Page 42 of Savior
I take a few more steps into the blackness, and my foot hits what I think is a branch at first. I glance down automatically to move around it and find it’s not a branch at all. Obscured by the shadow thrown by the bush she’s half under, is an unconscious Sienna.
Dark liquid trails down her temple and into the tumbled mass of her hair. Rocky tucks himself into her legs and eyes the surrounding area like he’s on guard. I fall to my knees by her side, almost afraid to touch her.
My cop’s eye immediately takes in the scene. Her arms are splayed above her head, and there are very distinct drag marks that tail from her feet and through the debris covering the sidewalk. Someone incapacitated her and then had to flee the scene—probably because they heard me coming.
In quick succession, I pull out my gun and my phone, hitting the speed dial for the station. “This is Blackwell,” I say before they even have a chance to answer. “I’m at...” I strain to remember the address on the park sign as we were coming in, “The Fowler Street park, and I have an unconscious woman whose been assaulted. We need paramedics and a car sent out. I’m armed and the perpetrator may still be in the vicinity.”
I stay on the line and listen to their directions as I pull her gently into my lap. “It’ll be okay. I’m here,” I whisper. “Sienna? Can you hear me?”
She groans and her knees curl to her chest She turns her head, tucking her face against my stomach. Her hand goes to her head and she flinches. “What happened?”
“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.”
Hearing my voice causes her to open her eyes, and she blinks up at me with tear-filled eyes. “Oh, God. Logan.”
My hands feel too big, too rough, but I wipe away the trails from her cheeks anyway and hope she doesn’t notice how bad they’re trembling. “Police are coming. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“Police?” Her brows furrow, and she raises a hand to her head, winching as she touched the bruise blooming there. “Oh my god, what happened?”
“You don’t remember anything?”
She closes her eyes, and then they pop right back open and the color drains from her face. She shoots up so fast we nearly knock heads. “Where is he?” The desperation in her voice sends a chill straight through me.
“Don’t stand up, you hit your head. You could have a concussion.”
She ignores me and surges to her feet. “I can’t stay here. We have to get out of here.”
When she sways, I step in front of her to stop her escape. “I checked, there’s no one here.”
Her head is on a constant swivel as I lead her down the sidewalk. If she weren’t already dizzy from the possible concussion, she would be from all the spinning.
“I was coming back.” Her voice sounds so small I have to lean down to hear her. “I was coming back with Rocky, and there was someone on the sidewalk in front of me.”
Fuck, her skin is clammy, her eyes drawn, and her skin is still pale. Where the hell are the paramedics? “Did you get a look at the person?”
We break the line of the trees and she sags against me. My arms go around her, and I lift her clear off her feet and carry her the rest of the way to my truck. After I set her on the seat, her legs dangling off the edge like a child, I hunt through my center console and come up with a mint. It’s not perfect, but the sugar will help.
I discard the wrapper and hold it up to her lips. “Here, this will help.”
She sucks it into her mouth and leans against the headrest. It clicks against her teeth as she talks. “I didn’t see him. I mean, I couldn’t make out his face. By the time we got close enough, he hit me and that’s the last thing I remember.”
Then, fucking finally, we hear the sirens. I tuck the hair away from the uninjured side of her face. “You’re safe. They’re almost here.”
She closes her eyes as if it takes too much energy to keep them open. “I’ll never be safe,” she says.
Two police cars and an ambulance come to a screaming stop behind my truck.
“They’re going to need to take your statement, and then the paramedics will look you over.”
“I’m fine.”
“Honey, you’re not fine. You look like you’re about to fall over.” She starts to protest, so I put a finger over her lips. “Please. For me?”
Her eyes harden. “I’ll give a statement, and they can look me over, but I won’t go to the station and I’m not going to the hospital for observation.”
“You have a concussion—”
Her gaze cuts to the officers and paramedic who come to our side. She answers their questions and refuses to go to the hospital. I stand back, listening to her recount what she told me and watching as each one of her walls gets built back up.