Safe from Harm (Protect & Serve #2)(10)

“Now, about dinner,” he said as he fell into step beside her. “Should I pick you up at seven?”

She halted abruptly and turned toward him, her cheeks flushed with anger, but then her eyes suddenly went wide. “Gun!”

Gabe reflexively went for the weapon at his hip as he turned, simultaneously shoving Elle behind him to shield her with his body as he drew. But he wasn’t fast enough. He heard the repeated crack of the assailant’s gun at the same moment as pain exploded in his chest, the sound of the gunfire reaching him a split-second behind the actual impact.

What the fuck?

For a fraction of a second, he was confused by the sudden blow that stole his breath. But then the truth hit him, as sure as the bullets that had nailed him in the chest. A wave of panic and fear washed over him, but he shoved it away and managed to raise his weapon, returning fire at the bastard who’d gotten the drop on him. And there was no question who that bastard was.

Mark Monroe.

Gabe’s ears filled with the screams of the reporters and others on the courthouse steps, panicked as they raced for cover. He heard his brother Tom’s ragged scream of fury. More shots were exchanged as the sidewalk came rushing up on him.

Then there was silence.

It took him a few seconds to realize he lay on the steps, staring up at the clouds as they drifted overhead. For a moment, he wondered if he was dead, but then he saw Elle’s beautiful face peering down at him, her brows drawn together in concern. She was taking his face in her hands, saying something. He wasn’t really listening. All he could focus on was the blood trickling down her cheek from a wound on her forehead. A fury like none he’d ever experienced filled him at that moment.

Monroe had hurt her. That sick, cop-hating asshole had hurt her. Pissed as hell and ready to knock some heads, he shoved up, trying to get to his feet, but Elle pressed him back down.

“I’m fine,” he ground out, pushing back and attempting to get up. “I’m fine. Wearing my vest.”

“You’re not fine, dammit!” she snapped, her voice shrill, panicked as she snatched the silk scarf from around her neck. “Jesus, Gabe—be still!”

This brought Gabe up short. Elle didn’t panic. Not ever. She was too tough. Too strong.

Shit. Not good.

He collapsed back onto the concrete, the edges of his vision beginning to blur. But he was coherent enough to know she was tying the scarf around his leg. Like a tourniquet.

Well, hell…





Chapter 3


Elle’s heart was in her throat. Seeing Gabe lying there, his leg bleeding, his face growing visibly pale, rattled her more than she cared to admit. And yet in spite of his own injury, he kept frowning at her with what looked like concern.

“You’re hurt,” he mumbled.

She shook her head. “No, no, I’m fine, Gabe. Just be still. I—”

He reached up and touched her forehead with such surprising tenderness it stilled her breath, but when his fingers came away covered in blood, her breath returned to her in a gasp. Her own fingers were covered in blood from trying to staunch the flow from Gabe’s leg, so she wiped the inside of her wrist against her head, wincing with pain, though her own touch had been nearly as gentle as Gabe’s had been.

Her eyes widened when she looked at her wrist and saw blood there.

What the heck?

In the next moment, hands grasped her upper arms and pulled her back, away from Gabe.

“No!” she cried out, reaching for him, but then she saw the paramedics crouched down beside him and turned to see who’d drawn her away.

“Oh good,” Gabe mumbled with a grin. “The cavalry has arrived…”

One of the paramedics laughed, sounding relieved to Elle’s ears. “Hang in there, Dawson. We gotcha.”

“Let’s get your head looked at,” Gabe’s brother Tom was saying, his arm going around her shoulders and leading her to where several police cars were waiting, their lights flashing. The rapidly alternating red and blue made her wince now that her adrenaline was beginning to taper off and one hell of a headache was coming on.

She reluctantly nodded, then cast a look over her shoulder to see the paramedics loading Gabe onto a gurney.

“He’ll be okay,” Tom assured her, but Elle could hear the note of concern in his voice. He’d seen the amount of blood Gabe had lost. He knew they were racing against time. “Now, c’mon. We need to get your head checked out. Looks like you might need some stitches.”

Elle was only vaguely aware of the paramedics inspecting her head wound. She winced when they wrapped it well enough for her to be transported to the hospital, and she was pretty much in a daze as the ER staff cleaned and stitched the laceration just below her hairline, where the bullet had grazed her.

If Mark Monroe’s aim had been any better, she’d be lying dead in the morgue instead of sitting in the tiny exam room that smelled of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant, waiting for a ride home. Elle blinked away tears as she realized how close she’d come to dying that day, how close Gabe had come to dying. Just the thought of it made her physically sick, and she put a hand to her mouth, searching desperately for a bedpan or bowl.

Luckily, a nurse popped her head in at that moment, offering her a smile, distracting her from her churning stomach. “Your aunt is here to take you home, Ms. McCoy.”