Page 81 of Decoding Morse

I tried to turn—tried to get to him—but it was too late. We were at the car.

Eric opened the door and shoved me forward. Rather than ducking, I flailed, making myself as big as possible, and slammed into the doorframe. It hurt like a bitch, but I channeled my inner rabid trash panda. If I could hold out until Morse reached us, I’d be saved. When he couldn’t force me into the car, Eric caged me between his body and the interior as I flailed and screamed. He dipped into the interior and grabbed something. When he spun back around, I caught a glint of metal.

Eric leveled a gun at Morse.

Time stopped. My leg was on fire, but it was still stronger than my arms, so I kicked, aiming for Eric’s gun arm.

My foot connected at the same time a gunshot rang through the air. The shot went wide, slamming into the brick building.

Eric swore and lined up another shot as something flew at his head. He ducked, batting the dark object away. That minor distraction gave Morse the window he needed to attack. He was on him in a heartbeat.

I blinked, and Morse was the one holding the gun.

He fired a shot, and the hiss of air told me he’d taken out a tire. Stabbing the barrel into Eric’s chest, Morse's gaze flickered over me and then took in the car's interior.

The sirens wailing in the distance were growing louder.

“Turn your ass back around and put your hands on the wheel, or I shoot.”

Behind me, I heard the driver shift in his seat.

“Go back inside the hospital, Amelia,” Morse said.

I didn’t want to leave him, but I had no weapon, and the police were closing in. Besides, all my adrenaline was spent, and I shook like a chihuahua in a snowstorm. Extracting myself from where I’d pressed into the car’s door jamb, I scurried back toward the door, reaching down to grab the cell phone Morse threw at Eric.

“You okay, Angel?” Morse called out over his shoulder.

“Yes. But Rabbit….”

“He’ll be all right. I called it in.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Four police cars raced around the corner, coming to a screeching halt. Within seconds, Morse had seven guns trained on him.

“I’m not the bad guy here,” he said, slowly lowering the gun and kicking it toward the police. Then he put his hands on his head, surrendering.

Two officers rushed in.

“This man was trying to force that woman into his car,” he gestured toward me with an elbow. “The gun is his.”

‘His’ came out in a huff as a cop shoved him into the vehicle and slapped handcuffs on his wrists.

My stomach jumped into my throat. “Hey! Don’t hurt him. He’s telling the truth. He saved me!”

Other officers swarmed the scene, ignoring my pleas to stop manhandling Morse and gesturing for me to stay back as they retrieved Eric and his driver, the man from the waiting room.

One cop finally split off and approached me to take my statement, and while I was desperately filling him in on what had happened, Link and Emily showed up. The minute they saw us, Emily headed for Morse, and Link approached me.

“You okay, Amelia?” Link asked, interrupting the young officer and scanning me for injuries like a big brother might. Funny, since I was pretty sure I had a few years on him.

“I am. Thanks to Morse. Have you heard anything about Rabbit?”

“He’ll be all right,” he assured me, gesturing for the cop—whose hand was now on his taser—to continue his interrogation.

Link stuck by my side while the officer finished his questions. The cop’s warning not to leave town topping off our conversation with a cherry. When I was finally released, Link pulled me aside.

“Morse discharged a firearm in a public place, so he’ll have to go down to the station to deal with this mess. But don’t you worry about him. He’s done nuthin’ wrong, and he’s got the best damn attorney in Seattle.”

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