Page 115 of Spying Under the Mistletoe
A sob escapes me, and I look up, only to spot something even more chilling through the racks of clothes. It propels me to my feet.
My ears are ringing from the shooting. Muffled sounds of someone yelling reaches out to me, but I don’t stop to see who it is. With my wish slipping softly from my lips, I half stumble, half lunge at the two injured men on the floor: Landon and Adam.
Landon is gripping his shoulder. Blood seeps between his fingers. Adam looks dazed, blood dripping along the side of his face.
“We need an ambulance,” I scream to anyone who can hear me.
Adrenaline courses through me. It’s the only thing pasting me together.
I drop beside Landon, mentally going through what I learned in the first aid course I took last year. They didn’t cover gunshot wounds, but the instructor taught enough for me to know that I have to stop the bleeding. Now.
“Hold this.” I tuck the star in his free hand—hoping it’ll bring us both luck—and yank at a bright-pink ski jacket on the nearby rack. It tumbles free of the hanger.
“You know, pink isn’t really my color.” Somehow, he manages to chuckle.
Ignoring his smartass comment, I lay it on the floor behind him and cradle the back his head with my hand. “I’ve got you, Landon,” I say gently. “Lie down so I can check your shoulder.”
Groaning, he shakes his head. “I need to check on Adam.”
“I’ll help him next. But I need you to lie down first. Okay?”
He nods, and with my help, does as I asked. I push myself to my feet and grab a bunch of cotton tops from nearby hangers. I fold them into makeshift pads and gently pry his hand away from his shoulder.
Blood gushes from the wound.
Fuck.
It’s not a big hole, but that doesn’t mean anything if the bullet hit a major blood vessel.
I carefully place a pad of clothing on it. “I need to move you a bit so I can check for an exit wound.”
He nods. The pain on his face clenches my heart like it’s one of Whiskey’s chew toys—minus the high-pitched squeak.
With my help, he moves his upper body enough for me to peer under his shoulder. His shirt is covered in blood, but there doesn’t seem to be an exit wound.
I ease him down again.
“I’m going to check on Adam. Promise me you won’t go anywhere.” The last words feel like they have to push past the squeaky-toy-sized lump in my throat. “And promise me you’ll hold on to the star. Rumor has it, it’s luckier than a shooting star.”
To the casual onlooker, it sounds like I just mean for Landon to stay where he is. But it’s more than that. I’ve already lost three men that I loved, I can’t lose him, too.
Not this way.
When he doesn’t answer, I repeat it. “Promise me, okay?”
“I promise,” he mumbles and tries to move. “Adam.”
I lean down and kiss his forehead. “I love you,” I whisper softly enough so he can’t hear me.
A man crouches next to Landon, his breath fast, as if he’d sprinted here. “I’m an off-duty paramedic. What happened?”
Relief almost knocks me on my butt at his words. “He was shot in the shoulder.” I could kiss the man on the forehead like I did Landon, but he’s got more important things to do—like saving Landon’s life.
The paramedic gaze shifts to Adam. “What about the other man?”
“I was about to check on him.” I crawl over to where Adam’s slumped on the floor. “Hey, Adam.” I shake his shoulders slightly, not enough to really move him. But enough to check if he’s conscious.
He moans in response.
