Page 75 of Turn Up The Heat

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Shane never took the main road any faster than was necessary, mainly because the forty-foot drop off made it just plain stupid. Plus, the ride between his cabin and the garage took less than ten minutes.

Under the muted moonlight, with his old F-150 protesting like mad, Shane made it there in five, barely stopping to throw the thing into Park before flinging himself out the driver’s side door. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Bellamy through the windshield, presumably grabbing the keys from the still-running truck, but he didn’t stop.

He ran toward the garage, dizzy from the eerie red glow of the ambulance lights that pulsed over the building and the sickening whoosh of his own blood in his ears.

Shane barged through the side door and tried to focus, but there were so many things in the garage that didn’t belong there, he couldn’t process any of them. Bellamy’s Miata was up on the lift, transmission parts littering the floor like scattered toys. The cordless phone lay, sunny side up, in the midst of them, and the display glowed green as if someone was on the line. Jackson stood stock-still in the doorway of the office, his face grave and his cell phone locked in his grip. People Shane had never seen before raced around in front of him, crouching down and shouting things that made no sense.

“Pulse is thready! BP is one-oh-six over seventy.”

“Grady, can you hear me?”

A grunted response from the floor shattered the disconnect between Shane’s brain and everything around him, and all at once, everything crashed from slow motion to real time in an unforgiving snap.

“Grady!” Shane lunged toward the office, where two paramedics huddled over Grady’s limp form, their movements sharp and efficient.

This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t happening.

Jackson jerked to attention. “Damn, that was fast.” He cut the distance between himself and Shane in only a few brisk strides.

Shane met his friend’s eyes for less than a second before trying to elbow his way past in an effort to reach Grady, but Jackson reached around him and held firm.

“Dude, you gotta let them do their jobs. They’re trying to help him.”

“I’m all that man’s got,” Shane said. “And I’ll be goddamned if he doesn’t know I’m here when he needs me.” He struggled against Jackson’s unyielding torso. Why wasn’t Grady answering, damn it? “Grady!”

“Shane?” Teagan O’Malley, a tall redheaded paramedic who also tended bar at the Double Shot looked over her shoulder, but Shane was so worked up that it barely registered. “Shane!”she barked again, and the word sank in enough for Shane to hear her. Jackson’s hold weakened, and Shane took full advantage, pushing past him to answer.

“Yeah?”

“When was the last time you spoke with Grady?” Her hands moved in a flurry of sure activity over the older man’s body, and she leaned in to murmur something to him before glancing back at Shane. Grady looked so pale and fragile that Shane’s heart nearly exploded.

“This morning. He was…” Tired. Grady had been tired, and Shane had known it. “He was fine.” Shane forced himself to look at Grady’s face. “Hey, Grady. We’re gonna get you fixed up, okay? Just hang in there.”

The old man’s gray eyes flashed open at the sound of Shane’s voice, showing a mixture of fear and pain that made Shane’s blood turn to ice in his veins.

“Call…him…you have to call…make it right…”

Shane reached in to grab the old man’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Okay. Okay.”

Grady closed his eyes again, and Teagan cut in roughly. “It’s better if he doesn’t talk unless he has to. Do you know any of his medical history?”

Shane nodded, but couldn’t speak.

“Any drug allergies? Past history of heart attack? He had one last year, right?” More movement, and the other paramedic made purposeful strides with a wheeled stretcher. Oh, shit, this was bad. No, no, no, no.

Shane forced the answers from his mouth. “Uh, no allergies. But yeah, he had a mild heart attack fourteen months ago. His meds are in the cabinet in the office.” Both hemispheres of Shane’s brain were bound by a fog that made it difficult for him to think, and he felt as if his entire universe was crashing down over his head.

“I’m going to need those. Now would be good.”

Shane’s legs refused to move. He couldn’t leave Grady’s side, not even for the two seconds it would take to grab the medication bottles from the shelf in the office. “Teagan, you can’t let him die.” He’d meant the words to come out firm, forceful, but instead, they were a vulnerable plea.

She shook her head. “I’m going to do everything I possibly can to make sure that doesn’t happen, okay? But you’ve got to let us do our job.”

Shane caught a flash of movement, blond hair and plaid flannel, and someone handed the fistful of orange bottles to Teagan.

“Ah. Thanks.” She scanned them quickly and rattled off a bunch of medical jargon that made no sense to Shane. Bits and pieces registered in Shane’s mind, but nothing made any sense. Why was Bellamy’s car on the lift? And what the hell had Jackson been doing here?

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