Stillwater 02 - Dead Giveaway by Brenda Novak

Author:Brenda Novak [Novak, Brenda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Suspense, General, Mississippi, Murder, Women Detectives, Cold Cases (Criminal Investigation), Romantic Suspense Fiction, Investigation, Missing Persons
ISBN: 9780778328865
Google: tgpWiyQLLJoC
Amazon: 0778328864
Publisher: MIRA
Published: 2007-01-02T06:00:00+00:00

As soon as Al ie got Clay out of the rain, she helped him strip off his wet clothes. She was afraid he’d go into shock if she didn’t get him warm. He was soaked clear through, and his pupils were dilated.

“Do you have a cel phone?” she asked.

“No.”

“No.”

Great. “That’s okay. You’re going to be fine,” she said over and over. She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince, him or herself; she didn’t feel nearly as confident as she tried to appear. Before she joined the cold case unit in Chicago, she’d responded to cal s that involved some serious wounds, but she’d never come across a victim she couldn’t immediately rush—or have rushed—to the hospital.

In any event, it didn’t matter if she sounded a little panicked, because Clay didn’t seem to be listening, anyway. Al ie got the impression he had to concentrate just to remain conscious.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” she asked.

“No,” he said.

She could tel by the grim set of his jaw that he was lying, but decided to play along. “That’s good.” She pul ed the blankets over his naked body then rummaged through the cupboards, searching for anything that might help them.

She located a first-aid kit that was at least fifteen years old. Thankful y, the bottle of ibuprofen she found right afterward was almost new. “Here, have some of these,” she said, dropping four pil s into his palm. “They might take the edge off.”

He swal owed the pil s without water and without argument.

“Doesn’t look like a big deal,” he said, gazing down at his arm.

Bits of dirt and grass clung to the blood smeared on his bicep, and a fresh trickle flowed from a tiny hole in his deltoid.

Was the bul et stil inside?

That thought made Al ie nauseous, which surprised her.

She’d dealt with some gruesome murders, considered herself to have a strong stomach. But this was different.

Clay wasn’t a stranger.

Al ie wiped away the blood with a dish towel, because it was al she had. More blood surged out, so she applied pressure until the bleeding slowed. She could see where the bul et had gone in and—she leaned forward, then sagged onto the bed in relief—where it had come out. It had passed straight through the muscle.

“Don’t tel me you’re going to faint,” he murmured.

“No, I’m just glad we don’t have to perform any kind of crude surgery. There’s a lovely exit wound on the back of your arm. If it didn’t hurt so badly, you could probably turn it far enough to see for yourself.”

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