Page 31 of Better Late Than Never

“Why?”

“Because if you do, I might have to radio Paisley again and tell her we need another ambo—foryou,” Bailey threatened, wincing as she straightened her back.

“Come on, B. I’m just lookin’ out for the mother of my next nephew. Isn’t there somethin’ you could do instead of goin’ out on calls right up until your due date?”

“Is he for real?” Bailey asked her husband, who only shrugged.

“Fine. But this ain’t over,” I warned, pointing at her before nodding at the man who appeared to be pretending he was a human tilt-a-whirl at the county fair. “What’s his deal?”

“A trucker called it in. Looks like he’s unsheltered, but he’s got a nasty head lac and some pretty bad cuts on his arms that need tendin’, but he’s insistin’ it’s just war paint, not blood.”

I eyed the red slashes on the man’s forearms. “Nah, those are real. You thinkin’ he tried to do a smash and grab so he’s playin’ it off?”

“Maybe. Either way, I told B that I could get him to chill out long enough to treat him, and he’s not bein’ combative so much as... hard to catch. But she insisted he might have a knife on him or somethin’ and we should get PD to help before we got poked.”

“Not a bad idea,” I mused, adjusting my gear belt. “Especially in your condition,” I teased Bailey as I turned for the man.

But honestly, I hated that she refused to take some time off before the baby was born. I knew how it worked with maternity leave only because it was a hot topic of conversation at one of our weekly suppers a couple months ago, but still. Wanting as much time off with the baby after he was born was important, but was it as important as taking it easy in the weeks before he showed up?

“Hey there, sir,” I said as I approached the spinning man, “that war paint on your arms looks a little infected. Think you might be willin’ to let my friends here fix ya up?”

The man didn’t spare me a glance as he continued to spin. “Nah. I’m a tough cookie. Nope, scratch that, I’m a granola bar.”

I bit back a laugh. “Alright, Mr. Bar. Where ya headed?”

“Nowhere right now, every trucker I’ve seen said my arms are gross so they won’t lemme hitch. I told them it wasn’t a big deal, but here I am.”

“I bet if you let these two take care of you, you’d have a better shot at hitchin’ a ride outta here.”

The spinning stopped. “You think so?”

I wanted to laugh. Uh, yeah. Obviously. But I held it all in and nodded sagely, pretending it was rocket science and not the most obvious solution to his problem. “Yes, sir. Might be worth a shot, right?”

“Sure, maybe.”

“You carryin’ anythin’ on ya that might poke my friends?”

“Who, me? Nah. Somebody took my knife a while ago. Haven’t found a new one yet.”

I nodded once, turning to Bailey and Jackson. “Y’all wanna get your supplies and we’ll have a chat while he gets fixed up?”

Did I want to stand here and chat with this man who I was starting to think lived on another planet entirely? Nope. Not at all.

But something I’d learned pretty quickly when I got into this world was that sometimes police work wasn’t just about catching the bad guys. Sometimes it was plain old community relations. Playing mediator between shop owners before something’ went from civil to criminal, or unnecessary patrols through a neighborhood because a resident was convinced those “hooligan” high schoolers were knocking down their lawn gnomes when it was only the wind.

In times like these, it was standing by so this man wouldn’t hurt two of this town’s finest paramedics. And when it was all said and done, the satisfaction of a job well done hit me just as strongly as a thief in handcuffs or a drunk driver watching Shifty tow away his vehicle.

“Thanks for the assist,” Bailey said as the man walked toward a semi that’d just rolled up.

“Anytime,” I replied, pressing the button on my radio so I could let dispatch know—letherknow—I was available for the next call. “Ocean-213.”

Her reply was instant. “Ocean-213, go ahead.”

“All’s C4 over here, show all three of us as available.”

“10-4.”

Jackson smirked at me while Bailey waddled toward the passenger side of the ambo. “Well, that’s quite a change.”

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