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“I don’t think so.”
He raised his arm, only to jerk backwards, slamming against one of the tables before crumpling to the floor. Blood staining his shoulder. Each labored breath sounding like it might be his last.
She moved over to him, kicking his gun away when the doors whooshed open, a huge silhouette filling the opening.
Callie turned, aimed, then grunted, shaking her head. “God damn it, Wyatt. I nearly shot you.”
Wyatt stepped forward, still scanning the room before closing the distance. “I thought you might be dead. Christ, don’t scare me like that, again.”
“Says the guy who took on how many tangoes?”
Wyatt merely shrugged. “He still breathing?”
“Barely.”
“Shame.” He waved his fingers at her. “They’re evacuating the building. I caught one of his assholes rigging the gas main. I can’t guarantee there isn’t another device, so…”
“What about Higgins?”
“I suppose I can carry his ass, if you really want to save him.”
“Wyatt…”
“Fine. Be all noble.” He bent over then hoisted the man up. “Get the lead out, honey.”
“What about Booker?”
“Semi-conscious and already bitching. He’s in an ambulance outside.” He started jogging. “Seriously, Calliope. Move, now, chat later.”
Callie followed him out, trying not to limp too much until they were clear of any possible blast zone — had made their way to Booker’s ambulance. Wyatt tossed Higgins on a stretcher, talking to the staff as she climbed inside, stopping cold, because… he was there. Alive. Looking far too pale, with blood still caked on his chest, but breathing.
She stumbled over to him, smiling when he blinked, taking a moment to focus before inhaling. Reaching for her hand.
He grimaced at what she assumed were his stitches pulling on his skin, gently placing their joined hands in his lap. “You’re crazy.”
She laughed, might have cried a bit, smiling at him as she leaned forward. Drank him in. “About you? Definitely.”
“You took on another wet squad?”
“Wyatt took on the wet squad. I just dealt with the leftovers. He’s very greedy, by the way.”
“Calliope…”
“Shut up, and let me kiss you.”
He rolled his eyes, then lifted his hand and speared it through her hair. She wanted to tell him to stop — that it was too soon to be moving that side — but the kiss was too sweet. Too damn hot to argue about. It wasn’t until Wyatt cleared his throat that she pulled back and glanced over her shoulder.
The guy groaned. “Get a room.”
Booker relaxed against the stretcher, eyeing his buddy. “Technically, this is my room, so… You might want to step out before we really get busy.”
“You’re not doing anything for a while. I know. I talked to the doctor. Besides, your girlfriend needs her leg treated, before she takes a page from your playbook and passes out.”
“Her leg?” Booker groaned, but managed to shift forward enough he got a look at her thigh. “Is that a gunshot wound?”
Callie waved it off. “Youhad a gunshot wound. This is just a scrape.”
“A scrape from a bulletisa gunshot wound. Shit. Wyatt, get the doctor, get—”