Sleight of Hand by Julie Rowe

Author:Julie Rowe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Entangled, Amara, Bioterrorism; Medical Romance; Action Adventure; Thriller; Law Enforcement; Contemporary; Action & Adventure Romance; Contemporary American Fiction; Thriller; Contemporary Urban Fiction; Genre Fiction; Military Romance; Mystery Romance; Terrorism Thrillers; War & Military Action Fiction; Medical Thrillers; Doctor; Nurse; Military; Romance; Race against Time; Save the World; Medical; Bioterrorism; Action Adventure; Suspense; CDC; Virus; Outbreak; Beer; PTSD; Fraternity; College; Spring Break
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2018-11-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Tuesday 11:16 a.m.

Gunner watched the police officer get sick. The chemical in the air was showing all the signs of being dangerous. Great. The only help to show up so far is now out of commission.

“Joy,” he barked. “Go.”

She glanced at him, nodded, and picked her way through the debris back to Dozer. She’d recovered from the shock of the blast and had donned her Army attitude. He was relieved—something he’d never tell her—because she’d never let him forget it. When she slid into Army mode, she could handle an erupting volcano with cool determination.

He put his hands under himself and pushed up to stand on his uninjured leg. The world spun, and his stomach lurched. To counteract his body’s reaction, he bent over and breathed evenly, doubly grateful for the particle mask, until his head cleared. It only took a few seconds, and the cop was still dry heaving when Gunner started hopping toward him.

His leg throbbed, and blood dripped off the bandage he’d tied around the piece of metal sticking out of his calf. Stupid to pull it out now without any medical support.

A couple of fire trucks, an ambulance, and more police cars roared through the facility’s gate. They came to a stop about the same time as Gunner arrived at the officer’s side.

“Move back, out of the area,” Gunner ordered the man. “Your reaction isn’t going to stop until you do.”

The cop, holding his stomach, moaned and began backing up blindly.

A couple of firemen approached, and Gunner put up his hand, palm out. “We’ve got some kind of chemical spill. You’re going to need breathing equipment.”

“Who’s that?” one of the firemen asked, pointing at Joy.

“Joy Ashiro, trauma nurse and CDC infectious disease specialist. She’s triaging a Homeland Security agent.”

“Sir,” the other fireman said. “You’re bleeding, please sit down.”

A crowd of EMS and law enforcement headed toward Joy and him. Gunner opened his mouth to shout at them, but another dizzy spell hit him, and he found himself sitting on the concrete instead.

The first fireman had everyone crowded around him in a horseshoe while he explained about the need for breathing and biohazard equipment.

Gunner glanced at the spot in the wreckage where he’d last seen Joy, but she wasn’t visible. In fact, he couldn’t see her anywhere.

Had she been injured and didn’t realize it?

Thanks to adrenaline, people could function for several minutes up to as much as an hour with an injury and not know it.

Dizziness threatened to throw him flat on his face, and he fought the surge of panic. She wasn’t hurt, she was looking for Dozer. She wasn’t lying in a pool of her own blood, a bullet wound between her eyes.

He lifted his head to look—why did it weigh so much?—and saw her moving a large piece of debris. No big bloodstain on her coveralls. She bent over and disappeared from view.

He closed his eyes and sagged, barely staying in a seated position. Joy was fine.

“Sir?” Two paramedics were crouched on either side of him wearing gloves and masks that were only one step up from a surgical mask.

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