Georgia heard Jimmy calling her, but she was in a cocoon of darkness and didn’t have the strength to answer him. His voice grew louder and more intense.
“Baby, if you can hear me, just do something. Blink. Open your mouth. Anything.”
She blinked and tried to say something, but she wasn’t able to reply. She felt him slip his hand carefully behind her head where her skull had hit the curb.
“Oh god, Georgia, please say something. Please.”
He sounded frightened now. She had to let him know she was okay. She grunted.
She heard him release a long breath. “Thank god.”
Another voice cut in. “Put her in my office. There’s a couch there.”
Owen. What was he doing outside?
“Now listen, babe.” Jimmy again. “I’m gonna pick you up and take you back inside Mickey’s. Owen’s got a couch in his office. But it might hurt. Hang on.” She felt him gather her in his arms, lift her off the ground.
“No blood,” he said.
“Thank god.” Owen’s voice. “You want to take her to Evanston?”
Even Georgia in her barely conscious state knew he meant the hospital.
“Let’s give her some time. Her breathing’s steady.”
Jimmy carried Georgia to the back room, an office with an old couch, desk, and chair. He put her down gently. “You got a pillow?”
“I’ll get a few towels to roll up,” Owen said and hurried out.
Hearing that, Georgia wanted to smile. With no towel draped around his shoulder, he would feel naked.
“Georgia,” Jimmy said, “If you can still hear me, I’m just going to do a quick exam to make sure you’re okay.” He ran his fingers softly around her head. She winced when he got to a bump that had materialized when she hit the curb.
“I saw that!” Jimmy sounded overjoyed. “Yeah, it’s going to hurt like hell for a few days, but there’s only a little blood.” He kept going. His hands, soft and firm at the same time, felt the back of her neck, her clavicle, shoulders, arms, and hands. She sighed inwardly at how tender his touch felt. But when he reached her rib cage, she cried out. The pain was sharp. Almost unbearable. Jimmy’s hands stopped.
With a mighty effort, she cranked open one eye. “Hurts.” Her voice was scratchy and hoarse. She wanted to tell him more, but it was too much of an effort.
But Jimmy knew. “You may have cracked a rib. I’m so sorry.”
She let her eyes close again. The wave of pain was subsiding, but only because she wasn’t moving at all. She felt like one of those bugs trapped in amber. If she moved, even slightly, the pain would come back. It wasn’t Jimmy’s fault, though. He had saved her life.
An hour later, Georgia was fully conscious. She was still on Owen’s couch. Between her fall and Jimmy’s body weight on top of her, they guessed she had a cracked rib. The left side of her body had scrapes and abrasions with bruises already forming, with the possibility of a concussion.
“I’ll tape your rib when we get home,” he said. “I pushed you pretty hard.”
“Great,” she said. “I already feel like I went nine rounds and lost.”
“You’re alive.” He stretched out his hand, found hers, and held it tight. “You don’t know how—”
She raised her fingers to her lips in a shushing motion. “I know,” she whispered. “Thank you for saving my life.”
Owen came in with a tray. On it was a bottle of Advil, a pint of bourbon, a glass of water, and three shot glasses.
“Is that for me?” Georgia asked.
“The water and Advil are,” he answered. “The whiskey’s for me.”
Georgia groaned when she tried to sit up. “I don’t think I can.”
“Don’t push it.” Jimmy tightened his lips. “I think we need to go to the ER after all.”
“No. I hate hospitals,” Georgia said.
Owen poured a shot and tossed it back, then handed Jimmy the Advil. “Take three of these.” Jimmy tapped them out and handed them to Georgia along with the glass of water.
“You’re a superhero, woman,” Owen said, a touch of marvel in his voice.
“Jimmy’s the real hero,” Georgia said. “He saved my life.”
Owen poured another shot. “Here. This one’s for you, Sac.”
“No thanks. You drink it.”
“Really?” Owen said. “Don’t mind if I do.” He chugged it down. “What a day.”
Jimmy nodded, fished out his cell, and punched in a number. “I got two numbers of his plate.”
“You didn’t have to. We know who the guy is,” Georgia said.
“I gotta make sure. He put the call on speaker. “Harding, Saclarides. I want you to run a plate for me. Middle numbers are 74. Gray Honda sedan. This is an ASAP.”
“On it, Chief.”
Jimmy disconnected.
Georgia sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I screwed up. But the guy is a kid. I didn’t think he’d have the balls to run me over. I was wrong.”
“Why don’t we talk about it later?” Jimmy said.
Owen gulped down another shot. “I’ll leave you two to rest. Sac, you can sit at my desk.”
Jimmy sat. His cell buzzed. He glanced at who was calling, then pressed accept. “What did you find, Harding?” He paused. “Hold on while I grab a pen. When he was ready, he said, “Raymond Benson. 150 Casper Street, Nauvoo, Illinois. Well, what do you know.” He paused again. “Got a number? Okay. Thanks.” He scribbled down a number. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.” He hung up.
“What’s the number?” Georgia asked.
“703-733-4150.”
“That’s the number of the motel,” she said. “He must live there.”
They were quiet for a while. Then Georgia said, “Jimmy, I think you were right. I think I need off the Covid case. It’s too dangerous.”
Jimmy looked over. “What happened today has nothing to do with Covid.”
“I know, but who am I kidding? I’m a patrol cop playing at being a PI. I make risky decisions. I should never have held my ground with that asshole. I should have run like hell. Maybe it’s time to admit I don’t have what it takes.”
Jimmy came around the desk to Owen’s couch, sat on the edge, and took her hand. “You’re wrong. You are more competent than you know. You tangled with crazy white supremacists in DC. You almost got yourself killed by a Mexican cartel in Arizona but came back alive. You and your sister took down an important Russian Mafia creep. You can do this.”
She was confused. “Wait. I thought you’d be happy with my decision to quit.”
“Like I said last night, part of me would be. I’d know you were safe. But you’d hate it. You’d go crazy without any action.”
“But this was too close. Closest I’ve come.”
He swallowed. “Yeah. But remember, there are always going to be times when a law enforcement officer—even though you’re a PI, I still consider you on our side—needs help or backup. I’m just glad I was there.”
She considered it. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“You show me that every day, babe. In fact, I think it’s time for me to pay Raymond Benson a visit.”