“Over here,” Nicola yelled.
Kara waved her arms beside the car. “Follow me,” she yelled. “You’re gonna need the stretcher. Opiate overdose.”
One of the EMTs pulled open the ambulance doors and started unloading the gurney. The other one walked up to the guy with the video camera as he tried to get to his feet and pick up the camcorder at the same time.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to move your truck.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to fuck off,” the guy spat.
“Sir, obstructing an ambulance is an offense. Don’t make me arrest you.”
“You can’t arrest me, you fucking failed doctor.”
The EMT hauled off and punched the paparazzo in the mouth. The guy spun backward in a spray of spit and blood.
The EMT went to the Escalade, put it in neutral, and pushed it slowly backward off the road. It rolled slowly at first, the EMT grunting loudly. Then its wheels began the downhill slope away from the road, and the EMT moved away. The truck rolled down until it hit an old oak tree with a loud crash.
A cop car pulled up.
The commotion had caught the attention of the paparazzi waiting to get into Prairie Blossom. They were leaving their cars and grabbing their equipment from backseats. They began to race toward the ambulance, and the police met them halfway, yelling at them to stop.
The gurney wheeled down to the Tercel, and the EMTs pulled Seamus out.
When the crowd caught sight of him, their cries became deafening, and a barrage of flashbulbs burst over the scene like constant lightning.
“This is a police line,” one of the cops yelled. “We need you to stand back.”
The EMTs loaded Seamus onto the gurney. One of them shone a light into his eyes and took his pulse. He ripped an EpiPen out of his bag and plunged it into Seamus’s chest. Seamus’s eyes flew open.
“Turn the bus around,” one EMT said to the other, who bolted to the front of the ambulance.
Nicola pushed to Seamus’s side. She grabbed his hand.
“You’re gonna be okay,” she said. “We made it.”
“No we didn’t,” he said, his eyes rolling into his head.
Nicola panicked. The EMT touched her arm. “He’s going to be fine, miss,” he said.
The driver backed the ambulance up to the front of the Tercel and got out. He opened the doors again toward them.
“Sir, we’re going to move you to the ambulance now,” the EMT said. Both men pushed the gurney along the uneven blacktop, with Nicola and Kara forming a human barricade against the camera lenses pointed at them.
Two paparazzi broke through the police line. They ran to the other side of the gurney, shooting off flashes at a blinding rate.
“Seamus, what’s going on?” one of them yelled in his face.
“Seamus, who’s this? Is this your secret girlfriend? What’s her name?” yelled the other.
The movie star looked into Nicola’s eyes and a tear spilled sideways down his face. He mouthed, “I’m sorry.” Then he raised his hand at the cameras and yelled, “You fucking animals, leave her alone. She’s not my girlfriend, she’s my fucking publicist.”
The gurney slid up into the ambulance. One EMT climbed in with Seamus, and the other pulled the doors closed, and seconds later the ambulance pulled away.
Nicola turned around, staring into shards of white light punctuated by tiny red bursts. She took a deep breath. “Okay, publicist, what fucking happened?” snarled an old guy at the front of their ranks.
Nicola took another deep breath, cleared her throat, and in the sudden silence that followed, she spoke.
“Seamus O’Riordan suffered an accident on the set of his movie tonight during sword training. He is suffering from a severe concussion and we are rushing him to the hospital to make sure it’s nothing more serious. Thanks for your concern, but we really need to get to the hospital, and these lovely policemen are going to make sure you can’t follow us.”
The crowd started yelling angrily. The old man in front stepped toward Nicola, and one of the policemen raised his arm to hold him back.
“So tell us one more thing,” the old guy barked. “Tell us the truth—you’re the secret girlfriend, right? You’re Seamus’s secret girlfriend!”
She froze for a second, and Kara nudged her with an elbow.
“No, sir, you’re wrong. I’m Nicola Wallace, his publicist.”
CHAPTER 35
YOU’RE GLOOMY TODAY, NICOLA THOUGHT. She looked at herself quickly in the rearview mirror of her brand-new Audi A6 and saw that her mouth was set a little harsh. She took a deep breath. She was nervous. The Tercel would never have made it up this hill.