“Hell no, you stay and—”
“911 an ambulance, Millie’s shot.”
“Shot? Wait! You stay with her, this is my—”
“Take care of Millie,” he said again. “I’ve got this.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Tuesday, July 9
9:45 P.M.
Micki spotted Zach two blocks up. The perp a half block in front of him. Dark hoodie, moving fast. He had the look of a gangbanger. Which meant he wasn’t alone. Those guys were never alone.
Son of a bitch, Zach so did not have this. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
Micki swept the snack smorgasbord aside, cringing at the thought of the mess on the Nova’s floor, and started the car. The engine roared to life; she rolled away from the curb.
She radioed for back-up and an ambulance, then sorted through her options. She didn’t want to startle the perp, didn’t want her presence to aggravate the situation. And she had no idea what Zach might do next. The guy was a total, frickin’ loose cannon.
The perp suddenly stopped. He turned toward Harris, his hands jammed into the hoodie’s pockets. Micki’s pulse leapt, but before she could react, another vehicle, a souped-up Ford Mustang Cobra, came out of nowhere. It slowed, a door flew open. The perp dove into it.
Gangbangers. She hated it when she was right.
She saw Zach react, shout out.
This was going down now, and he hadn’t even pulled his weapon.
The Cobra’s tinted rear window lowered. She saw the silhouette of a gun. She had one option.
Not the Nova. Not her baby.
Shit. Damn. Son of a—
“Sorry about this, Hank,” she muttered and floored the accelerator. She hit the brights, barreling toward the Mustang.
A moment before impact, she yanked the wheel left; the Nova went into a spin, its rear end smashing into the other vehicle.
Her safety belt engaged, knocking the wind out of her. Her head snapped forward, then slammed back against the headrest. The Nova shuddered to a stop; she released the belt and stumbled out, weapon drawn.
And found Zach standing over the cuffed suspect, gun trained on him and a shit-eating grin on his face.
*
“I’m fine,” Micki snapped at the emergency room doctor. “Just let me out of here.”
“You know the drill, Detective. You don’t go anywhere until I give you my official okie-dokey.”
“Then give it to me,” she all but growled. “I’ve got a job to do.”
The physician remained unmoved by her surly attitude. “Seems to me, the job’s what got you hauled in here.”
“Your point?”
“The more you complain, the longer it takes.”
Micki bit back what she wanted to say, instead following his directions to move this way and that as he poked and prodded.
“How is she, Doc?”
Harris. Her worst nightmare.
She glared at him. “You.”
The physician answered, sounding chipper. “Besides surly and completely unreasonable? I’m happy to say she’s fine.”
“I’m right here,” she snapped.
“Yes, you are. You’re going to be sore for a couple days. Bruised breastbone and—”
“Can I go now?”
“And,” he went on, “you may have some neck trauma. Listen to your body and don’t push it.”
Zach laughed at that; Micki sent him a look she wished could kill.
“I’ll prescribe something for the pain—
“Don’t bother,” she said. “I won’t take it.”
“Ibuprofen then. Every four hours. Like clockwork. If that doesn’t do the trick, I’ll call in—”
“It will.”
He turned to Zach. “Watch her. I’ll be right back with her release papers.”
He left the room; she kept her gaze trained on the wall.
“Sorry about your car, Mick.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I guess we should’ve taken mine, huh?”
“Shut up, Harris.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
“I told you, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know you’re pissed. And I think you should get it out. Just let me have it.”
He was right; she was pissed. If her entire body didn’t feel like she’d been used as a punching bag; she’d use him as one. Tackle his ass and beat the crap out of him.
She glared at him. “My car’s dead, you realize that, right?”
“Not dead. Wounded in action.”
She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “You always pull your weapon. If you’re gonna confront a perp, you better be ready for war.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She curved her hands into fists. “And how the hell did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Get the kid on the ground and cuffed like that? Without getting shot?”
He smiled in that way of his. Charming. Ingratiating. The jerk.
“When you slammed into them, the car door popped open and the kid tumbled out. Total face plant.”
Micki looked at him in disbelief. “You are the luckiest son of a bitch I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.”
“I figured he was the lucky one. Kid could’ve been killed.”
“And so could you. You don’t have nine lives. Keep that in mind for next time.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Stop that.”