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Dr. Erin Jacobs is making a name for herself in the sports world. Drawing on her own life
experiences, she encourages and inspires athletes to recover from career ending injuries. So why would someone want to hurt the good doctor?
Detective Logan Sinclair is determined to find that answer. He's been mesmerized by Erin from the moment she found him and his partner shot in an alleyway. Since that night their lives have never been the same. Will Logan be able to solve the puzzle of who wants Erin out of the way before it's too late? And if so, what impact will those answers have on their lives?
EXCERPT:
Erin was within a few blocks of Safe Harbor Homeless Shelter when the first drops of rain began to fall. She inhaled the delicious scent and blinked as droplets peppered her face. She loved thunderstorms. Shifting gears, she started down the hill, figuring to take the alley as a shortcut.
Two loud pops echoed from the surrounding buildings.
Gunshots!
They sounded close, but in the maze of tall buildings, she couldn't tell what direction they'd come from. She slowed down in order to make the left turn into the alleyway and heard the squeal of tires coming from the alley to her right.
A pair of headlights sped toward her.
She hit the brakes hard, hoping to avoid a collision. Aw man, this is going to hurt.
The bike skidded on the wet pavement and she leaned sideways to lay it down. She winced as her left side made contact with the concrete, gravel and dirt penetrating the tender skin of her thigh and forearm.
The black SUV crossed underneath the streetlight. The driver looked down at her and his dark eyes widened. Both irritated and angry, she stared at the guy. "Jerk," she hollered as the SUV sped away.
A second pair of headlights in the alley caught her attention. The car was just sitting there. Its
passenger door opened. She immediately recalled the gunshots just prior to the SUV exiting the alley.
Oh no!
Erin jerked her backpack off and ran to the car. She spotted the passenger on the ground, saw a leg move, then looked at the driver who was completely still. Going for the driver, she jerked open the door and froze at the sight of the gun and badge pinned to his belt.
Cops.
Erin stared at the crimson stain spreading across his chest. A wave of nausea washed over her. She shook off the reaction and checked for a pulse with one hand while unbuttoning his shirt with the other. He had a chest wound, but his pulse was strong.
She got on the car radio, gave their location, and reported officers down and in need of immediate medical attention. She then gave a description of the SUV and driver.
"Can you repeat the description, ma'am?" the female dispatcher asked.
"Early to mid-twenties, tall, stocky build…athletic, black hair, mustache, black t-shirt, diamond stud in his left ear. There was a passenger, but I couldn't see them. I don't know if it was a male or female."
"Can I get your name, please?"
"Addison," a male voice spoke from the other side of the car.
Erin hung up. The voice sounded weak. She ran around to the passenger side of the car. He'd
managed to sit up and was leaning against the front wheel. She opened his shirt. He had a bad
shoulder wound, but would live. "Sir, I need you to lie back down."
"My partner, is he…"
"He's going to be fine. So are you." She looked around for something she could use to elevate his feet. She spotted a wooden crate near a dumpster and dragged it over. With her arms wrapped around him, she eased him back down, then lifted his legs onto the crate. He started to stir again. "Please, you must lay still." Grabbing the keys from the ignition, she went to search the trunk for a first aid kit and blanket.
***
Logan drifted in and out of consciousness. His shoulder felt like it was on fire. He never imagined getting shot would hurt this bad.
"It's not a serious wound. You…you're going to be fine."
He looked up at his rescuer. Moments ago, she'd sounded so calm and collected as she'd given a
detailed description of the driver over his police radio. She was far from that now. Even her hands shook as she applied pressure to his wound. Though she avoided looking at him, he had seen the tears glistening in her eyes.
She had a gentle touch, soothing even. And she was beautiful. The rain had drenched her green
scrubs, and her dark, shoulder-length hair was matted to the sides of her face and neck. She was wearing credentials. The photo ID turned so that only Mercy General Hospital could be seen. "Are you a nurse?"
"No."
He heard sirens drawing near. "A doctor?"
She started to stand, but he tightened his grip on her hand. "Where are you going?"
"I'm sorry. I've gotta go." The words seemed ripped from her lips. As if she had no choice.
Logan watched her run awkwardly the length of the alley. She was hurt. Had she been shot too? She stooped over, picked up a backpack, then slipped it over her shoulder. His eyes narrowed. He saw a bike lying on its side. Relief swept over him. She hadn't been shot, only wrecked her bike. He recalled the description she'd given of the shooter—so much detail. If she'd gotten that good a look at the shooters, then they had gotten an even better look at her. As he watched her disappear into the darkness, he prayed the Lord would watch over her until he was back on his feet and could find out who she was.
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