Open Wounds (Harbour Bay #2)(28)
Dean retreated from the car as he saw a marked police vehicle pull up. Two uniformed officers exited, one already heralding the spectators away. The other uniform began running towards him, recognising him instantly. Relief showed on his face.
“Doyle and I are witnesses. We were following a suspect who must have panicked when he saw us and sped right through the intersection, causing the crash,” he told the cop, whose name was Huxley. “I’ve got one casualty and a minor trapped in the back who is currently unconscious. Stay with him in case he wakes up and inform dispatch we’ll need a rescue team. The kid’s in there tight.”
Huxley swore to himself, and Dean jogged over to the other car where Nick had been helping a woman in her thirties out of the driver’s seat, her body visibly shaking. Tears ran down her face and she was in a state of shock, her eyes much too wide to be taking anything in.
“Back-up just arrived. One survivor,” he told Nick, who nodded, understanding what had been said and what hadn’t. One survivor. Which implied one or more casualties.
Nick eased the woman over to the kerb away from her car and out of danger when the rescue teams, ambulance and traffic diverters, arrived. Loud sobs escaped the woman’s mouth and Nick pulled her into his arms, allowing her to cry all over his linen shirt. He rubbed her back, giving comfort to her as he looked up at Dean as if to say, what else could I do?
Dean wasn’t good with women. Crying or not. When they were emotional, it made things worse. After being partners with Nick for over three years, they had come to an understanding, each playing off one another’s strengths, each knowing his limits. This was Dean’s. He didn’t have use for someone who allowed their emotions to rule over common sense.
Horns tooted in the distance as motorists became impatient. The heat of the day made him sweat, and he knew it would be more than just a little uncomfortable in the cars without air conditioning. People exited their vehicles, and Dean listened to the officer as he barked orders for people to return to their cars, his tone making it clear that if they didn’t do it willingly, he’d be more than happy to oblige in escorting them back.
He left Nick with the overwrought female and moved towards the uniformed officer who’d arrived with Huxley. He spoke briefly with the officer, getting an estimation on when they would be joined by more members of Harbour Bay Police.
He ran stiff fingers through his blond hair and cursed the day’s events. He hadn’t expected Lambert to spook. The man had been overly confident when he’d walked out the doors of the LAC.
The teen wasn’t in as much control as he’d like to think. Was he getting concerned over his part in the murders as Coleani’s lapdog? Maybe the youth had a conscience after all and felt guilty. Now would be the time to swing down and usher the kid away, before Coleani got his hands on him.
Within minutes more police vehicles arrived, a swarm of navy uniformed cops descending on the scene, taking over witness detail and directing all the traffic away from the scene while an ambulance struggled to get through the heavy traffic.
A bright red and white Harbour Bay fire engine stopped just outside the perimeter Huxley’s partner had cordoned off, and a bevy of well-trained firemen added to the rapidly growing response team.
The woman continued to sob hysterically in Nick’s arms, not allowing him to leave her as she was escorted to the ambulance for a check-up.
Had he been in charge of her well-being, Dean would’ve shaken her off long ago and told her to get a grip, which was why Nick handled the fairer sex. Dean watched as his partner leaned over and conversed with the paramedic who immediately nodded and retrieved a needle which he promptly tested for air bubbles and then injected the woman who—thankfully—started to calm down.
Dean worked tirelessly under the harsh UV rays as he liaised with the firemen who continuously attempted to free the little boy. The mother had been notified and waited impatiently for news on her only child and last living piece of her husband.
Goddamn Michael Lambert. He had caused all this. One man was dead, another life hung in the balance. A woman was overwrought—two when he considered the mother—and for what? Because of a murdering son-of-a-bitch.
He made a fist, badly needing to hit something. Being a cop wasn’t as glamorous as they made it out to be in movies. It was rare to save the damsel in distress from the bad man. Instead, the day was filled with handing out speeding tickets, arriving at domestic disputes, and acting as mediator. Not exactly the finer life, but Dean couldn’t imagine doing anything else. He had lived a life full of violence and there was no turning back from that, no pretending it hadn’t happened or that it didn’t exist. He wondered how others, like Nick, handled the situation, having no background in the dark depravity he’d become accustomed to.
He moved away from the noise created by the rescue teams, yanked his phone off his belt, and dialled a number.
“Donovan.” Amelia’s voice came through loud and clear.
“Hey, it’s Matthews.”
“Where are you? I expected a report an hour ago.”
“I don’t work for you yet, Donovan.” He knew he would one day soon, but not now. “Doyle and I are at the accident on Howard-Evans.”
“I heard about that. Bad one, right? So why are you calling?”
He leaned against his car. “Just wanted to give you an update. For one, Lambert caused the accident. He’s spooked and is probably about to run.”