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They finally broke free of the crowd and sprinted across the trolley tracks to careen into the empty uptown-bound lanes. Cath reached the far curb and panted to a stop next to a big live oak. She pressed a hand to her chest to keep her pounding heart inside. “Did we get rid of them?”
“I doubt it.” Mitch dropped his hold to step onto the empty sidewalk.
“There’s no place to hide.” Cath hitched her purse strap. No houses here and no bushes either. Only wide lawns in front of the corner church and school. “Mitch!” She grabbed his arm and pointed toward the opposite end of the block. “Someone’s down there.”
Chapter 16
The shadows at the end of the block split into two distinct human forms. Something soundlessly flared yellow in the dark. A gunshot? Cath dashed behind the big oak on the curb.
The streetlights threw into stark relief the gunmen rushing toward them. Her whole body went cold. She and Mitch should have stayed in the bar. They should have waited for the parade to be over to walk to the car. Now they were caught in a gunfight.
Behind them, one of the Bacchus signature floats turned the corner onto the avenue. Maybe they could hide behind that monster alligator decoration and escape down the street that way without these thugs seeing them run off? Good luck with that.
Mitch braced a hand on the tree trunk beside her and lifted his gun.
“Wait.” She held up her hand. Flashing lights sped toward them. A patrol car charged up the empty half of the divided avenue. “I’m stopping them.”
“No, you’ll be exposed.”
“We have to do something.” She leaned off the curb to flag down the cop, but the cruiser blasted past, light bar going wild. “I can’t believe they didn’t stop.”
“We don’t need them now.” Mitch looked around the other side of the tree and holstered his gun.
An empty sidewalk stretched to the corner where she’d seen the gunmen. “Where’d they go?”
“The cops scared them away.”
Her fingers closed around her cell phone. “What do you bet if we report this, they’ll radio that patrol car that just zoomed past?”
Mitch rested against the trunk, his breath ragged. Not that she could hear him over the noise from the parade crowd, but his chest rose and fell too fast. His hand moved to his bicep. Blood poured over his fingers. She stifled a gasp.
“You got hit.” She searched her coat pockets for something to stanch the flow. “We need to stop the blood.”
“I’m stopping it.”
“Your hand’s not very effective.” She dug into her purse. “I need a strip of something to tie around your arm.”
“Sorry, not carrying any spare strips, ma’am.”
“This is not funny, Mitch. If you lose too much blood, you’ll go into shock.”
“I’ve been in shock since I met you. Look”—he sucked in a harsh breath—“in my pocket.”
She knelt and ran both hands over the nylon parachute cloth of his pants. Hard male thighs shifted under her fingers, but she found only a pocketknife and handcuffs. “What am I looking for?”
“A clotting sponge. Not that leg,” he said in a strangled voice, bending to rip the flap off a pocket. “Can you dig it out. It’s in a plastic wrapper.”
Warm blood dripped onto her cheek. She swiped at the trickle and tore the package with her teeth to remove the contents. “Is this supposed to be flat?”
“Yes.” He extended a hand. “Let me have it.”
He pressed the sponge to his arm and straightened off the tree. Much too slowly. She needed to take charge here. At least contribute better. After another glance down the sidewalk to confirm their attackers really had disappeared, she held out her hand. “Let me have your keys.”
Mitch stepped away from the tree. “You going to lock me up?”
“You wish.” Had the loss of blood made him light-headed already? “I’m going to get your truck and come back for you.”
“I got hit in the arm, not the leg.” He lifted his chin toward the flaming metal poles dancing behind the last float. “See the flambeau carriers? That means the parade’s over. Let’s get out of here before any gunmen come back.”