“No. We’re going to avoid him like the plague. It’s too public to be brawling here. And we’re not doing anything illegal, either. We’re just breaking a quarantine. And maybe a few health codes.”
Michael gives me a dubious look. “You say that every time.”
I don’t even justify that with a response. Cade takes a quick look around, searching for the cops, who are still standing outside the hospital. They’re too busy chatting to a news reporter, who’s wearing one of the shortest skirts I’ve ever seen, to notice us. “So what’s the plan?”
“The plan’s simple. You two, get me under each arm. Lace, once we get around the side of the building, you run on ahead and tell the cops your friend is hurt and needs urgent medical attention.”
Cade lifts one eyebrow, shaking his head. “And what are we gonna do when the cops guarding the side entrance see that we don’t actually have a wounded guy to wheel inside?”
With a level of self-righteousness that even I can’t manage, Michael gives me an I-told-you-so look. He reaches forward and grabs hold of the bottom of my T-shirt, lifting it quickly before I can stop him. “Oh, I somehow don’t think a real injury is gonna be a problem, huh, boss?”
Cade sees the blood pouring down my stomach, the broken stitches sticking out of my now re-opened wound, and he blanches a little. I had forgotten all about that—Cade Preston never was comfortable around the sight of blood. Doesn’t look like much has changed. “Aw, for fuck’s sake!” he says, scrubbing his hand over his mouth. “Doesn’t that fucking hurt, man?”
I fix all three of them in the nastiest glare I can muster. Yes, it fucking hurts. Yes, I feel like shit. If I’m honest, I’m not entirely sure how long I’m going to be conscious if I keep losing blood at this rate. “No, asshole. I’m fine. Now come on, let’s go.”
******
The other entrance to St. Peter’s is a staff entrance, not used for emergencies. There are less people here, but there is still a pair of cops guarding the door, blocking anyone from going in or coming out. Just like I told her to, Lacey runs ahead and does a fine job of turning on the waterworks.
“My friend, he’s—he’s been stabbed! He’s losing a lot of blood. You have to let us inside!”
The cops aren’t buying it until Cade and Michael practically drag me around the corner, my legs trailing out behind me, and they see the blood. It’s all over my hands and face now, courtesy of a liberal application from my stomach wound, just to make things look a little more dramatic.
“Whoa, whoa, what the fuck man? You need to take him around front!” the younger of the cops tells Cade, holding up his hands.
“Does he look like he’s got time for me to take him around the front, asshole? He’s fucking bleeding out!”
I cough for effect, making a pained groaning sound and doubling over. I must look like shit. I’ve never been particularly tanned, but right now I’m guessing that if my coloring were manufactured as a paint, it would be called Early-Onset Death.
The cops look at each other, unsure what to do. “There’s a lockdown in progress at this hospital right now, sir. You might want to head over to one of the other hospitals instead,” the older, more experienced guy says.
“He’ll be dead before we get there,” Michael hisses,
“Yeah. And if he dies, that will be on you,” Lacey adds, tears still running down her cheeks. Maybe they’re raindrops actually; either way, it’s working in our favor. The cops look like they’re about to back down. They give each other another hesitant look and I think we’re through…but then the older one says, “I’m sorry, guys. A quarantine’s a quarantine for a reason. We can’t risk it. Here, I can have an ambulance sent over to—”
Cade nearly skids in the mud as I straighten up, shrugging off the two men who are supposedly supporting me. In two short strides I’ve covered the ground between me and the guy who was speaking and grabbed hold of his face in my palm, shoving him backward. He staggers back a step; I let go, pull my arm back and I swing as hard as I can, smashing my fist into his cheek bone. It all happens so fast that the younger guy barely has time to react. I kick out his legs from underneath him, and then Cade rushes forward and drives his fist into the kid’s face, hard enough that his body goes limp on impact.
Both of the cops lie unconscious on the ground.
Blowing, Cade straightens up, looking from the bodies to me, and back again. “Not illegal, huh? I’m sure Washington State considers assault on a police officer illegal,” he says.