GirlNextDoor (13 page)

Even the damn dog.

Which reminded him that he wanted to smack the hell out of
Nolan for risking his life to save the dog. But then he couldn’t have expected
his partner to act in any other way.

He remembered the terror he’d felt when he was sure the
trailer would fall and kill him. It made him shiver all over again.

“Crane,” he called, “let’s get the hell out of here.”

“I hear that.” Nolan was helping Griffin carry the rest of
the gear back to the squad.

“Glad you came along,” Griffin said. “We sure needed the
help.”

“Always glad to suck up the overtime,” Nolan answered. He
threw the extra gear into his trunk.

“Hey,” Emma called from the back of the squad, “can Doug see
the dog for a minute?”

“Stupid dog,” John muttered. He gestured for the cop who was
walking her, and he came over. “Our patient needs a little smooch before he
goes.”

He brought the dog over and let her climb into the squad.
She nuzzled up under Doug’s hand and he rubbed her ears. “Good girl. Good
girl.”

Nolan said, “She’s a nice dog.”

“Not worth dying over, dumb-ass,” John snarled.

His partner grinned. “Hey, I’m still right here.”

“Yeah. But you might not have been. Dumb-ass.”

“Aww, quit it,” Griffin said. “You know how us kids hate it
when you fight.”

“Yeah, you’re a dumb-ass too,” John snarled.

“All right,” Emma said. “Let’s get this mutt out of here and
get this show on the road.”

Griffin reached to take the dog’s bungee leash. “Come on,
girl.” He pulled her out of the squad and led her toward the squad cars that
formed the road block. John knew what he was thinking. Let them take her to the
police station, where there was always someone to watch her. The paramedic shed
was empty most of the time, and even the firehouse was frequently vacant. She
needed a nice police dispatcher to look after her.

It was nearly nine o’clock, getting dark.

One of the tow truck drivers yelled, just a normal shout,
and the crank on the winch started up. John and Nolan turned to watch. Metal
screeched in protest as they pulled Doug Smith’s sports car out from under the
semi trailer.

There was another shout then, louder, panicked. The winch
stopped. The metal continued to creak, louder, and then there was a sharp snap.

The frame of the trailer snapped just where the sports car
had come to a stop. The bottom of the trailer broke in two and the back half
crashed down, smashing the car to within a foot of the ground.

John felt suddenly cold, as if his blood had turned to ice
water. He was dizzy, sick.
It would have killed Doug and Shelly.

It would have killed Nolan.

Would have killed Nolan.

“God,” he murmured. It was as close to a prayer as he could
summon. “Oh God.”

In his mind he could see his partner there, under the
trailer, cut in half on the top of the truck, bleeding, probably dead, but no
way to save him, no way to get him loose, even if he was alive. He could see
himself crawling on the ground, desperately trying to get closer, trying to
reach him, comfort him, not being able to fit between the highway and the
wreckage, not able to touch him…

Nolan grabbed his shoulder hard. “Hey.”

John turned and grasped Nolan’s forearm. “Shit,” he
whispered. He was lightheaded. It was hard to breathe.

“I’m right here,” Nolan reminded him. “There’s nobody under
that trailer.”

“Yeah.” John pulled away sharply. “But there could have
been.” He turned and stalked toward Nolan’s car. He was scared. And being
scared always made him angry.

He heard Griffin say, “He okay?”

“Claustrophobic,” Nolan answered. “Being under the truck
kinda freaked him out.”

John stood beside the car and waited. He tried to breathe
normally. He looked away from the traffic, toward the little green space beside
the highway. There were trees and shrubs, grass, weeds. Not a lot of space, but
enough for deer to live there. Every fall and spring they had car-vs.-deer
accidents along this stretch. And of course, Nolan Crane was much more likely
to die hitting a deer with his car, or being shot by a junkie, or being hit by
a car at an accident scene, than he was to have a semi-trailer fall and crush
him. It was a hazardous job. He knew that better than anyone.

In a while
, he thought,
I’ll be all rational and
understanding about this. Right now I’m going to be pissed some more.

He heard the motorcycle, heard the dog bark. None of it
meant anything to him. Then he heard the squeal of tires, a shout, a thump. He
turned.

Tim Griffin was in the air, flying backward, five feet off
the ground. He struck the edge of the open squad door and dropped. He slid to
the ground and did not move.

The motorcycle skidded sideways, lay down and slid, throwing
sparks. It barely missed the fallen man before it scraped to a halt beside him.
The rider shoved the bike away, staggered to his feet and tried to run away.

John heard the cops yelling, saw them grab him. He didn’t
care. He and Nolan converged on their falling comrade.

He could tell by the look in Nolan’s eyes that he was
thinking the same thing John felt. The man was almost certainly dead or dying.

They went to work anyhow.

Chapter Ten

Griffin wasn’t dead. He might be dying. John dismissed that
thought at once. He wasn’t dead yet. He wasn’t going to die while Krulak had
anything to say about it. The first commandment of the squad—get him to the ER
alive.

Griffin had a young wife and a newborn baby at home.

It could just as easily be Nolan there on the ground.

John shook his head once, firmly. No emotions. Nothing
personal. He became The Paramedic, the professional, and only that.

There were times when a paramedic team could do a lot for a
patient at the scene. There were other times when all they could do was load
him up and drive like hell. This was the second situation. John turned and
screamed instructions at the nearest cop. “Get another squad or an ambulance,
right now!”

“Ambulance is almost here. They were going to stand by
during the cleanup.”

“Tell them to step on it.” But he could already see the
flashers out of the corner of his eye.
Good. Good.

They transferred Doug Smith to the ambulance and sent him
off in the EMT’s care. They took the ambulance’s cart, all but threw Griffin
onto it and shoved it into the squad. “You drive,” John snapped at Nolan.
“You’re faster than any of us.”

He and Emma climbed into the squad with their patient. They
did what they could en route, but it wasn’t much. It was a short trip anyhow.
John was deeply glad for Crane’s crazy-fast driving—but he was also glad he
couldn’t see the speedometer from the back of the squad.

Griffin was still alive when they got to the emergency room.

That was the best they could do.

* * * * *

The ER was crammed with the usual crowd and the extra
patients from the wreck, but it seemed oddly quiet. The staff swept Griffin out
of their hands at the door. Emma went with them into the bay. John and Nolan
turned to help with the other victims: Krulak reported on Doug Smith while
Crane helped with the truck driver. Both of them kept an anxious eye on
Griffin’s bay.

He wasn’t there long. Within twenty minutes of his arrival,
the ER staff rushed the injured paramedic up to surgery.

John looked expectantly at one of the doctors who’d been
working on Griffin. “Liver,” he said briskly, “other internals. Lot of
bleeding. Lot of bleeding. But he’s not gone yet.”

John nodded. The paramedics had gotten him to the ER alive.
The ER had gotten him to the OR alive. That was the best they could do too.

He finished with his patient and went to find Nolan.

Eventually, all of the first responders who were still
on-shift went back to work. The day shift paramedics from the west side station
came in and took over Griffin and Hensley’s squad. Emma sat in the surgery
waiting room, silent. Crane and Krulak sat down on either side of her.

“Fucking moron,” she finally muttered.

“On the motorcycle?” Nolan asked.

“Wanted to get around all the backed-up traffic. Too cool to
wait. In a big hurry. For what? His next beer?” She shook with rage. “Flares
and police lights and he’s in too big a hurry to go around.”

John nodded. Emma Hensley treated her younger partner a lot
like her son. She looked after him, gave him advice. She’d been his infant
son’s one and only babysitter. They were tight. And she was furious that
someone’s carelessness had hurt him. He understood completely.

I could have lost Nolan
, he thought again, and shuddered.

A police woman came in, escorting Griffin’s wife Julia. She
had her baby in her arms and a cheerful diaper bag over her shoulder. She was
dead pale.

“Right,” Hensley breathed. She stood and went over to the
wife, gave her a hug and a reassuring smile.

There was nothing, John knew, to be reassuring her about.
Tim Griffin was very badly injured. He’d seen men survive worse injuries, but
not very often. If he had to give odds on Griffin’s survival, they wouldn’t
have been any better than one in ten.

He gave Julia his own comforting smile and nod.

He glanced over at Nolan. His partner was balancing a
clipboard on his knee, filling out their report. He would probably leave out
the part where he’d risked being crushed by a semi-trailer to rescue a dog. John
shook his head. Damn, Nolan could be a bonehead sometimes. He had come so damn
close to dying out there too.

Nolan looked at him. He gave him a small apologetic smile,
as if he knew what John was thinking.
Damn fool
, John thought.
I
don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.

Chief Waldron came in, and Nolan gave him a quick status
report. He nodded grimly and went to sit beside Griffin’s wife. Nolan sat down
next to John again. “You should go,” he said. “I’ll let you know if anything
happens here.”

“Go?”

“You have a date, remember?”

“I’m not leaving.”

Nolan nodded, unsurprised. “You should call her, at least.”

“We should both call her,” John countered. “So she doesn’t
think—you know.”

“I know.” They went outside quietly, and Nolan called her
cell and put her on speaker.

“Nolan?” Lucy said after the first ring. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“And John?”

“I’m right here,” Krulak said. “We’re both fine.”

“God, it’s all over the news.”

“We figured,” Nolan said. “One of the other paramedics is
pretty badly hurt. We’re going to stay at the hospital until he comes out of
surgery.”

“We didn’t want you to worry,” John added.

“Yeah,” Lucy answered, “way too late for that. What can I do
to help?”

“Pray,” Nolan said.

“And don’t worry about us,” John added. “We’ll be home when
we can.”

Lucy sighed audibly. “All right. Take care.”

Nolan put his phone away. “Gonna be a long night.”

“Yeah. Let’s go see if there’s any news.”

There wasn’t. Not yet.

* * * * *

Lucy Bellino hung up the phone and paced the living room
slowly. She glanced at the big television, where the accident was still being
covered in glorious living color. Then she grabbed the remote and turned it
off.

They were safe. Nolan was safe, and John was safe.

My boys
, she thought wryly.
My boys are safe.

Well, physically safe, anyhow.
She could tell by
their voices that they were worried sick about their comrade. From what she’d
seen on the news, he was lucky to be alive at all.

She wished she could do something useful.

If you lived with Nolan
, she thought,
this is what
it would be like. He gets home late every shift. And sometimes he’d be really
late and you’d have to worry about him.

Of course, the fact that she was far away didn’t make his
job any less dangerous. At least if she was here she could make sure he
was—well, what? Not keeping outdated seafood dinners in his freezer?

She flopped on the couch. It was astoundingly comfortable.
When they’d tried it in the showroom, they’d both immediately decided that
Nolan needed two. One for each of them to nap on.

Except you’re not here most of the time.

Lucy put her feet up and stretched out. A nap might be good.
She didn’t want to go to bed until they got home, but a nap wouldn’t hurt. It
was likely to be a long time.

If I lived here with Nolan
, she mused. The idea of
living with a man had always struck her as completely unnecessary and
inconvenient—where would they go when you kicked them out of bed?—but Nolan was
different. She loved him. She liked being with him. She didn’t mind his
personal habits. And she never wanted to kick him out of bed.

It could be possible.

But she knew she’d been right about her first response too.
If she lived here with Nolan, he’d never date a man again. He’d settle for her,
settle for comfort over love and intimacy.

For someone like her, or like John Krulak, that would be
fine. For someone like Nolan, who was actually capable of true love, it would
be a damn shame.

A waste of his life.

He was still too broken up over Kevin to see that clearly.
It had been six months, and he was much better than he had been, but Lucy could
still sense the deep pockets of grief in him.

Fucking asshole bastard son of a whore. She hoped that
Kevin, wherever he was, had contracted an incurable, slow-acting, highly
contagious, noxiously smelly, crotch-rotting disease.

At least John had been here to help Nolan pick up the
pieces.

She liked John. Liked having sex with him, naturally. He was
totally GGG—good, giving and game. But she liked him as a person too. A lot
more than anyone she’d met in quite a while. He was smart and funny. From what
Nolan had told her, Krulak was damn good at his job. She’d liked the story
about him talking down the furious dad in the emergency room before he could
lambaste his son. With a cell phone picture of a kid with pissy pants, of all
things. He cared about people. The same way Nolan did.