21

Halfway down Birchardville Hill Road, Levi woke up. With a snort and a flail, he fought his way to consciousness. He’d been slumped against me in the front cab of the EMT’s pickup, and it took both me and the EMT to brace him as he stumbled up his own back steps to collapse in a hardback kitchen chair.

He looked terrible.

His bright hair humped on one side, sticky with half-frozen blood. A potato-shaped lump stood out from his temple, and his right eye had swollen and started to purple. His left eye—the brighter one—looked away from the EMT. When it landed on me, it narrowed.

“Reed?” He asked, his tone sharp.

I shook my head.

The EMT laid a hand on his shoulder and pressed him down into the polished wooden chair. “Booth’s orders.”

Levi’s good eye sparked. “Booth’s alive?”

“Yes,” I reached out and squeezed his forearm. “Of course Booth’s alive. And Reed is, too. Johnson was just saying that stuff to get to you.”

Levi tipped his head back and released a long breath. “Booth’s alive.”

“Yeah.” The EMT said, parting Levi’s hair with gloved fingers and probing for the source of blood. “And he’s on it. He’s after Johnson, and he has Sheila organizing a search party for Reed. He also says you don't go back on the Hill until you’re patched up, so sit down.”

Levi groaned, closing his eyes.

My hands jittered at my sides. I had to do something. Spotting a coffee maker on the counter, I set about making a pot. It wasn't much, but it was something to do.

What I really wanted to do was cry. Levi had been smashed in the head with a rock and head-butted by a murderer, and it was my fault. Reed was missing during a blizzard, and it was my fault. Birchardville was in an uproar on Christmas Eve, and it was my fault.

All because I'd wanted a distraction from spending the holidays alone.

Well, I'd found a distraction.

Or it had found me.

I rifled through the cabinets for mugs. When the coffee was ready, I poured a cup and set it in front of Levi.

He ignored it. “There are flashlights in the hall closet.”

I searched until I found them. Then I returned and plunked them down next to the cooling coffee.

Levi was on his feet, stuffing his hands into gloves and wincing as he worked a sock hat down over his damaged head, trying not to disturb the bandages.

“I don’t care what Booth said. He’s not a medical professional,” the EMT argued. “I strongly advise against this. Levi, listen. You need to lie down—”

“I’ll go with him.” I stepped up next to Levi.

Levi glanced down at me, the look in his good eye hard to read.

The EMT sighed. “I advise against that, too.”

“Noted.”

Levi held out his hand, palm up. The EMT sighed deeply, fished out his keys, and set them on the table. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to hand them over directly.

“Thanks.” Levi snatched them up. He clapped the EMT on the back, pushed open the door, and stepped into the wind.