“Get your head down!” Deacon shouted at her.
She ducked, burying her face in her lap just as the back windshield of the car shattered. Shards of glass flew into the front seat, lodging in Lana’s hair and nicking her ear. She sucked in oxygen. Felt her head spinning as the pain in her arm throbbed. As the blood coated the armrest between her and Deacon.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. What if she lost too much blood? What if she lost the baby?
The car lurched forward as Deacon slammed a foot down on the gas pedal. Rubber squealed, another bullet rocked the car, then another, dinging off their bumper like a ball colliding into the walls of an arcade pinball machine.
“Where are you hit?” came Deacon’s frantic voice.
And then his hand was on her arm, the contact bringing a sharp wave of nausea to her belly. Something ripped. The sleeve of her sweater, she realized. Deacon made a sound between a growl and curse as he ran his bare hand over her blood-soaked skin.
“Lana. Lana! Quit hitting me and let me examine the wound.”
Hitting him? She hadn’t even realized she was doing it. Taking in short, panicked bursts of air, she went motionless, biting her lip through the pain as Deacon appraised her wound. Somehow he managed to keep his eyes on the road ahead and at the same time wrap the sleeve he’d torn off around her arm in a tight tourniquet.
“It’s a flesh wound,” he assured her. “You’re going to be fine, sweetheart. It looks bad, I know, but it was just a graze.”
His words barely even registered. She was too busy staring at the blood. So much blood. Sticking to the armrest. Spattered on the beige leather seat.
“The baby,” she whispered, breathing through the white-hot pulses of pain. “Oh, Deacon, the baby.”
She felt more than saw his head swivel at her in complete shock. “What did you say?”
“I’m pregnant.” Teardrops slid down her cheeks, falling onto the seat and mingling with the blood. “I…” Her heart twisted in her chest. “I can’t lose our baby. I can’t.” She clung to her injured arm, her tears soaking the tourniquet. “Promise me I won’t lose it. Promise me.”
Deacon felt as though he’d been punched in the gut, followed by the swing of a baseball bat to his head. His stomach roiled, his head spun and the Vatican should have been contacted, because it was a sheer miracle that he managed to drive away in the stolen car without smashing into the nearest tree.
Pregnant.
Pregnant?
Was this a joke? How could she be pregnant?
Okay, well, he knew how. But why? They’d used protection.
If you called an ancient condom that had been stuffed in his wallet years ago protection.
Deacon fought a wild curse. Why hadn’t he checked the damn expiration date on the latex?
How could Lana be pregnant?
He stared dumbfounded at her for several long seconds, then jerked out of it when a honk wailed in the air. He straightened the wheel before a head-on collision could destroy his and Lana’s chances for escape.
Focus.
Deacon focused. He shoved Lana’s shocking confession from his mind and concentrated on the road ahead, maneuvering through the streets of D.C. There’d be plenty of time to freak out later. Right now they just needed to get the hell out of Dodge.
“You okay?” he asked roughly as he zipped onto the on ramp of the highway.
She nodded, but he noticed she was shaking hysterically as she continued to put pressure on her wound. Her blond hair was stuck to her cheeks, and tears continued to flow from her eyes. She was scared. Every pore in her body radiated fear. Despite himself, he glanced down at her stomach, flat beneath her blue sweater.
Pregnant. Jesus Christ.
Shaking the thought right out of his head, he drove until they reached the next exit, constantly flicking his gaze to the rearview mirror to make sure they weren’t being tailed. A higher power had been smiling down on them earlier. Lana might have been hit, but the others hadn’t had time to find a vehicle and finish the job. The SUV was parked in the underground, which meant Deacon had a head start on his former partners in crime.
He sped down the exit ramp, moving his head left and right until he spotted a small strip mall at the corner of the intersection. Steering toward it, he drove into the lot, parked the car and reached for Lana.
She blinked in surprise. “Why did we stop?” she whispered. It was the first sentence she’d uttered since dropping her bomb of a confession.
“We need to switch cars.” He unbuckled her seat belt, then hopped out of the car, rounded it and helped Lana out of the passenger seat.