Chapter 3 - Blood on the Concrete
Gabriel lowered his weapon, clicking the safety on as Vincent kept his gun trained on the surrounding dark treeline.
“Clear,” Vincent grunted, sweeping his sight across the perimeter. “Pike’s gone. But he’s calling it in. We have five minutes before Blackridge sweeps this place.”
Gabriel walked quickly to pump four, kneeling in the wet gravel beside Emma.
She was shivering uncontrollably, her face as white as milk. Her left hand was clamped desperately over her pregnant belly, while her right arm lay limp, blood pouring steadily from her shoulder onto the concrete.
“Look at me,” Gabriel said softly, his voice firm and grounding.
Emma’s eyes fluttered open, filled with blind terror as she saw the dark-suited man kneeling above her. “My... my baby...” she sobbed, her lips blue. “Please... don't hurt my baby...”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Gabriel said quietly. He placed two fingers against her neck, feeling a racing, thready pulse. “My name is Gabriel Moretti. You’re shot in the soft tissue near your collarbone. You’re bleeding, but you aren't dying.”
“The baby... I had a contraction... it hurts so much lower down...” She gasped, clutching at his wool coat with her clean hand.
Gabriel looked down. A dark stain was spreading across the seat of her jeans.
Not bullet blood. Amniotic fluid mixed with crimson.
Her waters had broken.
“Vincent,” Gabriel called out, his voice instantly hardening into steel. “Get the medical kit from our trunk. We aren't waiting for an ambulance.”
Vincent blinked. “Boss, if we call 911 here, the state police and Blackridge show up together. We get tied to a shooting scene.”
“We aren't leaving her here to bleed out while Pike circles back,” Gabriel said flatly. “Load her into the back of my SUV. Carefully.”
Gabriel slid his arms beneath Emma’s back and legs, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. She let out a soft, whimpering cry, her head falling weakly against his shoulder.
“Hang on, Emma,” Gabriel whispered as he carried her toward his black vehicle. “You’re coming with me.”
As Vincent threw the medical kit onto the leather backseat, Gabriel reached into Emma’s pocket, pulling out her silver Honda keys. He unlocked her trunk, pulled out a heavy black canvas duffel bag sitting beside a spare tire, and tossed it into his SUV.
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“What's that?” Vincent asked, starting the engine.
“Whatever Nolan Pike was willing to shoot a pregnant woman for,” Gabriel said, sliding into the back seat beside Emma, pressing a thick wad of sterile gauze firmly against her shoulder wound. “Drive to the safehouse in Oak Ridge. Call Dr. Thorne. Tell him to set up a delivery room.”
