The medics must have been right behind SWAT, because two of them pulled Sophie off of Blackthorne, and immediately went to work trying to stanch the wound in his neck. She staggered, gasping for breath against the gag as two SWAT team members caught Sophie under the arms. A knife flashed and the gag was gone, and she groaned at the sensation of at last being able to close her aching mouth.
“I didn’t kill him,” she said. “He lunged onto the blade. I was restraining him.” Trembling and thin, her voice sounded like it came from somewhere far away, and the SWAT officer holding the arm with the broken hand pushed the black, anonymous-looking helmet up to reveal a familiar face. “Lei,” Sophie whispered, relief at seeing her friend’s warm brown eyes weakening her knees.
“Damn, girl,” Lei said. “Trust you to take down the perp when we thought you might be dead.” She hugged Sophie, pressing her close, and inadvertently jarred her hand. Sophie yelped, pulling her broken hand up against her chest as her head swam and her knees buckled.
Whatever the force had been that had given her super strength departed, and Sophie folded like a puppet with cut strings, blackness dropping over her like the curtain at the end of a performance.
She was moving, jostling, held close in someone’s arms. Everything hurt, but especially her head. And her hand. And her ankle…she was a mess. This was worse than her big fight with the Punisher last year…
She had gone somewhere for a minute but was back.
Someone was carrying her. Why wasn’t she on a gurney? Who was strong enough to carry a five foot nine, hundred and forty-pound woman up a flight of stairs and across that huge house?
Jake Dunn.
She recognized his familiar smell, made acrid with fear and stress and adrenaline.
They had been here before: she injured, him carrying her—and now she recognized his voice, a low rumble in his chest against her ear. He emitted a stream of profanity mixed with prayers, as if he could curse God into getting his way.
“I’m okay.” Her voice was muffled but clear. She was proud of that. “Sprained ankle, broken hand, and a concussion, but I’m okay.”
Jake stopped. She kept her eyes closed, afraid to see what was in his face as he looked down at her. “Good. We have to stop doing this,” he said.
“On that we agree.”
They reached the ambulance, and she finally opened her eyes as he settled her on a gurney. Jake’s face was a mask of distress looming over her, his gray eyes stormy, as the EMTs strapped her down and barraged her with questions. Sophie ignored them and fixed her gaze on Jake. “Call Todd Remarkian,” Sophie said. “Call Todd and tell him to meet me at the hospital. Tell him I need him.”
Then Sophie shut her eyes so she didn’t have to see how she’d hurt him.