Pain kicked in along with his memory. It felt like his head had been accidentally placed into the sort of machine that compacted junk cars into tiny metal cubes. Even so, he should try to move. Katrina was facing her sister’s killer. He couldn’t leave her to do that alone. But how could he help her when even blinking made him nauseous?
There was a change in the air around him as someone drew closer. He remained still, playing dead until he knew for sure what was going on. A whiff of Katrina’s scent filled his nostrils and then she dropped to her knees beside him. Her nearness comforted him, but now she had her back to Latimer. That made her vulnerable to the guy who had hit Spencer on the head with a rock. He could try the same tactic he’d used on Spencer and hit Katrina...
Through half-closed eyes, Spencer observed her turning to talk over her shoulder to Latimer. “If you’re right, and he’s dead, there’ll be no hiding place for you. The police will make sure they hunt down a cop killer.”
She lifted Spencer’s hand, holding it to her cheek. As she did, he shakily lifted his other hand, holding his middle finger over his lips in a “shh” gesture before reaching for the gun that was lying at his side. At first, he wasn’t sure she’d seen what he did, but then he noticed the sheen of tears on her cheek and she gave a tiny nod. Holding her flashlight steady, she made sure the scene was illuminated.
“No way is that happening.” Latimer’s voice shook as he cocked the gun. “None of this was my fault. I can’t go down for accidentally killing Eliza or bashing a cop over the head because he saw where I hide my drug stash.”
Summoning every ounce of strength he had, Spencer rose suddenly, pushed Katrina to the ground and angled his body up to get a clear view. Shooting to wound was a risky tactic and most police marksmen were not skilled enough to take that chance. Luckily for Latimer, Spencer was army trained, plus he wanted Eliza’s killer to face a court and answer for his crimes.
With a single shot, he caught Latimer just above his right elbow. The guy’s lower arm swung loose as he cried out and dropped the gun. Katrina darted forward and grabbed the weapon at the same time that a large, familiar figure burst through the trees with an excited bark.
Latimer was staggering around, wailing and clutching his arm, as Kerry and PJ appeared with their weapons drawn.
“MVPD. On your knees with your hands behind your head,” PJ ordered.
“I can’t. He shot me. Broke my arm,” Latimer whined.
“I can’t see anything wrong with your legs.” PJ wasn’t known for his sympathetic nature.
Still complaining, Latimer got to his knees. Through a haze of pain, Spencer heard PJ telling him he was under arrest and Kerry calling for medical help.
Katrina took Spencer’s gun, made it safe and placed it on the ground with the one she’d removed from Latimer. Then she leaned closer. “Can you talk?”
“No.” He pulled her down to him. “But you can still hold me.”
She made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’ll take my chances. I’ve been finding out lately that love comes with risks.”
Her body was warm around
his for a few seconds, then a wet nose was thrust into Spencer’s hand and Boris’s tail thumped hard on the ground between them.
“I guess even the most well-trained dog can be forgiven for wanting to know if his master is okay,” Katrina said.
“Boris is a hero.” Kerry came to kneel beside them. “We didn’t know what was going on when he emerged from the park without you. But he started charging up to us, barking and wagging his tail, then running back toward the park entrance. It was clear he wanted us to follow him. He led us straight to you.”
A few minutes later, they heard the wail of an approaching ambulance siren.
Katrina turned to Kerry. “Can you take Boris with you?”
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“Because I’m going with Spencer to the hospital.” She lifted his hand to her cheek. “These are the new rules. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
* * *
Spencer stared up at the tree canopy as the paramedics put a brace around his neck. A faint glimmer of light was beginning to shine through. Or maybe his eyes had been damaged. He felt as though an iron girder had been smashed across the entire left half of his head. Had it? He thought it was something to do with Kenyon Latimer and a rock, but his memory could be playing tricks. Now and then there were flashes of clarity, but everything that had happened since he and Boris entered the park felt fuzzy, like a TV screen with too much static.
The two men on either side of him carefully lifted his upper body to finish with the brace, giving him a view of his legs. As they did, he wiggled his toes. His injuries couldn’t be that bad, he decided. His spinal cord was still working.
He was vaguely aware of being immobilized and carried to the ambulance on a stretcher. From the emergency vehicle, he was taken to the ER at Mustang Valley General. Then, a female doctor asked him where he hurt, and he gestured to the back and left side of his head.
By then, his skull felt like it was trying to pound its way out of his head through the skin. The drugs the doctors gave him didn’t stop the pain completely, but they made him drowsy and less inclined to care. The whole time, he clung tight to Katrina’s hand. Her face reassured him. He only let go of her when he was taken for a CAT scan.
After the scan, he was wheeled into a small room and lifted onto a bed. By this time, he was feeling nauseous and shaky.