She gave a small nod, hardly noticeable except Kendra was searching for any sort of movement or reaction. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”
The girl’s eyes closed and she went very still. Kendra reached in and felt for a pulse. “Come on now, they’re almost here! Hold on, okay?”
But there was no beat against her fingertips.
Maybe it was just thready and she wasn’t able to feel it with her fingers. The ambulance pulled up and Gabe Brenner hopped out, followed quickly by another paramedic,
Mike. It was immediately followed by the first fire truck. She looked up as they approached. “Hurry, Gabe, I can’t get a pulse.”
“The other car?”
“He was trapped but stable when I checked him,” she answered as Gabe rushed down the ditch.
She stepped back to let Gabe and Mike in. While they examined the girl, Chris Jackson hurried to her, big and bulky in his gear.
“The other car,” she said shortly. “He’s pinned in. You might need to cut him out, Chris.”
He spun and called up to the other guys on the truck before running to the car. Kendra needed to slow down her heart rate and take a breath, soothe the adrenaline shooting through her veins. But there wasn’t much chance. Gabe and Mike turned around to face her again.
“She’s gone,” Gabe said, strain showing around his eyes. “Sorry, Kendra.”
With the image of the girl’s still face behind her eyes, Kendra turned around and threw up in the tall grass of the ditch.
The pub was quiet for a Thursday evening. The thundershower earlier had kept people from stopping on their way home, Jake supposed, and things were pretty relaxed behind the bar. The staff joked with each other and the few patrons sitting at the table, and Jake told Marlene, the cook working the kitchen, to give everyone dinner during their break.
The lot of them were just having a laugh as Marlene told a story about her youngest grandkid when the door opened and Kendra walked in. She was in full uniform right down to the vest and sidearm, but Jake knew the moment she stepped across the threshold that something was wrong. He left the group and got as far as the end of the polished counter when she stepped up and sat on a stool.
“I’ll have a shot of…” She faltered for only a second. “A shot of rum.”
Jake’s jaw nearly dropped at the request. What the hell? Then he looked at her face. He recognized that look and his heart—what little bit he had—damn near broke. Something had happened. Something horrible. He knew that look. Without knowing the details, he knew it was a storm inside her that caused it. And he also knew from painful experience that getting drunk wouldn’t solve a damn thing.
And it would ruin someone like Kendra.
He swallowed and looked into her eyes. “White, amber, dark or spiced?”
Her gaze met his, startled, the pupils wide. She was in shock. He never wavered. Shit, she was in trouble. Big trouble.
“It doesn’t really matter.”
“Thought you might say that. Sorry, we’re all out.”
The blue in her eyes blazed as she realized he was refusing to serve her. “Then make it rye. Or vodka. Or tequila.”
“We’re all out of that too,” he said mildly. Their glasses always came out of the dishwasher sparkling clean, but Jake picked up a beer mug and began polishing it. Anything to keep his hands busy right now. Anything to keep from reaching for her the way he wanted to.
“Don’t mess with me, Jake. Not tonight.”
“The bar’s not open to you.”
“I’m telling you it is.” She stood up and raised her voice, a note of hysteria hovering just below the surface. “You don’t want any trouble, do you?”
He leaned over the bar. “Do yourself a favor and sit down and shut up. You’re in uniform, for God’s sake.”
She sat down, but she took off her cap and tucked it under her arm. She lifted her chin belligerently. “Symonds, are you going to serve me or not?”
“Not.” He said it loudly enough that she—and everyone within twenty feet—got the message. Then he leaned in again. “What the hell are you doing, Kendra?”
“I thought I was ordering a drink. Guess I’ll go somewhere else where they’re not so high and mighty.”