Page 44 of Falling for Carla

Even the lull in our conversation as darkness fell was cozy, and when her fingers loosened on my hand, I looked over and saw that she had fallen asleep. Carla’s curls had pulled free of her pins and slipped down her neck, down across her cheek in the shadow of the evening. The only light was the vague glow from the instrument panel on the dashboard. I eased my speed, tempted to let her nap a little longer. Traffic was light and the evening itself was peaceful. I took a long breath and felt the softness and serenity around me in the car, the comfort I felt from her nearness, from the fact that she was safe and sleeping, the particular happiness that came from watching over her.

I could do this, quite gladly, for the rest of my life. It was a jarring thought, so shocking to me that for an instant, I thought it was the reason I jolted and swerved the car as bright lights cut across our path. I righted the wheel and managed to stay on the road, heart pounding. Watchful now, I noticed at once that a blinding flash of light behind us, gaining on us, flooding the interior of the car with brightness, bouncing off the rearview mirror and seeming to surround me.

Seized with a sense of danger, I first sped up to try to evade the vehicle that was gaining on me, following us closer and closer, much too near for safety. My body tensed up, muscles coiled and instincts on high alert. I used evasive maneuvers I’d learned for vehicle pursuit when I was on the force. The large SUV bore down on us. I had a split second to decide on a defensive technique. If I’d been alone in the car, I would’ve been willing to take a risk. But with Carla in the passenger seat, I wouldn’t put her life on the line to see if I could apprehend the driver who was menacing us.

I sped up to try to put distance between us, and then swerved hard to the left, ramming straight for the guard rail and hoping it would bear the impact. I heard her scream before I was flung forward into the steering wheel and everything went black.

CHAPTER 28

CARLA

I jerked awake in terror when the car swerved madly and slammed into the guardrail. It was dark, and some kind of screeching alarm was going off in the car. The airbags hadn’t deployed, and Drake was slumped over the wheel unconscious. I reached out to touch him, my head spinning, mind reeling at the sudden shock, the violence of the impact. I groped for the phone, but I had no idea where that was at the moment.

I had to think. I was shaking all over, terrified. I tried to rouse Drake, tried to find either of our phones to call for help. Suddenly, my door was wrenched open. My first thought was: Thank God, someone saw us crash and they’re going to help!

With a swift jerk, my seatbelt shoulder strap was sliced, and hands seized me. I fought, kicking, trying to pull away or twist out of his grasp. A big hand slammed over my mouth as I tried to scream for Drake. The man wrestled me out of the car while I clawed and bit. I managed to kick enough that I kneed him in the crotch. As he went down from the pain, another man grabbed hold of me and started dragging me toward a big black SUV.

I was not getting in that car. Come hell or high water. I knew the statistics on victims who were put in trunks or in the vehicle and transported away from the scene. Much more likely to be murdered. This was my one chance. I didn’t bother wasting my oxygen on screaming when I needed all my strength to fight these guys.

It was pretty clear that this guy was huge. I couldn’t overpower him. I couldn’t even get free of his grip to slip away. So, remembering my self-defense training, I dropped. I went completely limp to make him drag my dead weight. It was a risk, because if he was smart enough and reacted quickly, he could just toss me over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. But, if he reacted like most people would, he’d try to get me to stand up or bear some of my own weight, and he’d grapple and yank and generally try to haul me to the car. It turned out I was willing to bet my life on it.

I was starting to sweat, even though icy fear raced through my veins, and my mind was as clear as adrenaline could make it. It took all my concentration to do what my instructor had called melting, drooping and making myself as heavy and unwieldy as possible. I wouldn’t lift so much as one finger because it would relieve my assailant of a few ounces of my cumbersome dead weight.

No thrashing or kicking, no lifting my head to try to bite him. He shouted for the man I’d kicked in the nuts to help him haul me up and into the SUV. As my attacker adjusted his grip, I chose my moment and used him to lever myself and kick swiftly to his ankles, sweeping his legs out from under him. I rolled aside so he didn’t land on me when he hit the ground. I slammed my elbow into his face and heard the satisfying crunch of bone when I broke his nose.

His buddy lunged for me and tried to drag me onto my feet and make me walk. I clawed and snapped at him, feral as a wildcat, and when he tried to pick me up, I dropped my dead weight onto him and he buckled, having to struggle to contain me and lift me.

I heard a sound, a voice shouting, “Let her go!” and I knew it was Drake. He was conscious and coming toward us. When he yelled again, I used the momentary distraction to my advantage. I rammed my elbow into his solar plexus, felt him double over, loosening his grip on me.

Then, relieved and making a beeline for Drake, I forgot a crucial bit of my training. I didn’t zigzag. I ran in a straight line. Right for Drake, and I watched, legs and arms pumping, as his face transformed into shock and horror. Worried, I tried to reach for him, but I wasn’t close enough and it was then that I stumbled, feeling a hot, sharp point bury itself in back. I retched from the sudden pain and pitched forward onto the pavement. Before I even struck the concrete, I was gasping as black splotches filled my vision and everything went dark.

CHAPTER 29

DRAKE

I didn’t want trouble. I just wanted to keep Carla safe.

Until I watched them shoot her.

Then I had a fucking score to settle.

She had been running to me, seeking the shelter of my arms. The hope in her face, the round curve of her cheek, her smile. That open expression on her face that transfigured so swiftly to confusion and then contorted into a rictus of pain—that undid me in some primal way. I was no longer a peace-loving professor or a law-and-order cop. I was a man whose woman had been hurt, deliberately by another man who now had to die, preferably as slowly as possible.

My vision cleared after flashing bright red for an instant. As the enforcer approached the spot where Carla fell, I pulled my weapon and pumped two rounds into him, chest and throat. He crumpled where he stood. The man she’d dropped with a sweeping kick and then an elbow to the face was unconscious on the ground. I knelt beside Carla. I pulled off my flannel shirt and pressed it to the bleeding wound on her back. It wasn’t near her spine, but the entrance wound was too close to her liver and pancreas for my comfort. I thumbed in 911 on my phone and told them to hurry.

It was a blur. Silence except my own pounding heart, traffic going by, slowing to check on us and then seeing the bodies on the ground and speeding up again. It was a matter of minutes before a squad car and an ambulance pulled up. I wanted Carla to wake up, to meet her eyes and tell her she was safe now, that I was so proud of her and she was so brave.

But the practical part of my brain knew she’d be better off staying passed out so she didn’t panic and move around and increase the bleeding of her wound. I saw her loaded onto a gurney and heard the paramedics shouting about her blood pressure, her pulse. When she was on her way to the hospital, I finally agreed to speak to the cops.

I turned over my gun and told them the story.

I gave them my FOID card, my ID, and my phone. I asked them to call Brent in lieu of my phone call.

“You’re Drake Sheffield,” the officer said. “I know all about you. You’re a legend. I transferred here from LA about six months ago, and I cut my teeth hearing stories about you and the way you broke up a gang war. I know you’re not a flight risk. When they have more questions, they’ll contact you. I assume you’ll be at the hospital with your girlfriend. So if I could give you a ride there, it would be an honor,” he said, surprising the hell out of me.

The man returned my phone, took pictures of my ID and FOID card, and handed me back my gun. Astonished, I holstered it and got in the squad car with him. The crime scene team was already going over the site and I was in no mood to answer the sort of detailed questions they’d formulate or offer any DNA samples without a court order. Thank goodness the officer on duty could see reason.

I had seen enough gunshot wounds to know that Carla wasn’t going to bleed out on the way to the hospital, that she’d probably need surgery to repair the internal damage. Whether any major organs were involved was the biggest concern at the moment. Because it was a dangerous wound and there were no guarantees. I’d seen a fellow officer die from a lesser gunshot, and I’d seen two men survive worse. She was young and healthy. I had applied pressure to slow the bleeding. She’d received emergency medical attention in less than ten minutes. The odds were in her favor.

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