Rock Chick Renegade (Rock Chick #4)(46)

“Shit,” Sal moaned.

Luke pulled out his phone. I listened to Luke calling the control room and asking for the ambulance and the police. While I did this I thought about the current situation.

The good news was, Vance hadn’t figured out I was a virgin.

The bad news was, Vance had been stopped at a really good part.

I turned to Vance. “How long is this gonna take?” I asked impatiently.

I felt his eyes on me in the dark. Then I saw the flash of white as he smiled. Then his arm came around me and he pulled me to him. I could focus on him better at closer range and caught his arrogant grin close up.

“Probably awhile, Princess. Longer ‘cause I’ll have to get stitches.”

My breath fled my body.

When I sucked in air, I asked, “Why?”

“He tagged me. Thigh, just skimmed. I’ll need to have it looked at.”

“You’re hit?” Luke said from beside us.

“It’s nothing,” Vance said and I saw Luke nod, apparently that was good enough for him.

“Crowe,” I said, weird feelings going through me, feelings I never felt before and feelings I didn’t like.

“It’s nothing,” Vance repeated.

“Crowe! It is not nothing! You’ve been shot!”

“I’ve been shot before, Jules, trust me, this is nothing.”

This time instead of my breath fleeing, I sucked in air on a gasp.

“You’ve been shot before?” I asked on the exhale.

“Yeah, last time wasn’t pretty,” Luke volunteered.

“Luke’s had worse,” Vance informed me, “gut wound.”

“Survived,” Luke said casually, “you got it in the lung.”

Oh my God.

“Stop talking,” I snapped, cutting into their gruesome, macho trip down memory lane.

I heard Luke chuckle.

“Stop chuckling,” I clipped.

He didn’t stop chuckling but luckily the sirens heading our way drowned him out.

Then the outside light came on, the backdoor opened and Nick stood there. He took us all in wearing a real life rendition of his Morgue Face.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“God dammit,” I muttered under my breath.

* * * * *

I was in my bathroom washing my face.

Vance was somewhere in my duplex doing whatever he did before going to bed.

I didn’t know how I got talked into letting him spend the night with me, though I had to admit, it didn’t take much. I figured it was partially payback for the favor to be nice to Roam, partially the fact that I felt responsible for him getting shot.

Earlier, outside, before the ambulance came, I’d explained things to Nick and his mouth got tight. He looked like he was ready to tie me up in an attic room and leave me there until I died so I wouldn’t get anyone else shot in one of my fool crusades (luckily, we didn’t have an attic room).

The ambulance came and carted off the moaning, whining Sal. The police came at the same time and talked to everyone, including me.

I finally got a chance to see (though not meet) Hank Nightingale and Eddie Chavez.

Hank looked like a Nightingale, tall and dark, except he was the handsome All-American boy stayed good. Chavez was just as freakishly good-looking as the rest of The Boys.

They did flybys, likely hearing that Vance got shot and coming to check he was okay. When they came Vance was sitting on my back stoop; a paramedic had cut away the thigh of his jeans and was checking his wound. I was standing several feet away with Nick. Both Hank and Eddie glanced in my direction and they didn’t look like they were card carrying members of Indy and the girls’ Welcome Wagon.

Lee swung by too, another flyby to check on Vance. He didn’t stay long then he was gone.

I talked with a police detective named Jimmy Marker. I gave him a slightly tweaked version of the Sal Cordova story making Sal sound like a garden-variety stalker (which, in a way, he was).

When I was done talking, Detective Marker looked at me and asked, “You Law?”

I kept my eyes on him, my face blank and my mouth shut.

“Know you’re workin’ with Heavy,” Marker said.

I was surprised but kept silent.

“Heavy’s a good man,” Marker went on.

I nodded once, not sure where this conversation was going.

“What you’re doin’ is stupid and unsafe,” he continued.

Now I knew where this conversation was going and I kept quiet.

“You should stop or you’ll get yourself killed,” he advised and his voice was both sharp and concerned. I figured they taught this in cop school.

I didn’t reply.

“Or you’ll get someone else killed,” he finished.

It took a great deal of effort but I stayed silent and didn’t bite my lip like I wanted to.

He watched me, shook his head and then muttered, strangely, under his breath, “These boys need to get their heads examined.”

Then he walked away.

I drove Vance to the hospital in my Camaro.

He was right, it wasn’t that bad. He got cleaned up, stitched up, came out of the treatment room with his jeans on, the thigh cut away and I could see a white bandage there.

We went back to Hazel.

“Where do you live?” I asked when we were standing by Hazel.