"I'm not going into shock, Gabriel."
I looked at him, his hand on the washing machine, his weight all on his right leg. His left one was bleeding at the thigh, where there was a bullet hole, and at the calf, where the spade had sliced clean through his trousers.
"You need--" I began.
"Later. Now, the window. You have to--" He looked at the dryer. "Perfect."
"I know. I checked the options. Can you get up on that?"
"I'm not--"
"I'll help you if you can't, but you're going first. You're hurt worse than me."
"I'm not going--"
"Yes, you are. Now move before--"
"Olivia. Stop. I won't fit through that window."
I looked up at it, my heart pounding as I realized he was right. I would barely get through.
I took a deep breath. "Okay, plan B." I fumbled my cell phone from my pocket. "Call for help."
His hand shot out to stop me.
I moved back out of his reach. "I'm not going to be the idiot who lets you bleed out rather than phone 911. It'll be fine. You haven't done anything wrong."
I put a little too much emphasis on "you" and he said, "Neither have you. It was self-defense. Now, get your ass outside. Then call 911."
I dialed my phone.
"Olivia..."
I backed up and placed the call, keeping my voice low, in case Chandler's bodyguard picked that moment to open the basement door.
When I hung up, Gabriel said, "Now you're going out that--"
"I'm not leaving you."
"Don't be stupid. I have a gun." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the .45.
"Which will knock you on your ass if you try firing with a bad leg. Sit down before you fall."
"I'm--"
"Sit down."
I walked to the door and peered out. If I strained, I could hear footsteps above. Anderson would search the other rooms first. Then he'd come down here.
When I returned, Gabriel was still standing, leaning against the washing machine. Stubborn bastard.
"So you're staying with me?" he said.
"Yep."
"You may not want to do that."
"Too bad."