Risking it All (Crossing the Line, #1)(2)

Everything happened quickly after that. There was a loud crack as Dooly’s front door was kicked open. A man walked in, sweatshirt hood pulled low over his face, gun raised and pointed at Hogan. Every patron in the bar hit the floor as if it were a middle-school earthquake drill. Sera reached toward her hip for a weapon that wasn’t there.

Hogan threw himself behind one of the four men who’d joined him, just in time for the man to take the bullet in his stead.

The wounded man fell with a shocked curse, still shielding Hogan, who followed him to the wooden floor, scrambling for his gun. Hogan’s other men wasted no time removing their own weapons, issuing threats at the already-retreating gunman, who managed to make it out the door before they could fire a single shot.

What had she just witnessed? An assassination attempt on Hogan? For a moment, she felt frozen to the spot, reeling at the fact that Hogan’s life had almost been stolen from her. Justice for Colin did not include such an easy way out.

No,

it

would

have

been

unacceptable. Years

of

heartache,

months of work…all for nothing. It had been so close. Too close.

The sight of blood broke Sera out of her

stupor.

It

was

everywhere.

Splattered on the mirror behind the bar, the ground, the man who lay on his back clutching his upper chest. Before her conscious mind processed her actions, Sera moved toward the man, shoving aside the group of useless bystanders.

She might have quit nursing to become a cop, but the oath she’d taken wouldn’t allow her to stand by while someone died. Not when she could prevent it.

“Get me the first aid kit from behind the bar.” As she knelt down beside the bleeding man, she noticed no one had moved. “Now. And call an ambulance . ”

Feet shuffled around Sera, telling her someone had actually listened. Briefly, her eyes landed on the face of the wounded man. Young, dark, startlingly handsome despite the fact that his teeth were gritted from the obvious pain. She didn’t recognize him from the case file, nor had she expected his type among this crew. Hardened, yes, but he didn’t appear as if he’d slipped beyond redemption like the rest of them. With brisk efficiency, she pried his hand away from the wound, pushed open his leather jacket and ripped his white T-shirt open from collar to hem.

The first aid kit clattered down beside her on the floor. “At least buy him dinner first.”

Hogan. She’d deal with him later.

Relief moved through her when she saw that the wound had missed the man’s heart by about two inches. Still, it could have hit his subclavian artery. She could keep him alive long enough for help to arrive, but it would need to be soon. As gently as possible, she eased her hand beneath his shoulder, relieved when she felt an exit wound. At least the bullet had gone clear through. She ripped off her apron, balled up the starchy material and pressed it against the wound. It had to hurt like hell, but the man barely winced.

She glanced up, meeting Hogan’s eyes. “Did you call the ambulance?”

He leaned against the bar, chewing a cocktail straw. The utter lack of concern on his face reminded Sera she was in the presence of a monster. Her brother’s murderer. Hogan shrugged, setting her teeth on edge. “You’re doing a bang-up job all on your own. No need to involve uniforms.”

Sera failed to hide her horror. “He could die without medical attention.

Look at how much blood he’s already lost.” She wiped her bloody palm across her uniform shirt, unwittingly making her point.

Eyes narrow, he pointed at her with his cocktail straw. “Why don’t you ask him what he wants?”

She looked back down at the injured man. “No ambulance,” he managed through gritted teeth, face paling with the effort. “I’d rather bleed out.”

Hogan’s face lit up with amusement.

“And there you go.” He signaled the bartender for another drink. “You got a name, Florence Nightingale?”

He’s colder than I could have imagined.

Sera took a deep breath and focused on his question. She’d planned her false identity down to the last detail. The name and cover story she would use if she ever got close enough to Hogan to actually employ it. She’d never expected to use it this soon, though, especially in this kind of situation.

“Sera.”

He threw back the shot of whiskey.

“Can you fix him up, Sera? He’s my cousin. If he dies, it’ll piss off my mother.”

Yes. She might be able to save him.

No, she would save him. Despite the wounded man’s vast difference from her brother, she wouldn’t let another person die because of Hogan’s presence in his life. Call it irrational, but in a way, saving this man might in small measure make up for her being two hundred miles away as her brother died on the cold sidewalk. None of this could be portrayed to Hogan, however. Or she risked her own neck. “Fix him?” She gave a disbelieving laugh. “He needs doctors…a hospital. I’m a waitress.”

“Yeah? You don’t talk like no waitress.”

“You want to hear the specials or something?”

Hogan’s laugh boomed through the bar, but he sobered just as quickly. He regarded her closely for a moment, then nodded to his cohorts. “Load Connor into the backseat. And for God’s sake, put a f*cking towel down first.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “She’s coming with us.”