New York to Dallas (In Death 33)

“I’m all right. Just got a little shaken up.”

“The MTs will look you over, but you should go in to the hospital.”

“Yeah, I’m going in. With her. I’ll ride with her.” Pull it together, Eve ordered herself. Remember who you are. She lifted her head, bore down when the air seemed to shimmer and sway around her. “Jesus, what a clusterfuck.”

“She didn’t contact him. Didn’t have time. We’ve got her ’link. Price already checked it and the dash ’link, and she didn’t use either in the last half-hour. He doesn’t know we’ve got her.”

“Silver lining.”

“We’ll get McQueen’s location out of her. We will.”

Tears in the corners of Bree’s eyes, Eve noted. She wasn’t the only one fighting to pull it together.

“We will. And we’ve got her coms. Make sure EDD starts on them asap.”

“We can take it from here.” Laurence stepped up to her. “We’ll work the van, the electronics, the duplex. You get checked out. That was some kick-ass driving, Dallas. Kick-ass.”

“Yeah.”

“Your lip’s bleeding some.”

She swiped at it, looked at the smear on the back of her hand. “Just smacked it on the air bag. I’m good.”

Blood, she thought, studying the smear. Blood on her hand, blood in the van.

Blood didn’t lie.

She got to her feet, waved Bree aside. “I’m okay. Just need to walk it off.”

She walked to the car as if to study the damage. Roarke knew her; she knew him. As she expected he’d had a field kit stowed in the trunk.

Don’t think, she ordered herself, just do. Just do it.

She took out swabs, used one on the cut on her lip, capped it. Hands steady, she marked it, pocketed it.

She moved through the cops, around the MTs who’d just arrived to work on the suspect.

She stared at the blood on the wheel. Head wound, she thought dully. Always plenty of blood with a head wound.

She used the swab, capped and marked it.

After a few calming breaths, she walked back to where the MTs worked. “What’s the damage?”

“She’s got the head laceration, probably concussion,” the MT told her. “Contusions on her chest and arms, and a couple ribs either broken or cracked. Internal injuries likely. We’ve got to get her in.”

“I’m riding with you. What hospital?”

“Dallas City. If you’re coming, you’ve got to come now. We’re about to load her.”

“I’m coming.”

She stepped aside, took out her ’link.

“That was fast,” Roarke began, then stopped, smile dropping away. “You’re hurt.”

“Just a couple bumps from the air bags. I wrecked the car.”

“Typica