Seconds to Live(19)
The red-white-and-blue strobe lights of a patrol car cut through the darkness. Stella briefed the responding officer and herded Mac to her car. He got into the passenger seat gingerly, and she bet he was hurt much worse than he would admit.
She leaned into the car. “I should put a pressure bandage on that wound.”
“It’s not that bad. Do you have a first-aid kit?” Mac lifted the hem of his shirt.
Stella got the kit from her trunk and slid behind the wheel. “Let me take a look at that.”
Mac waved her off and opened a stack of gauze pads. “Honest, I’ll be fine.”
Suddenly Stella remembered that Brody was with Hannah because her father was dying. Mac’s father!
She touched his hand. “Were you at the nursing home tonight?”
Mac deflated as a deep sigh eased from his chest. “My father passed away a short while ago.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He answered with a sharp nod, then turned to the window and studied the darkness. Had he been so upset by his father’s death that he hadn’t been thinking straight and had crashed his car? Visibility had been poor. He could have mistaken an animal in the road for a human. She hated to think of other possible causes of hallucinations.
She reached for his shirt and lifted it. Bandages already covered the side of Mac’s torso. Blood had soaked through the white gauze. His shirt and the bandages were soaking wet, and the tape was peeling off in places. His injury wasn’t new.
“What is this?” Stella’s anger flared again. She bit it back. Patience. But really, couldn’t this man be up-front rather than make her drag every bit of information out of him?
“Gunshot.”
Shock and concern bloomed fresh. “When were you shot?”
“Long story.”
So much for keeping her anger in check. What was Mac into?
She studied his profile. Despite his annoying habit of not telling her anything, she liked him. She’d found him smart, determined, and if she was totally honest, too damned good-looking for his—or her—own good. But as a cop, and maybe a loose friend, she needed to play hardball. His behavior was too odd, and his family had alluded to a past that included a teenage stint in a rehab facility.
She shoved the gear stick into drive. “I want you to submit to drug and alcohol testing.”
“OK.” No hesitation or surprise in his voice. Just pure resignation, as if her request was exactly what he’d expected. He went quiet for the rest of the drive.
Was that because he was innocent? Or guilty?
Fifteen minutes later, she parked in the ER lot. He opened the car door and stepped out into the humid night.
Stella got out of the car. “Eventually you’re going to tell me how you got that gunshot wound.” Among other things . . .
He shut the car door and walked away.
“Hold on.” Stella locked her vehicle and hurried to catch up. “I’m coming with you.”
And she wasn’t leaving him until she had some answers.
Chapter Eight
The ER was Wednesday-night slow, and Mac didn’t have to wait. An hour later, the doctor had finished restitching Mac’s wound.
He eased back onto the pillow in his hospital bed, his side blissfully numb from the local anesthetic. For the first time since he’d been shot two days before, Mac wasn’t split in two with pain. The downside of less physical discomfort was that the empty space left plenty of room for grief over the deaths of his father and Cheryl.
And the image of the woman lying in the rain was seared into his optic nerve. He couldn’t get it out of his head. Had he actually seen a woman, or had his mind summoned an image of Cheryl dying in the rain forest?
He was sure of one thing: he’d seen too much death in the past few days.
Sorrow came rushing back with a vengeance. Tension in his chest clamped around his lungs.
“Hello?” Stella’s voice sounded from the other side of the curtain.
Relieved at the distraction, Mac said, “Come in.”
The curtain shifted as she stepped up to the side of the gurney.
Stella Dane.
Her black slacks and blazer were damp and wrinkled. The downpour had destroyed her uptight bun. He knew instantly why she wore it up. Wet tendrils fell past her shoulders, framing her face and highlighting her gorgeous blue eyes. The shiny wave of black made a man want to plunge his fingers into it, cup the back of her head with both hands, take control of that serious mouth and kiss her until the cop in her eyes melted.
As far as distractions went, it didn’t get much better than Stella. The first time he’d seen her, she’d been in full uniform. No cop had ever made a uniform look like she had, but body armor had concealed her shape. The new look definitely did not.