“Hands! I want to see your hands.”
She moved closer as other cops, other weapons joined her.
“Put your fucking hands on the wheel, now.”
“I’m hurt!”
“You’re going to be more hurt if I don’t see both your hands on that wheel.”
She saw them, and blood.
Head wound, she noted as she wrenched open the door, saw blood running down the woman’s face. Without pity, Eve yanked her out of the van, spun her around to face it.
“What are you doing? I’m hurt. You wrecked my van. I need an ambulance.”
“Call for a bus,” Eve ordered.
“My chest.” The woman wheezed breath in and out. “Oh God, my ribs. My head.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re under arrest.” Eve cuffed the woman’s hands behind her back, then was forced to hold her up as she swayed.
“What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything.” She added weeping to the wheezing. “You drove me off the road.”
“What name should we start with? Sister Suzan? Sarajo Whitehead? Should we go with Sylvia Prentiss since you’re her today?”
She turned the woman around. Broke her sunshades in the crash, she thought fleetingly. “Whatever name you’re using, we’ve got your ass. And we’ll get McQueen’s.”
Eve pulled off the broken sunglasses, tossed them to another cop.
The woman looked at her with such fierce, bright hate.
“Fuck you. You’ve got nothing. You are nothing!”
Eve’s knees went loose, nearly buckled as the edges of her vision grayed, wavered. The heat rolled up, a wave from her toes to the crown of her head that coated her skin in a thin layer of sweat.
And she knew.
“LT, Lieutenant Dallas.” Annalyn took Eve’s arm. “You should sit down. You took a pretty hard knock.”
“I know you,” Eve managed, her voice low and harsh with shock. “I know you.”
“You don’t know shit.” Then the woman’s eyes rolled back. She’d have hit the street in a dead faint if Eve hadn’t yanked her up again.
“I know you. I know you.”
“Dallas, Dallas. Ease back. Take the bitch, Jay.” As he did, Annalyn pulled Eve back. “You’re in shock, Dallas. She’s out cold, and you’re in shock.”
“What? What?” She pushed at Annalyn’s hand, stumbled to the curb and sat. Put her head between her knees.
Couldn’t get sick. Wouldn’t.
Had to be wrong.
Everything kept spinning around, and rolling heat had turned to bitter, blowing cold. She couldn’t get her breath.
Shocky, yes, Detective Walker was right. A little shocky from the crash.
“The bus is on the way, Lieutenant.” Bree crouched in front of her. “Suspect is unconscious. She’s banged up pretty bad. No safety bags in that van, so she took a hard hit. You, too, even with them.”