Dead on Arrival (4 page)

The barrel of a shotgun looks more like a cannon when it's aimed at your head—and in such close proximity.

The guy holding it was gigantic, at least from this angle, with a huge potbelly, a red plaid shirt, and a beard that would rival Rip Van Winkle's. He seemed to growl a bit then clearly (as if we were morons) said, “If I'd wanted her to live, I wouldn't have strangled her.”

I only wished that I lived long enough to repeat those words in a trial testimony against him.

Dano looked at me, then at the guy. “You know what? You're right, buddy.” As he spoke, he grabbed my arm and we stood. “She shouldn't have called us. Fell and got tangled. Ha!” With that, he had me past the shotgun, which the guy now pointed toward the woman.

I wanted to run and grab it before he shot her right then.

“We can't leave,” I protested to Dano.

He gave me some kind of look. A dirty look one might say, but I had no idea what it meant. “Nope. She shouldn't have called.”

“Dano, we can't leave that woman!” I tried to push at his arm, but even though I believed in equality of the sexes when it comes to…well…everything, there are jobs that some women (like
moi
) are physically not strong enough to do.

Right now, I couldn't get away from ER Dano if I tried.

He kept pushing me and said to the gunman, “We're outta here. Have a nice day.”

“Have a nice day!” I said, as he shoved me out the opened door.

I turned to give him a piece of my mind, but he slid into the dining room before the door shut.

“Dan—” If I said anything, he'd get caught.

I ran to the ambulance, grabbed my cell phone out of my purse, and called 911. If I didn't have to wear stupid scrubs, I would have on a TLC uniform and a phone on my shoulder. “Give me the police!” I shouted then told them the situation and ran back to the front porch. I couldn't leave Dano in there alone.

I looked into the window, which, although covered in dirt and whatever, made it easy to see right through to the kitchen.

Dano had the guy in some chokehold, the shotgun lay on the floor, and the poor woman was kicking the guy's legs! But before I could blink, the guy did some kind of maneuver, looked like ex-military, and now Dano was on the floor next to the patient.

I ran into the house on a surge of adrenaline and not much common sense, and when I got to the kitchen, the guy had picked up the shotgun.

“No!” I shouted and pushed at the barrel as a
crack
filled the air. A loud
crack
!

The scene became a madhouse of screaming (me), shouting at me (ER Dano), longshoremen-type cursing (the guy), and the woman on the floor kicking at him with her shoeless foot. When Dano grabbed my arm to shove me to the side, the guy took the gun and aimed straight at Dano's chest—and I suddenly thought of Jagger.

Not really thought about him. In reality it was more as if I felt him, his
presence
, and I reached beneath my scrubs and yanked out the pink locket Jagger had given me a few cases back.

This time I shoved my hip into Dano's side to get past him, aimed, pressed the pump dispenser, and let the pepper spray do its job while the guy screamed and cried like a girl.

Despite Dano telling me to get the hell out of there, I grabbed the gun from the guy, held it toward his…legs…despite the fact that I had no idea how to shoot it.

“Oh shit,” Dano murmured, stepped back, and leaned against the counter more nonchalant than I think Jagger would have been.

Thank goodness I didn't have to shoot because what seemed like hours had passed, and while sirens blared guys in blue stormed into the hallway aiming their guns at me!

Dano knew all the cops and made it clear that
I
was not the whacko even though I held the shotgun—but I swear he
hesitated
first.

Dano called into TLC's dispatch after we'd safely dropped the poor phone lady off at the hospital, and the rest of the trip was silent. A few times I turned toward him to say something but only got the cold shoulder and decided to keep my mouth shut. I wanted to say that was a rude way to treat someone who had just saved his life—and then it hit me.

ER Dano was pissed that I, a
woman
, had saved
his
life!

I couldn't help but smile.

At the stoplight, he turned and glared at me.

Yikes.

I bit my tongue so as not to ask “what?” which I would have done to Jagger. Although a hunk, ER Dano was a bit more…frightening…to me than Jagger ever was.

We pulled into the driveway of TLC and went directly to the gigantic garage that housed the ambulances.

Dispatch had cleared us for the day, and I couldn't wait to get home.

Dano shut off the ambulance after pulling into a space, opened his door, turned to look at me and said, “Hose her out and replace the supplies.”

My mouth often dropped to near chest level when I was surprised, shocked, or merely astonished.

This time it almost made it past my waist.

I shut my mouth faster than Dano had spun around and started walking out the door!

Shoving my door open and jumping out, I ran after him—and made the mistake of grabbing his arm.

He swung around and I knew, just knew, if I were a guy, I'd be splayed out on the floor beneath Dano's feet right now. Instead he yanked free and said, “What?” in such a gruff voice that I jumped back.

But I recovered quickly, straightened my shoulders, and said, “What? What? It's my first day! I'm not cleaning out the ambulance!”

He leaned really close.

Oops.

I swallowed and ran self-defense maneuvers through my mind even though, in reality, I never felt a second of fear for my life. “Yeah, I'm not doing it, Dano. Not alone,” I ended, using my smarts, so I wouldn't let him get the upper hand. Or at least that's what I was telling myself.

He moved closer, looked closer, and said really closely, “Hose is on the wall, scrubbers next to it, soap's on the shelf, stocking is self-explanatory for a nurse.”

My mouth dried at the same time my brain froze and not like when you eat ice cream. For some reason, and help me to understand this here, St. T, but having Dano so near and talking that way had some kind of mesmerizing effect on me.

Hot was the first word that came to mind.

Damn, the second.

And thirdly, I came back to reality and said, “Fine, but you owe me a drink then.” With that, and as if some foreign power overtook me, I turned and walked away—all the while
feeling
ER Dano staring at my butt—which I unashamedly wiggled.

When I came out of the locker room where I'd cleaned up after my “extra” duty with the help of darling Buzz L, I ran into Jagger in the hallway. “Where the hell were you?”

He looked at me from head to toe. “You all right, Pauline?”

“Guess I should be honored that you are concerned I didn't get my head blown off with a shotgun, but yeah, I'm fine.”

He grinned.

“Dano told you everything.” It wasn't a question, and Jagger didn't look as if he was going to answer. “Any news on the demise of Payne?”

Jagger shook his head.

“Great. Why is it that I never get the proverbial open and shut cases? How come no one ever hands
me
a suspect?”

He shook his head again, but this time in the typical Jagger-shake that said he was annoyed with me.
Who cared?
I thought as I walked toward the employees' door.

Just then the door to the men's locker room swung open. All decked out in jeans and a navy tee swaggered Dano. Over his shoulder he said to me, “Boz's Bar and Grille on Dearborn two blocks from St. Greg's.”

I knew it well since that's where all the hospital staff hung out not to mention my dear Uncle Walt and his cronies. The seniors, however, stuck to the front room while the younger crowd cavorted in the back.

Not that I planned to cavort with ER Dano!

He pushed the bar to open the back door while Jagger looked from Dano to me.

“I'll be there,” Jagger said.

I'm not sure whose eyes were larger, Dano's or mine. Wait. Mine.

Dano actually squinted.

“What'll your one drink be?” Dano asked, looking at me—I mean nearly through me.

Damn. The guy had gorgeous deep brown eyes and a way of using them that made a girl notice. And for some reason I just knew Dano used them to his benefit on more than one occasion.

“Cosmo, please,” I said, pulling the stool next to him from near the bar. He remained seated, not offering to help.
Shades of Jagger
, I thought and looked around to see where he was. Maybe he'd changed his mind.

“He's in the head,” Dano muttered then turned toward the bartender. “Give her a Cosmopolitan, Patty.”

The bartender winked at me. “You'll probably need something sweet to balance his effects,” she said, and then laughed as she motioned her head toward Dano.

As if I didn't know whom she was talking about.

I laughed then caught him staring at me and stopped. “What? That was funny.”

“What's funny?” Jagger asked from behind me. Suddenly I felt like a sandwich—only the two pieces of bread were different kinds. Wheat and rye. And they really didn't go together too well in my opinion.

“Nothing,” I said, taking a sip of my drink as soon as Patty put it down. Actually, it was still sloshing about, but I
needed
it quickly. When I took the napkin to wipe my lips, ER Dano turned to look at me—but remained silent.

Jagger eased himself next to me on the other side—and I knew I should get the hell out of there—cause it was going to be one heck of a night!

A couple of EMTs came into the place, and I quickly realized it was a hangout for the TLC crowd plus, by the looks of some of the other uniforms, several other ambulance companies as well. I'm sure with the stress of the job and equal stress of competition, they all needed to unwind.

Buzz Lightyear walked in with Lilla, and I knew she probably made his night by even walking next to him. The kid was so fresh and new—his patches actually stood out straight on his sleeves instead of being molded to the shape of his arm as ER Dano's were. Poor Jeremy. Now I could only think of him as Buzz.

He came closer and said, “Hi, everyone!”

ER Dano turned. “You old enough to be in here, kid?”

Buzz laughed, and I knew he had a fondness for the experienced paramedic—although I couldn't figure out why. Actually, I figured beneath the rough exterior, ER Dano was a softie.

“Don't sit next to me, kid,” Dano said, “Your new EMT smell is ruining the taste of my Coors.”

Buzz laughed hysterically. “New EMT smell! You mean like a new car smells. Right, Dan?”

Dano turned to him.

I readied to interfere before he embarrassed the hell out of Jeremy, but ER Dano merely rolled his eyes.

“That is what I mean, Buzz. That is what I mean,” ER said, then took what I thought was a very long, slow sip of his beer.

Jagger leaned nearer and touched my shoulder.

Wow. I wondered if I was going to make it out of here alive, or at least in decent condition. I swung around to him. “What?”

He motioned with his head and stood up.

Jagger wanted me to follow him. I got up, said “excuse me” as if ER Dano would care, and followed Jagger toward the pool table, all the while wondering if he wanted me to spend time with him alone—or, more likely, to discuss the case.

“Pick out a stick,” he ordered and then racked up the balls.

I was not a very good player, and he probably knew that, but at least it gave us time to be alone and talk. From the corner of my eye, I could see Lilla doing her job of keeping ER Dano and Buzz busy.

She impressed me and learned the PI business pretty fast. I figured Lilla was going to be helpful on this case, and hopefully future ones if immigration didn't deport her back to Canada.

“You're solid, Sherlock,” Jagger said.

I looked up to see him standing oh-so-nonchalantly-Jagger-like with the cue stick at his side. “Hm?” Solid? Was he telling me I was hot and solid? (Please, God!)

He looked at the pool table. “Solid.”

Solid colored balls. Duh. What on earth made me think that Jagger had complimented me?

I took the cue stick in my hands then noticed the square of blue chalk sitting on the end of the table. Uncle Walt sometimes watched pool on television, and I'd joined him on more than one occasion. Being a quick study, I stopped, picked up the chalk, and rubbed it on the end of the cue stick as I'd seen the pros do many times.

Jagger raised one eyebrow.

Buzz Lightyear got off his stool and walked closer, more than likely thinking he was going to see some spectacular shot, and ER Dano looked at me, then turned back to his drink.

But I could see his reflection in the mirror—and he could see me.

Great. An audience, and me not exactly a pool hustler.

I shut my eyes for a second to picture the pros' hands when they shot. Even if I didn't get any ball in, I'd at least look good.

I set the chalk down, leaned over, placed my fingers in position, and aimed the white ball at a lovely shade of green ball that was near the corner pocket, realizing I had no idea how to hit it.
Just give me this first one
, St. T, I prayed in my head, and before I knew it, I'd hit the white ball; it sailed down the felt concourse and hit the lovely shade of green ball directly into the side pocket!

I looked up to see Jagger—no expression.

Ha! That in and of itself meant I did good—I believed that and was sticking to it. Slowly I stepped back and leaned against the wall, hoping I looked hot or sexy or at least not stupid.

“Still your turn,” Jagger muttered.

Damn. “No kidding. I was taking a break.” With that I looked over the table, found a darling red ball near another pocket—and landed that sucker right in!