Second Honeymoon Part 72

I couldn't blame the cop for freezing for a split second, his mind piecing everything together, including the grim prospects for the real Officer Lohman. You just don't steal an armed police officer's uniform and car by saying "pretty please."

But if there was any doubt as to where this cop should be pointing his gun, Sinclair cleared it up right away. He sprang up from in front of the patrol car like a jack-in-the-box, squeezing off two quick shots at the cop before dropping out of sight again. The second shot splintered the wood frame of the front door, just barely missing the cop's chest as he ducked back into the house. For sure, he was radioing for backup.

For sure, Sinclair knew that, too.

The next sound I heard was the door opening on the far side of the patrol car, the driver's side. I couldn't see him, and that was the plan. He was crawling behind the wheel, starting the engine. Ducking below the dash, he jammed on the gas, blindly backing out of the driveway.

My first shot hit the side window, the gla.s.s shattering. I next went for the tires, taking out the two closest to me.

But he was still moving, barreling into the street before s.h.i.+fting out of reverse, his tires squealing against the pavement as he hit the gas.

"Go!" I heard behind me.

It was as if Sarah had pooled all her remaining strength to make sure I wouldn't do what I was about to do. I did it anyway. I let Sinclair drive off without chasing him, and stayed to help her.

I pulled out my folded handkerchief, pressing it firmly over the shoulder wound to stanch the bleeding.

"Here," came a voice behind me. The officer from inside the house was handing me a belt. "An ambulance is on the way."

I tightened the belt above the second wound, this one below the biceps. She'd already lost so much blood.

"You're going to be fine," I told her. "Just fine."

She glanced at the Grand Cherokee, her voice weak. "You should've gone after him," she said, barely above a whisper.

"What, and miss playing doctor with you here?"

I could tell she wanted to laugh, but she didn't have the strength. "You big dope," she said.

I lifted her head, cradling it in my hands. Her breathing was slower, more labored. Where the h.e.l.l is that ambulance?

"Hang on, okay? You have to hang on for me," I told her.

She nodded ever so slightly, those beautiful jade-green eyes of hers struggling to stay open.

Until, finally, they no longer could.

Chapter 113

THE NURSE HOOKING up Sarah's fifth blood transfusion at Great Plains Regional Medical Center had no idea that she and her pink smock were all that stood between me and the verbal beat-down that absolutely, positively was coming my way courtesy of Dan Driesen. He'd just walked in the door straight from Casper, his jacket off and sleeves rolled up. He didn't say a word to me, but if looks could kill I would've been toes-up at the morgue.

I couldn't blame the guy for being mad as h.e.l.l. Up until that moment, my reputation had merely preceded me. Now I'd managed to exceed it in ways that would surely get me suspended again, if not booted from the Bureau forever.

Sure, Sarah was a big girl and had made her own decision to join me in Birdwood, but now she was lying unconscious after thirteen hours and counting, having lost more blood than, quote, "most folks live to tell about."

This according to her doctor, who delivered the line with a face so straight it could cut gla.s.s.

"Visiting hours are over in fifteen minutes," announced the nurse as she left the room. She might as well have rung the bell ringside at Madison Square Garden.

Gentlemen, touch gloves and come out fighting.

Driesen circled me for a moment, as if waiting to see whether I'd offer up some lame excuse or, worse, try to argue that I hadn't done anything wrong. But that would just be me leaning into his first punch. That much I knew not to do.

Finally, as I simply stared back at him in silence, he unloaded on me.

"What the f.u.c.k were you thinking?" he asked.

"I'm-"

"Shut up!" he said. "Do you realize how many ways to Sunday you screwed things up?"

"I know that-"

"SHUT UP!" he yelled. "I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!"

I stood up, taking a step toward him. "THEN STOP f.u.c.kING ASKING ME QUESTIONS!" I yelled back.

It was a bad move, but I couldn't help it. Besides, what was one more bad move on the heels of so many others?

Driesen got up in my face so tight I could count his pores. The thought of leaning into his punch was no longer a metaphor. The guy looked as if he actually wanted to take a swing at me.

It was only fitting, then, that I'd be saved by the bell, courtesy of the same woman who'd rung it in the first place.

The nurse and her pink smock stormed back into the room, the rubber soles of her shoes squeaking on the floor like nails on a blackboard.

"That's it!" she snapped. "Visiting hours are over!"

Driesen looked at her for a moment, his eyebrows angled as if trying to decide how to respond. He opted for calm and apologetic. "I'm terribly sorry," he said. "We'll keep it down."

"You're d.a.m.n right," she said in reply. "I want you both out of here...now!"

For good measure, she pointed toward the door, like a gestapo Babe Ruth calling his home-run shot.

Of course, as the reigning expert in the room on bad moves, I could've told her she should've quit while she was ahead.

On a dime, Driesen sc.r.a.pped calm and apologetic in favor of outright apocalyptic. In a voice louder than I thought humanly possible, he laid into this short and stout woman so fast and furious that it would've been funny if it weren't so scary.

That's when I knew. Driesen was more than Sarah's boss. He was a mentor-her rabbi, a father figure. We both really needed her to be okay.

Score one for screaming like a madman.

No sooner had Driesen let up for a second, if only to catch his breath, than we heard the best sound in the world...a voice I wasn't sure I'd ever hear again.