Page 27 of Blossoming Dahlia

“Been through hell and back I see,” he said, his eyes going to the cuffs still dangling from my uninjured wrist. I nodded dully, taking another sip of the scotch. It probably wasn’t a smart move, but it helped to dull the razor edge of pain that was creeping in. “Is she worth it?” he asked lightly, jerking his chin to Dahlia. I bristled and sat up straighter, lifting my chin at him.

“She saved me, actually,” I replied sharply, and he nodded, his eyes sparkling as if that had been the correct answer.

Irene came bustling back into the room, a cup of coffee in her hands and a tea towel. She scowled at her husband when she saw the drink in his hands. “Louie, it’s four in the morning, what in god’s name are you doing drinking?” she snapped. “Here you go dear, wrap this around your arm to help sop up the mess you’ve got there,” she instructed, holding out the tea towel. I took it and tied it around my wrist, watching as it began turning red almost immediately. She also set the coffee down on the table beside me.

I felt the couch shift behind me and I sat up abruptly, turning to find Dahlia’s eyes blinking open and looking confused. “Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe,” I told her immediately, and her hand reached up to her throat, checking for the collar. Her hands started to shake as she touched the unfamiliar blanket on her chest, and I put my unbloodied hand on hers to steady her.

“Where?-” Her voice was rough from the damage to her throat, and her question cut off abruptly as she started coughing furiously.

“Oh dear!” Irene gasped, rushing off to the kitchen. She was back a moment later—moving quite fast for an elderly woman—with a glass of water in her hands. “Here you go, sweetheart,you drink that up now,” she told Dahlia, her eyes full of maternal caring. I helped Dahlia hold the glass up to her lips, and she took a few tentative sips, the cough subsiding. I heard sirens approaching, and I let go of Dahlia reluctantly, pushing myself gingerly to stand. Every part of my body protested at the movement, but I pushed through it, hobbling to the door to flag down the incoming army.

Soon enough, the entire block was lit up with cars, and I took charge of the scene, the tea towel dangling from my wrist as I showed officers where to go. Finally, my unit supervisor arrived and promptly relieved me from duty, his eyes scanning my injuries with a grim smile. “Just couldn’t let Hunter have all the attention, could you?” he asked, and I gave him a half-hearted smile in return. “Get yourself to the damn hospital already before you bleed out on my crime scene.”

I gave him a quick salute and hobbled back to the house where Irene was holding court, supplying officers with coffee and water, admonishing anyone who dared step on her lawn. When I made it back to the living room, I found Dahlia sitting up on the couch, wearing a garish purple blouse that clearly belonged to Irene. Louie seemed to be regaling her with a story of some sort, and she looked tired but relaxed, her hands wrapped around my abandoned mug of coffee.

“I’ve got an ambulance with our name on it,” I told her, and she smiled sadly, setting her mug down and pushing herself up unsteadily. I moved toward her immediately, but Louie beat me to her, offering his arm like they were off to a dance. Surprisingly, she accepted it, leaning on him as she stepped around the table.

“I’d let you be the white knight, but I’m afraid you’ll both keel over on my carpet if I did,” Louie announced, barking out a rough laugh. He was probably right, so I let him help Dahlia down to the ambulance parked out front, hobbling beside them.The EMT waiting outside the ambulance helped her up into the vehicle, and I heard her whisper a soft thank you to Louie, making him beam. As it turned out, they had to help me into the ambulance as well, my legs choosing this moment to give out on me. The EMT sat me down on the bench beside Dahlia and shut the doors. I leaned back, rocking slightly as we drove off. I must’ve closed my eyes for a moment because he was suddenly crouched in front of me, peeling the now disgusting tea towel off my wrist.

“Mm-mm, check her out please. I’m fine,” I mumbled, pulling my arm away from him. Dahlia let out a scoff, and the EMT, whose name tag read Lucas, gave me an appraising look.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, that jumps the queue,” he replied, grabbing my arm and examining the deep cuts in my wrist.

“I need you to make sure she’s okay,” I snapped. “I’m the agent here, civilians take priority.” I might be talking out of my ass, but I guessed Lucas didn’t feel like arguing with the FBI today. He wrapped a fresh bandage around my wrist and turned his attention to Dahlia. There, that was better. I sighed heavily, my eyes drifting closed again. “She was electrocuted. Burns on her neck,” I muttered. “And cuts on her chest.” I tried to think of what else had happened, the last few days were a blur of pain, and my brain was foggy.

I’d kept Dahlia safe, I’d done my job. Curing was dead, so she wouldn’t need to be afraid again. When was the last time I’d had a full night’s sleep?

“Sir? Can you hear me sir?”

Damn, I was so tired. I just needed to rest my eyes for a minute. Just a minute.

Chapter eighteen

Dahlia

Iwatched helplessly as the EMT caught Asher mid-fall, lifting him up enough to slide him onto the gurney in the middle of the ambulance. “I need your hands!” he shouted at me, and my limbs reacted all at once, lurching me forward until I smacked into the gurney with my hips. He ignored my near fall, ripping the vest off of Asher’s chest, exposing the motley of bruises covering his torso. “Did he get shot?” he demanded, jerking wires out of a nearby machine and attaching them to different parts of his body.

“Um, yes. He was wearing the vest, but it was right there.” I pointed at the horrible-looking bruise at the center of his chest. “I think he was hit by a car, too. And um, he got beat up pretty badly.” My voice was already raspy thanks to the collar, but now I was fighting through a lump forming as we took stock of his injuries.

The EMT grimaced and turned on the machine beside us, the sound of Asher’s weak heartbeat filling the space aroundus. He started pulling out some more equipment, slamming the wall with his hand twice. “Gage, double time!” he shouted, and I heard the sirens turn on above us, the ambulance jostling as we picked up speed. He held out a wand-looking thing to me, pouring gel on Asher’s chest. “Hold this, press it down here, and move it when I tell you,” he instructed.

I took the wand gingerly, and put it down where he said to. He turned on a second monitor, and a grainy video appeared on it. He held Asher’s shoulder down, studying the screen. “Left a bit, now up, up a little more, wait… okay, hold it right there, do not move it,” he ordered, and I used my other hand to grip the side of the gurney to keep myself steady. I felt the blood drain from my face as he pulled a large syringe out of one of the drawers, tearing open the packaging and tossing it aside.

“Alright, take a deep breath, hold the wand steady, and whatever you do, do not faint until after I’m finished with this,” he instructed, and before I could ask whatthiswas exactly, he jabbed the needle into Asher’s chest, just below the wand. I tried not to look as he pulled up the plunger, drawing a syringe-full of dark red blood out. When it was full, he set it down on the nearby tray and grabbed another syringe, watching the screen as he did it again. He pulled two more syringes full of blood out of Asher’s chest before the machine monitoring his heart picked up speed again, sounding closer to a normal heartbeat.

“Okay, I’ll take that back now, thanks.” He smiled, holding out his hand. I passed him the wand and sank to the floor, still gripping the side of the gurney. “Hey, it’s okay, you did great,” he told me gently, coming around to help me back over to the bench. “He had blood filling the sack around his heart, and that was making it hard for it to pump properly,” he explained.

“Thank you.” I whispered, my hands shaking—from fear or exhaustion, I wasn’t sure. I watched him set about strapping Asher onto the gurney properly, so when we pulled up to theER entrance they were able to easily wheel him out and into the hospital.

I tried to follow, but a nurse stopped me, forcing me gently into a wheelchair. She wheeled me to a private room where a female police officer was waiting with another tech. They removed the ugly blouse Irene had given me to wear and took pictures of the wounds on my neck and torso. I wasn’t sure why they needed to, since Curing was dead anyway, but I guessed it all needed to be documented just in case. It took a while for them to finish cleaning and bandaging the cuts, and then another doctor came in to examine the burns on my neck. The nurse provided me with a set of scrubs since my injuries weren’t actually bad enough to warrant an overnight stay, apparently. But I didn’t want to leave.

“Can you take me to his room, please?” I rasped, and the nurse hesitated for a moment, looking conflicted. “Please, I’m not supposed to leave his side, he’ll freak out if he wakes up and I’m not there.” Only half of that statement was true since, technically, the case was done now that Curing was dead. I could just go… home? But I didn’t have a home. I guessed I could call Amanda… but I didn’t have a phone. Tears pricked my eyes, and that seemed to sway her.

“Alright, fine. This way.” She waved, and I followed after her as she led me upstairs, back to the ICU. She brought me to the same room Hunter was in, and officers were still posted in front of the door. They nodded and let me through, recognizing me from before, or maybe from TV, who knew at this point. I spotted Hunter right away, but the bed next to him was empty, and I frowned, thinking the nurse had made a mistake.

“He’s still down in surgery, they’ll bring him up in a little while,” Hunter called out, and my shoulders sagged in relief. I walked over tentatively and sat in the chair beside his bed, feeling awfully out of place without Asher nearby. Hunter stilllooked gruesome, but he seemed to be a bit more lucid today. His good eye was half open now, the swelling having started to go down at least. “Did they clear you?” he asked, looking me over carefully.

“Yeah, I’m okay, just the burns this time, really. No stitches,” I replied, my voice still pretty rough. Guilt welled up in my chest as I looked over his ruined face. How was I free to go home, while these two men were barely clinging on to life? That didn’t seem fair at all. I thought about Asher collapsing in the ambulance, like all of life had just drained out of him all at once, and I realized my face was damp, tears spilling down my cheeks.

---