Lex rubbed her eyes. “Maybe Linda has it right.”
“God.” Bernie squinted to peer through the storm. “I’ll never understand how a perfectly smart woman goes bum ass dumb over a guy. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it dozens of times with my girls. But not you, Lex. What the hell?”
She couldn’t explain the truth to him. “I don’t know.”
Gunshots filled the air, and partygoers poured out of the bar. One girl fell into the alley, while another young man leaped over her and into the street, screaming at the top of his lungs.
“Shit.” Bernie shoved open his door while calling, “Shots fired, shots fired,” into his radio along with the address.
Adrenaline flooded Lex’s senses, and she burst from the car, her gun already out. She swept the area, running into the flood of people barreling from the bar. She edged her hip against the opening and shoved inside with Bernie on her heels.
The scents of smoke and sweat assaulted her first. Rock music beat around a darkened room, while lights glowed from the ceiling in a weird red and blue pattern. A bar, painted black, took up the nearest wall.
“Masterson,” she yelled out.
“Back here.” Bundt poked his head above the bar. “Call it in. Officer down. Officer down.” He disappeared from sight.
Bernie called it in while Lex ran around the bar to where Bundt was pressing his hand around an upper chest wound bleeding from Masterson’s too still body. Even in the darkened bar, she could see the blood covering the floor around the cop.
She dropped to her knees and felt his neck. Good pulse.
Bundt shook his head. “Spike shot him. The prick shot my partner.”
She leaned down and patted Masterson’s cheek. “He’s out, but his heart rate is good. Keep pressure on the wound.” It looked like the bullet had gone through the upper shoulder.
“Freeze,” Bernie bellowed from across the room.
Lex jumped to her feet and grabbed her gun.
Across the bar, Bernie had taken a shooter’s stance, his gun aimed at a guy nearly glowing with pink fire.
Lex hustled around the bar, her gun toward the guy. He was tall, probably about six-five, and the fire surrounded him.
He walked toward Bernie, and Bernie pulled off three shots.
The guy jerked and then smiled.
“What the hell?” Bernie yelled.
The guy lifted his hand.
“No,” Lex yelled, afraid of the fire about to be thrown. She ran toward the guy.
Silver glinted in the darkened room, and he fired some kind of weapon.
Bernie twisted, his body contorting.
Lex hit the guy in a full tackle, knocking him into the wall. Pain flared along her shoulder and neck. The fire singed her skin but didn’t burn, and she grappled for control.
He gasped, his eyes widening before he swung and hit her temple.
She saw stars but kept fighting, hitting him in the eye.
“Lex,” Bernie called out, clutching his chest, falling to the floor.
“Bernie?” Lex elbowed her attacker in the nose and struggled to flip him over to cuff.
The guy growled and grabbed her hips, throwing her toward Bernie. She landed hard, the air knocked out of her, her palms smarting as they slapped the dirty floor, Her attacker jumped up and ran for the back door.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
She reached Bernie, who lay with his eyes open, gasping for breath. “Bern?”
“Fire. God, fire and hot. Hurts.” He gasped, his eyes filling with pain.
She yanked open his shirt, searching for bullet holes. Darts. Two red darts stuck into the top of his chest. What in the world? Gingerly, she tugged them out.
He began to convulse, his eyes closing.
“Bernie,” she yelled, patting his face, trying to hold him down so he didn’t hurt himself.
What had been in the darts?
Flames shot from his fingertips. Shit. Apollo. She leaned in, holding his face. “Don’t leave, Bernie. Please hold on.” She pressed her face to his shuddering chest to listen to his erratic heartbeat. Not good. Way not good.
Flames danced up his chest, burning his skin. The smell of burned flesh filled her nose.
“No,” she gasped. A tingle whipped through her. Flames, the color of Kell’s, appeared on her hands. Hadn’t she seen Kell quell another guy’s fire with his own?
Going on instinct, saying a quick prayer, she pushed her fire against the one harming Bernie. Sparks flew, and she ducked her head. Concentrating, she tried to capture the fire hurting him.
She’d practiced creating fire all morning, and she could do this. She had to do this. Her fire encircled his, and she snuffed it out by waving her hands.
He gasped a breath.
“Bernie?” she asked, leaning over his face, her body shaking. Creating fire took a lot of energy, and she was out.
His eyes fluttered shut.
Tears filled her eyes. The sound of Bundt talking to his partner, ordering him to awaken, filtered through the bawdy music.
Talking or applying pressure wouldn’t help Bernie. While she could snuff out the fire on him, what was happening inside him? She couldn’t force fire into him, could she?