Page 55 of Blind Justice

The woman sighed, clearly accustomed to stubborn people. “Adrenaline can hide worse injuries, sir. I strongly recommend?—”

“I said no,” Noah snapped, though his voice softened after a beat. “Just… get her to the hospital. I’m not leaving her.”

The paramedics exchanged a glance but didn’t argue further. They secured Ruth on the stretcher, rolling her toward the ambulance as Noah fell into step beside them. He climbed in without hesitation, his presence silent but unyielding as he sat across from her.

The ambulance jolted into motion, the siren wailing as they sped toward Pierre Trauma Center. The female paramedic assessed Ruth for further injuries, starting at her head. “Small dent,” she noted.

As she lifted her hands free, there was more blood on her gloves. “Light bleeding, back of the head.” She continued the exam, uncovering and recovering her to protect her modesty and from the cold. She gently pressed her fingertips against the edge of Ruth’s ribs, gauging for fractures or swelling.

The male paramedic monitored Ruth closely, checking her vitals as the vehicle rocked with each turn. “You her family?” he asked softly, glancing at Noah.

“No,” Noah said after a pause, his eyes fixed on Ruth’s pale face. “I’m… her partner.”

The paramedic nodded once, understanding in his gaze. “She’s stable for now. I’ve notified the hospital of her medical situation. We’ll get her the care she needs.”

Noah didn’t respond. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the tension in his shoulders never easing. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from Ruth’s face, watching for any flicker of movement, any sign of consciousness.

The distant echo of the explosion still rang in his ears. Whoever did this had gone after him—after both of them. And now Ruth was here, vulnerable and unconscious because of him.

He reached out, his fingertips brushing against the edge of her hand. “I’m here,” he murmured, his voice low but steady, as if she could hear him through the haze. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

As the ambulance sped toward the hospital, Noah’s mind raced. Alex and Brad were on their way, and answers would come. But until then, all he could do was sit here, a silent promise in every beat of his pulse.Whoever did this would regret it.

The ambulance rocked sharply, sirens wailing and red lights flickering across Ruth’s pale face. Inside, the tight compartment buzzed with tense urgency. The paramedics worked methodically—oxygen, blood pressure, an ECG, and IV, as Noah sat rigidly across from them, his green eyes locked on Ruth.

The male paramedic leaned over Ruth, one hand adjusting the oxygen mask secured to her face while the other rechecked her pulse and blood pressure. He glanced at the monitor, where a soft, rhythmic beep filled the silence between the bumps in the road.

“Heart rate’s falling,” he murmured to his partner.

“Systolic blood pressure rising. Pupils were reactive at the scene; now they’re sluggish. She has significant head trauma from the impact,” she said, her voice clinical. She turned toward Noah briefly, as though remembering he was there. “Sir, what exactly happened before the blast? Was she hit or thrown far?”

“She was thrown,” Noah said quietly, his voice steady despite the tension in his chest. “The explosion hit fast and hard. She landed on her back, hit her head on the pavement. I… I didn’t see her move after that.”

The female paramedic gave a slight nod and refocused on Ruth, checking her abdomen for any signs of internal bleeding. “We’re looking for bruising or rigidity that might signal internal injuries. Right now, we don’t have any obvious signs, but the doctors will confirm once we get her there. Would you let me at least bandage your hands? They’re bleeding.”

He nodded and let the paramedic wrap his unnoticed bleeding fingers, but Noah’s gaze never left Ruth. He watched the faint rise and fall of her chest beneath the heavy wool blanket, her coat in shreds from where the paramedics cut it free. Every slow, fragile breath she took seemed both a relief and a torment. The oxygen mask hissed softly, and the monitor continued its rhythmic beep, both sounds reverberating in his ears like a drumbeat counting down seconds he couldn’t afford to lose.

It was then he remembered what he did for a living. “Bag her coat in a paper bag if you have it; otherwise, wrap it in a sterile sheet. It’s evidence.”

As she did as he asked, the female paramedic turned her attention back to him. “You said you were close to the explosion?”

“Yeah.” Noah glanced at her, his brow furrowing, warning her not to redirect concern toward him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re favoring your ribs,” she said bluntly, giving him a quick once-over. “If you were close enough to be knocked back, you’ve got injuries too, even if you can’t feel them right now.”

Noah’s jaw tightened. “I said I’m fine.” His voice was a low growl—measured but not unkind. “Focus on her.”

The paramedic sighed, clearly accustomed to stubborn men refusing help. She muttered something under her breath to her partner, then turned back to Ruth, wiping the ash smudges gently from her pale cheek. “You’re lucky you were wearing a wool coat.” The male paramedic tucked another blanket around Ruth’s body. “That blast wave could’ve burned you badly otherwise.”

The ambulance jolted hard over a bump in the road, and Noah’s instincts flared. He reached forward, his hand pressing lightly against Ruth’s blanket-covered arm to steady her. “Watch it,” he snapped at no one in particular, his voice sharp with protectiveness.

“She’s secure,” the female paramedic assured him calmly, meeting his intense stare. “We’ve got her.”

Noah swallowed hard and leaned back slightly, though his muscles remained taut as a bowstring. His fingers itched to do something, anything to help. But this wasn’t a fight he could win with his fists or his instincts.

“Her name’s Ruth Everhart,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, like saying her name might ground him.

The female paramedic softened. “She’s lucky to have someone like you watching out for her.”

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