted.

“Here.” A medic appeared at his side, reached for her.

They started an IV and prepped a gurney while Sam sat there, gripping Angie’s lifeless hand in his, unable to take his eyes off her.

“She’ll make it,” Luke said.

He nodded, because anything else was unacceptable. He could hardly bear to look at her. It used to be he could hardly look at her because she was so happy, so full of life, so joyous she hurt him just by being.

Now it killed him to look at her so still, so pale, but he forced himself as they loaded her up, forced himself to keep his eyes on her as they left the office.

On the sidewalk outside, Ellie and George were being loaded into separate police cars.

George hesitated, looking down at Angie with sorrow. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“You got what you deserved,” Ellie said, her eyes cold as ice.

“So will you,” Sam promised.

For a moment, her detachment vanished. “You can’t prove anything.”

“We can prove everything,” Sam told her before turning away to watch Angie being loaded into the ambulance. He started to climb in after her, only to be stopped by a medic who looked barely old enough to vote.

“Sorry, sir.” The kid, a good eight inches shorter and nothing but a slim beanpole, swallowed hard. “You’ll have to catch another ride.”

“Move aside.”

“Sir, you can’t-”

“Bullsh-”

“I’ll drive you,” Luke said, hauling Sam back. “We’ll get there just as fast, trust me.”

Sam took one last glance at the closing doors on the ambulance and nodded.

The first time Angie opened her eyes, the overhead light hurt her eyes. Her body hurt, too; in fact, it felt as if a Mack truck had hit it. It was no problem at all to let sleep claim her again.