Page 70 of Cain

“That makes sense too. The wheel well crushed inward. You’re not completely pinned but there’s a lot pressing on you right now.”

“That’s them,” Briggs said, moving closer.

Sure enough, I could hear the sirens moving closer with each second.

“The ambulance should be less than five minutes behind them,” I said. “Let’s not say you called us, okay, babe? I just happened by.”

She looked at me, eyes focusing.

“You don’t want to get in trouble with the police.”

“Yes. We can know each other but I just happened by during the crash. Everything else, the car, everything, you tell them so they can look for this bastard.” If the other guys hadn’t caught up to him already.

“Okay.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I didn’t call. You happened by.”

“That’s my girl,” I said, pressing my hand to her cheek briefly as the red and blue lights flashed off the trees and broken glass around us.

The cop came rushing up then, making me step aside so he could talk to Georgie himself.

I stayed just close enough to hear her give the whole account of the other car, of it ramming her, the spinning, then finally, the crash. And then she mentioned me driving past. Exactly like I coached her to do.

By the time the cop got the basic story, the ambulance was pulling up and the crew was rushing out to check over Georgie.

“I’m going to the hospital with her,” I told Briggs as I handed him the keys.

“Obviously.”

“I need you to—”

“Call and fill in Fallon, check in with the guys who chased the car, and relay whatever information we have to the president.”

“You got this,” I agreed, nodding.

The cop came over, taking our stories.

But then a cry filled the air, making my heart sink and my stomach knot.

They were pulling Georgie out of the car, a giant brace contraption around her neck.

“Wait. I’m going with her,” I called, rushing forward as they lowered her onto a stretcher and started to strap her in.

“Who are you?” the paramedic asked.

“Her partner,” I said.

“Is that okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” Georgie said, her voice small and weak.

“Here,” the other EMT said, producing Georgie’s purse from the passenger seat and placing it on the stretcher beside her.

We loaded into the ambulance then and Georgie was looked over and asked questions as we rode in silence a couple minutes up the highway to the hospital.

“They’re gonna fix you up,” I assured her as we waited in the emergency room under eye-achingly bright fluorescent lights, adrenaline-junkie doctors rushing around, their thick-heeled shoes making little squeals against the floor on occasion when they turned too quickly.