Page 92 of What Hurts Us

“Off duty?”

He nodded. “Figured I’d stop by and see my girl before I head to the hospital to check on Gran.” He wedged the roses into my hand and stole another kiss.

“Thank you,” I said as I brought the blooms to my nose. “This is unexpected. And sweet,” I added quickly as I led him into my bunk room. “Very sweet.”

Cal looked around. “So, this is it. Huh?”

I shrugged, laying the flowers on top of the storage bin I kept my bedding and toiletries in. “Home sweet home.”

“I heard Gran is getting discharged tomorrow,” I said. “Surgery went well. No signs of infection. The physical therapist has her up and moving.”

Cal cocked his head, eyeing me curiously. “You’ve been at work for eighteen hours. How’d you hear all that?”

“I have eyes and ears everywhere,” I whispered.

He raised an eyebrow.

“And we did a flight to that hospital earlier, so I ran down to her room before we flew back.” I toed off my boots, unzipped my flight suit, and stripped down to my thermal underwear.

Cal’s eyes darkened. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, adjusting the front of his jeans.

“What?” I clipped as I slipped a coat hanger into the shoulders and hung it up to be ready for the next run.

He palmed my ass cheek and squeezed. “So sexy.”

I swatted at his wrist and hissed, “Baby!”

“What?” He laughed. “I can’t grab my girl’s ass?”

“Not while I’m at work!”

“There’s no one around.”

“There are strict bunk rules. One person per room, you never go into someone else’s bunk, and doors stay open if visitors come in.” I tipped my chin up and grazed his lips. “And tones could drop at any moment.”

As if I had conjured it, the alert on my work phone sounded as the tones blared from the communications room. AB let the profanities fly as she charted with the speed of a jungle cat. I peered down the hall and watched as Odin jogged into the room and answered the radio as he pulled up the weather radar. There was a pregnant pause before my radio chirped. “Danville to Duke. PT is a thirty-year-old male. Three GSWs. Officers securing the scene want everyone responding to be in body armor. Three to go, one to say no.”

“Go,” AB called.

“Go,” I echoed.

“Let’s roll, ladies,” he hollered. “We’re skids up in ten.”

Callum braced his hands in the door frame as he watched me root through my gear for my Kevlar vest. Fear was painted across his face.

“It’s not my first call like this, Cal. You know the kind of shit we go into.”

His grinding teeth sounded like a circular saw. “I just… I don’t like seeing you in body armor.” His words were tight and displeased. Still, he grabbed the vest from me, yanked the velcro apart, and dropped it over my shoulders.

I tightened it up around my torso before jumping back into my flight suit and pulling on my boots. “There’s a turf war happening between rival gangs in southern Virginia. We’ve had a lot of gunshot wound victims, a lot of stabbings, and some really ugly DOAs.”

The worst ones were mutilated bodies that were still alive—the kind of stuff members of organized crime do to set an example for the rest. Some scenes were burned into the back of my eyelids. There was a fresh horror waiting for me every time I closed my eyes.

“Even if the scene is secured, word gets out pretty fast about which hospital we’re taking the patient to. If it’s a high-ranking member or leader, their soldiers and their family show up to the hospital. Usually, the other side shows up, too.” I grabbed my helmet. “It’s just a precaution. I don’t want some barely legal, wannabe cartel leader to go after me in an attempt to take out the competition by proxy.”

Callum knew all of those things. Hell, he had responded to some of the calls himself. Small towns were not impervious to serious crimes.

“I’ll take your roses home and put them in some water,” he said gently.

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