No sign of anyone suspicious. Just people with concerned and shocked faces pouring from around the medical park, others running or flattened to the concrete watching. A couple of persons had cell phones in hand, dialing. Good. Cops should be on the way soon.
“Nola?” he asked against her ear, working like hell not to think about how much better her hair smelled after months in a hospital. “Are you all right?”
“I’m okay. Squished, but okay,” she gasped. “What about you?”
“Fine,” he lied, his left knee already aching like a sonuvabitch.
Nola elbowed him gently in the gut. “Rick? Let me up, please.”
“Right.” He rolled to the side while still keeping an arm hooked around her waist to anchor her to the ground so she wouldn’t do something reckless like spring to her feet. She might be a trained combat vet, but he didn’t have any time in the field with her to know anything about her skills. “Sorry about that.”
“No need to apologize. Good God, you saved my butt from flying debris.” She kept her position, breaths steady as she grappled for her keys a few inches away. “I’m not some prickly ingrate. I just got a little smooshed. You’re a big fella.”
Not so much as he used to be, but hey, he hated the self-pity gig. No use dwelling on that. Since there didn’t seem to be any further immediate threat, time to haul his sorry hide the rest of the way up.
He shifted. His knee hollered back at him.
Damn.
How was he going to get to his feet and keep her safely at his side until the cops arrived? He searched around him for options to brace himself… If he rolled right, he could grab a bench for leverage, pull himself up and sit. From there, he could retrieve a crutch and stand.
Easy. In theory.
Nola reached for her purse from under a park bench and jammed her keys inside. “Do you need help?”
Like hell. “No. I’ve got it.”
“Prideful guy, aren’t you?”
“When I fall on my ass you can help me.” He reached for the bench and kept his eyes open for surprise threats in spite of the seeming calm after the storm. Screw worrying about himself. Her safety had to be his first priority. “Until then, I’ve got it. How about that?”
“Fair enough, big guy.”
Deep breath. Thirteen teeth-gritting seconds later—yeah, he counted every one to keep his mind on something other than the grinding pain—he was on his feet again scanning the perimeter. And he damn well waved away the attendant coming toward him with a wheelchair. The smart young goon knew to back off and help somebody else who’d apparently twisted an ankle in the mayhem.
Meanwhile, Rick kept the lone crutch jammed under his arm, enough to hold his balance since the majority of the damage was to his left leg. In some portion of his brain, he heard the rustle behind him of Nola pushing to her feet, too. Good. That meant he truly hadn’t hurt her when he’d shoved her to the concrete.
Keeping the crutch tucked securely, he grabbed her wrist and urged her to the safety of the portico of the rehab center, into the anonymity of a cluster of nurses and orderlies in purple scrubs. That should serve as a decent safety net of anonymity for now in case someone was gunning for her and waiting around. Watching.
He continued to scan. Adrenaline surged. Damn, he’d forgotten the rush that compelled his body beyond normal endurance, but he welcomed it now.
Still, what kind of guardian did he make? Well, at least he was one more barrier between her and whoever was trying to blow her up. He had his brain and instincts.
And that brain and those instincts were telling him whatever threat there was to her had passed for the moment.
“Ohmigod, Rick!”
Her voice stalled him.
“What happened to your back?”
Hell. Now that she mentioned it… His back did sting almost as much as his knee.
Her hands skimmed over his shoulder blades. “Something hit you. It looks like you’ll need stitches.”
The glide of her touch almost made him forget the pain.
“Am I going to bleed to death until I get to the doc?”