LITMIR.BIZ

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      “You need to get out of the intersection. Least till the cops get here,” Vince ground out.

      He didn’t want both of them to be in danger of getting reamed by oncoming traffic should some other driver pull her gig and forget to pay attention. He brought his hands up to carefully remove his helmet.

      “I’m not leaving you,” came her soft but firm reply.

      She helped him take his helmet off. Turned it over, gasped then set it aside. Her bugged-wide eyes closed and her lips moved in frenzy. Something about thank you.

      Against his wishes and his will, she prayed.

      That it brought the slightest measure of peace angered him more than anything. He clamped his lips to keep from cursing. Sure, she’d smashed his bike, but he didn’t want to disrespect a lady.

      Even if she had just destroyed his most prized possession.

      And ruined his chance to join his team on the type of mission that came few and far between. An allied pilot shot down and in need of rapid-reaction rescue on hostile soil.

      Vince not being at the chopper when it was ready to lift could cost that pilot his life.

      Shivers claimed him. Adrenaline OD. Had to be.

      Once his team figured out crucial minutes too late that he wasn’t coming, they would have to pull his weight plus manage their own.

      Way dangerous.

      Especially since they all had specific jobs they were trained to do during a rescue. There’d be no time to replace him.

      Nothing rapid-reaction about him writhing here in the middle of a rain-driven road, wishing like crazy this irksome brunette hadn’t been driving under the influence of distraction.

      Water soaked his back, seeping cold to his bones. A rock dug into his skin below his shoulder. He tried to reposition without moving his neck.

      Pain streaked across his shoulder blade. Numbness trickled down his arms and tingled fingers on his left hand. A frustrated sound scraped its way up his throat again but he clamped his lips against it. Despite the early-April cold, sweat broke out over his upper lip. He puffed out breaths but the pain didn’t relent this time.

      He was sure he was fine, but as a military paramedic, he knew enough to be still and quiet just the same. A killer headache was building at the base of his skull and he knew better than to move until someone slapped a C-collar on him.

      “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you until too late.” Words wobbled from unsteady lips. Hand remaining on his shoulder, she leaned forward, blocking rain from thrashing his face. She continued her prayers.

      “You’re getting soaked.” Crazy lady. Her hair was dripping. Her expensive soft suede suit was probably ruined. She didn’t act like she cared. In fact, the deceptively calm body posture he could tell she fought to maintain looked ready to crumble. Like she was nearing her breaking point.

      Rain-mingled tears hovering on long lashes threatened to fall. She blinked rapidly. “Help will be here soon.”

      Who was she trying to convince? Him? Or herself?

      And how could her voice be soothing and grating at the same time? No matter about his bones. His main concern was his bike.

      “How’s my ride?”

      Her eyes startled open. “What?”

      He clenched his teeth. She was probably some rich chick who didn’t understand one stinking mutilated syllable of street lingo. “My chopper. Bike. Motorcycle. Thing with two wheels that goes down the road. How is it?”

      That she didn’t answer and only scanned the area around them with ever-widening eyes revved his headache through the roof of his skull.

      Incensed, he released the pent-up groan.

      “I am sooo sorry. The ambulance will be here soon.”

      The urge to laugh hit him full force from nowhere. “For me or the bike?”

      A startled look stole over her face before she averted her gaze. “Both, I think. This was all my fault. I—I’ll pay for it.”

      Again, her words made him want to laugh. “The bike? Or my hospital and ambulance bills?”

      “Both. Of course, both.” She looked like she could cry.

      “The cycle—is it drivable?”

      She bit her bottom lip until it turned white, then looked around like Refuge’s traumatized mayor after last year’s bridge collapse. “Um, I think not. It…It’s…pretty smashed.”

      He tensed and wished she’d get her soft hand off his aching arm.

      “How bad?” If this crazy lady broke the only tangible reminder remaining on earth of his late brother…he’d never forgive her. At her blank look, impatience mounted, twisting his shoulders into knots. “How. Bad. Is. It?” He enunciated the words like a phonics teacher with a mouthful of molten lava.

      “Um…so-ome of the pieces broke off.” Her face blanched the more her eyes scanned their periphery and whatever carnage littered it. “Maybe even…well, all of the little ones.”

      He didn’t doubt that since he’d felt tiny insignificant cosmetic pieces break off on impact. That wasn’t his main concern. “How’s the frame?”

      “B-bent. Definitely, but not horribly. I—at least I don’t think so.” Her lips rolled inward as if her own words daunted her. Distress mounted in her eyes and tears finally trickled down her cheeks. She blinked furiously. “I—I’m not m-much of a motorcycle person.”

      No kidding. For an instant, he almost felt sorrier for her than for himself.

      Nah.

      Her remorse probably only meant she feared he’d sue her.

      Didn’t matter. She shouldn’t concern her pretty self with petty litigation. He’d be the last person to go near any sort of legal office. His family had a thing against lawyers. Far as Vince was concerned, they were the reason his brother…

      Sirens whined closer, blared louder, derailing his train of thought, causing the throbbing in his head to expand.

      Flashing emergency vehicle taillights reflected off the wet surface, giving eerie red hues to the watery seal-coat layer over asphalt smothered in oil and gasoline. Doors creaked open and slammed shut.

      Several sets of black shoes hooded in blue scrub pants sloshed across the lot. Drizzle sprinkled Vince’s face as the woman divorced her hand from his shoulder and leaned back, allowing EMTs to access him.

      Staying as still as possible, Vince issued himself a mental reprimand for instantly missing her fruity perfume, her lullaby voice, her presence and even her prayers.

      Missing her. Just—her.

      Anger welled in him that a complete stranger and her connection to the God he loathed brought comfort in this momentary nightmare. He needed to let team leader Joel Montgomery know why he was late. Tell him what was going on without compromising the mission or his teammates’ safety.

      How to do this? What to say?

      He wouldn’t be telling the truth—that he’d probably just fractured or dislocated something—that’s for sure. But trying to go injured could cause a new set of problems. No way would he be stupid enough to put his brothers in harm’s way. Even if it meant he had to lay down his angry pride and let this mission go on without him.

      He looked at the woman—the very beautiful woman—who caused all this and felt like growling at her and howling at the moon all at the same time. Absurd. Musta hit his head harder than he thought. Err, his helmet rather.

      Speaking of his helmet, Vince remembered how crazy-soft her hands felt as she’d helped him off with it.

      “You

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