Page 54 of Blind Justice

Sirens wailed, growing closer. The fire blazed brighter, filling the night sky with angry black smoke. But Noah didn’t look away from Ruth.

His legs burned, his lungs screamed, but he kept moving. Kept going. He dragged Ruth past the line of fire, past the wreckage and the twisted metal and the ruin of the night. His arms shook as he finally sank to the pavement, his grip unyielding.

“You’re not leaving me that easy,” he murmured, a broken laugh slipping out. “I’m way too stubborn for that.”

The night burned behind him, but all that mattered was the woman in his arms.

He reached the edge of the parking lot, finally hitting clear pavement. The flickering glow of the fire behind them lit up the night like a hellish inferno. Noah stopped for only a moment, his breath ragged, his hold on Ruth unshakable.

Red and blue lights slashed through the smoke. Sirens howled.

Whoever had done this had failed.

And Noah would make sure they didn’t get another chance.

Twenty-One

Noah sat with his back pressed against the rough brick wall of the steakhouse. It was solid, a reassuring barrier behind him as he carefully cradled Ruth’s head in his lap, shielding her from further harm. Smoke thickened the air, and the roar of flames devouring the wreckage of her car and others sounded deafening, but he forced himself to focus.

His phone was already in his hand, fingers trembling slightly as he punched in Alex’s number. The line rang twice before Alex’s voice came through, calm and familiar, though a bit muffled by background noise and his still-ringing ears. “Noah? What’s going on? I’m at dinner with?—”

“Alex,” Noah cut him off, his voice tight. “Someone just tried to blow us up. Ruth’s car—her car is gone. She’s hurt. Unconscious. I need you to get here.”

The noise on the other end stopped instantly. Then Alex’s voice sharpened, clipped and deadly serious. “What? Where are you?”

“Brayburn’s. The steakhouse in Pierre,” Noah said quickly, his eyes sweeping the smoke-filled parking lot. The sirens were louder now, and the flashing red-and-blue lights illuminated his strained face. “Police and ambulances are just now showing up. They’ll probably take her to Pierre Trauma Center.”

“Jesus,” Alex muttered under his breath, the sound of a chair scraping audible over the phone. “I’m on the other side of town at Walden’s. I’m at dinner with Charlotte and Isobel. Brad Killian’s here too. We’re fifteen minutes from the hospital.”

Noah froze momentarily at the names, but Alex didn’t pause to explain further. “I’ll bring them with me to the hospital.”

“Good,” Noah said sharply, glancing at Ruth again as he gently brushed an ash-streaked lock of hair from her face. “We’ll meet you there.”

“We’re leaving now,” Alex replied, his tone resolute. “Hang in there, Noah. And watch your back.”

The call ended, and Noah shoved the phone into his pocket.

The first ambulance screeched to a halt nearby, followed closely by a firetruck. Noah waved the paramedics over as they spilled from the ambulance, their medical kits in hand. A female paramedic with short, dark hair reached him first, crouching beside him with calm, professional urgency.

“Sir, are you injured?” she asked, her voice steady but firm.

“Not me—her,” Noah said sharply, gesturing to Ruth. “Her car exploded. She was thrown by the blast. She’s breathing, but she’s been out cold.”

Her partner, a tall man with graying hair, immediately knelt on Ruth’s other side, beginning a quick but thorough assessment. “Airway open. Breathing shallow and rapid. Pulse is weak and irregular. We need to stabilize her spine before we move her. Then we can complete the assessment. Get me a small collar.”

“Okay, sir,” the female paramedic said, glancing up at Noah. “We’re going to take care of her now. You need to let us work.”

Noah hesitated, his muscles tensing as if he could somehow protect Ruth through sheer willpower. “Be careful,” he said quietly, his voice edged with both warning and pleading.

“We will.” Her expression softened briefly before she turned back to her work.

Noah watched as they slipped a cervical collar carefully around Ruth’s neck, securing her spine. Every movement was precise and measured as they prepared her for the backboard. The older paramedic spoke quietly to his partner, directing the care. Blood tinged the one medic’s gloves.

Noah knelt nearby, refusing to move more than a few feet away as they rolled Ruth gently onto the backboard. His ribs throbbed with each breath, but he ignored the pain.

The paramedic with the short hair turned toward him again. “Sir, you’ve got injuries too. You’re breathing like you’ve taken a hit to the chest. Let me check you out.”

“No,” Noah said flatly, his tone brooking no argument. “She’s the priority. I’m fine.”

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