He jogged.
The taillights grew smaller.
He forced his legs to break into a run.
Pain in his head blackened the corners of his vision, but he ran.
Instinct told him she was in that car, and he ran.
The blackness attempted to overtake his vision completely, and he blinked it away.
Way the hell down the street, the taillights whipped around a corner, and in the light of a distant streetlamp, he could make out the back door opening, and a body was hurled onto the street.
A woman’s body.
It rolled across the asphalt in a sickening manner until it lurched to a halt, limbs tangled and splayed and still as death.
His feet pounded the pavement, and he forgot to breathe.
It took way too long for him to reach her, and the pain was blinding, and the tunnel vision kept coming, and the back of his head and neck were warm and sticky.
He blinked away the blackness again, and she was beat to hell. Half-naked. Barefoot. Bleeding from everywhere. Silent. Still.
He got low, hands and knees on asphalt, and reached for her neck. Marks on her neck that looked like the ones that marred her arms. Like she’d been strangled. Slow pulse. Labored breathing. Body exposed on a street in New Orleans, and he tore off his jacket to drape it over her.
Where was his phone?
Front pants pocket, and he pulled it out.
He blinked again, and someone answered.
“What’s your emergency?”
“Canal Street. A few blocks up from Harrah’s. I need help.”
“Are you injured?”
He lost his balance and fell to his forearms on either side of her still body.
“Yeah.”
“Stay on the line with me. An ambulance is on its way.”
“Thanks.”
He dropped the phone, and his torso dropped to the asphalt. Blackness swept over his vision, but he kept one arm draped across her body, hand holding her arm. So he could keep her safe. Just like he promised.
13
UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER, NEW ORLEANS
“Brennan, can you hear me? Can you look at me? It’s Mama, sweetheart. Can you wake up for me, honey?”
The sound of his mother’s voice shot straight to a level of Brennan’s brain that informed him it was imperative that he comply, lest he make her worry, and he forced his eyes open.
The room was blinding. The too-bright, too-white lights pierced various places in his head with excruciating throbs and stabbing sensations. Nausea threatened, and he rubbed his eyes.
“Hey, Mama,” he mumbled, feigning that nothing was a big deal, though everything about this situation looked like a very big, very bad deal.
