Page 162 of On A Manhunt: Complete Series

THEO

The waitress came by, sat a glass of ice water on a coaster in front of me.

“She gave what back to you?” Mac asked.

“Mallory. I bought her a house and she returned it. Like a pair of socks she bought in the wrong size at the store,” I explained on a grumble.

Mac’s mouth opened and a piece of bun fell out and onto his plate. “You bought Mallory a house?”

I nodded.

He grinned. “Congrats!”

I frowned again. “Why?”

“Because she’s great and you need someone who’s all sunshiny for your grumpy ass.”

“We’re not together.”

He frowned. “I know I’m divorced and all which makes me a shit judge of relationships, but what the fuck?”

“It’s just sex.”

The walkie talkies chimed all at once. The crew stood, their chairs scraping across the floor in their haste.

Food was set down, radios picked up and the crew practically ran out of the place.

Patrons turned to watch as they left. Mac stood but hadn’t moved, listening to the dispatcher give the report of the call.

“MVA, mile marker twenty-six on Highway 5. Head on, car versus truck, multiple injuries.”

Mac looked to me, his gaze laser sharp. “You’re coming along. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

I hopped up, the familiar hum of an emergency coursing through my veins.

Mac turned to leave and waved to Arlo. He gave a nod and a wave in reply as I followed Mac out onto the street. I assumed that meant they’d settle up for their meals later.

The fire engine was running with the back door open, ready for Mac to hop in. And me.

I followed him in, and I had the door barely closed before the sirens kicked on and we were headed out of town.

Mac slipped on a headset, and I found one at my side and did the same. I could hear dispatch and the crew in my ears. I put on my shoulder harness and listened to the reports coming in from the scene, seconds apart.

“Three injuries.”

“Pickup truck versus small SUV.”

“Older model black Ford F-150 and a white Honda CRV.”

“People stopping to help say two women are unconscious. Unknown if breathing. Trapped.”

I looked to Mac. Over his head, he grabbed a box of gloves and tossed it to me. “Put a bunch of those in your pocket. We’ll have our med kits for you to use but be ready. If they’re trapped, it’ll be like the practice we did with you. Jaws of Life, whatever’s needed.”

“I didn’t see shit under that blanket,” I said as I tugged on the gloves.

“You’ll be on the other side of an emergency again. You good?”

I frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?” The shrill siren was muted by the headphones, but it was a constant reminder that lives were at stake.

This wasn’t the ER or the OR. This was truly life or death.

There were only so many supplies, only so much that could be done on the side of the road.

Even for me, who had a medical degree and tackled traumas day in and day out.

“Because shit’s about to get real.”

I glanced at the rest of the crew in the back. Three others were already geared up and ready to go.

“It’s always real,” I said.

“These are people, fucker.”

I shook my head. “These are victims. We treat them, get them back to their lives.”

The engine slowed and I leaned to the side to see out the window.

It turned as it came to a stop, angled so the entire street was blocked, protecting the crew from anyone crazy enough to drive into an accident scene.

The crew hopped from the door on the opposite side as I looked out the window.

Mac shifted to move, but I grabbed his arm. Pointed.

“That CRV is Mallory’s.” The one that was upside down and half under the pickup truck and wedged into the guardrail.

I recognized the sticker on the back windshield, which was shattered.

He looked to me, then at the car out the window.

His face went blank. Intense. “Let’s get to work.”

I followed him, hopping down from the high seats. His crew had split up to assess the situation. One was standing in the open door of the truck, talking to the driver. Another handed off an oxygen mask and they put it over his mouth and nose. One victim was conscious and breathing.

Another firefighter was kneeling on the ground at the back of the CRV, checking for stability since it was upside down.

Two others were testing the doors and trying to figure out how to gain access.

It was clear the driver door was crushed in.

It wasn’t in as bad of shape as the practice car I’d crawled into in the back lot of the fire station, but it was close.

Mac went toward the CRV. I followed but he held me back with his arm.

“You don’t have the gear to get any closer. We need to brace the car, then get them out.”

Shattered glass and flung car parts were strewn across the road. Something was leaking and creeping downhill.

“Is she in there?” I asked, suddenly freaking out.

“It doesn’t matter who is in there. Whoever it is needs our help.”

What? It doesn’t matter? It could be Mallory. MALLORY.

When Mac turned around to start working on the CRV and get the people out–whoever they were–it hit me. Like a big, old F150 on a curving stretch of road.

I felt.

I felt fear.

I felt anger.

I felt helplessness.

I felt worry.

I felt everything because inside that car was Mallory.

The woman who seemed to like me despite the stick up my ass.

Despite the fact that I’d never been on a road trip.

Or that I had a plane. That I slotted her into my calendar as a daily appointment.

I remembered calling patients a quota. That Bridge had kicked me out of her classroom because I couldn’t see why I went to the high school to ask after Mallory.

I did have a stick up my ass. No wonder everyone rolled their eyes at me. Or gave me a look of disappointment. I was one. A big fucking doofus, like Bridge said.

Mac squatted down by the window, peeked in. He turned, looked at me and nodded. I felt because Mallory was inside the destroyed car, and I didn’t know if she was alive or dead.

Mallory, the woman who’d been mine all along and I never knew it.