Spellbound - Cara Lynn Shultz [114]
“Walk this way and put your hands where we can see them,” came a stern voice from behind the glaring light that flooded our faces.
“There’s an officer here with us,” Brendan said gesturing to his right. But when I looked, there was no one there.
“Hello?” I croaked out, my voice hoarse. “Sir, where did you go?”
“I don’t know,” Brendan said, his black eyebrows furrowed with confusion.
“I said, put your hands where we can see them!” the officer in the plaza called.
“She hurt her ankle, I have to help her walk,” Brendan called.
“Hands in the air now,” the voice demanded.
After a short kiss to my temple, Brendan put his hands in the air. I followed suit.
“Miss, are you okay?” the voice continued.
I nodded, my throat too raw and clogged with emotion to talk.
We shuffled closer and I noticed the officer had his gun drawn—and kept it trained on Brendan.
“He’s not the one who attacked me!” I coughed out, throwing my arm in front of Brendan frantically. “The guy—Anthony—I think he’s— He went over the edge of the cliff.”
We got to the fence and a burly officer with a moustache helped me climb over. I noticed the security guard, Mr. Yanek, sitting off to the side while a paramedic tended to his head wound.
“Is he going to be okay?” I asked the officer nearest me, who put away his gun. His shiny badge read Lynott.
“He’ll have one hell of a headache and need stitches, but he’ll be okay,” he said briskly, eyeing the two of us. “Why don’t we have the medics look the two of you over also? It looks like you’ve had a rough night.”
“That’s an understatement,” I mumbled, moving my jaw from side to side and feeling the searing pain shoot across my face as another officer led me and Brendan to separate collapsible stretchers. We were examined by medics and interviewed by the officers, but even though he was several yards away, I could hear Brendan asking—okay, demanding might be a better word—when he could see me and make sure I was okay.
I had just finished giving my account of Anthony’s assault to a different cop when Officer Lynott approached me after talking to Brendan.
“Sounds like you’re quite the strong girl.” He looked at me with a hint of admiration in his eyes. “Your boyfriend says you helped lift him up when he was dangling off those rocks.”
“There was another officer out there—he’s really the one who pulled Brendan up,” I said, shaking my head and then wincing when the movement hurt. “Where did he go? I didn’t get the chance to thank him.”
“Miss, there were no officers on the rocks with you,” Officer Lynott said gently.
“No, there was,” I protested hoarsely. “But I didn’t get to see his face.”
“Emma hit her head a few times tonight,” Brendan said, hurriedly limping over while clutching his side. His black shirt still bore a dirty footprint from Anthony kicking him. “I think she might be a little confused.”
“No, he was there,” I insisted as Brendan stood before me, gently tilting my face from side to side, his frown deepening as he surveyed the damage.
Then he brushed my tangled, bloodied hair back off my neck and stared at me in horror.
“Did you see this?” He showed the medic my throbbing neck. “Emma’s going to the hospital, right? Is she going to be okay? Can you look at this again?”
“I don’t think any permanent damage is done, but I’ve recommended that she go to the hospital,” the medic mused, indulging Brendan with another exam of my aching throat even though she had already thoroughly checked it out. “You both should. We’ll know after an X-ray, but I’d say you’ve definitely got a cracked rib. And, miss, you’ve got some serious bruising and cuts. I think you may have a concussion.”
Then the medic noticed the scar on my arm.
“Whoa, what’s that from?” Officer Lynott asked.
“Car accident a few months ago,” I mumbled, staring down the ripped tulle of my dress.
“Miss Connor, you have nine lives,” he said seriously. “Good for you.