Heating up the Holidays Read online

The wounded man was bleeding fast and furious, and going very pale. “No.”

  “Say you’re sorry!”

  “No!”

  “You have another shoulder, you know. And I’ll shoot you in it-Hey!” The shooter turned his head toward Dustin, who’d shifted closer to the victim. “Stay right where you are until I tell you to move!”

  Ignoring him, Dustin went down on his knees to look at the wound. The bullet couldn’t have hit any major arteries or the manager would probably already have bled out completely-one thing in the guy’s favor.

  Dustin lifted the torn and bloody material away from the entry wound.

  The manager hissed out a pained breath. “I’m going to die, aren’t I? How long before I die?”

  Cristina went to move closer to help but crazy-gun-guy protested. “Stay where you are!”

  Her hands fisted but she stayed. “He needs helps.”

  “Let me repeat. Move and I’ll shoot.”

  “Okay, let’s all just try to relax,” Dustin said quickly, still crouched by the injured man. “You let us in here, right? So I know you don’t want anyone to die.” He went to open his bag, until the gun ended up in his face.

  “No funny business!”

  “No funny business.” Slowly, Dustin pulled out gauze and pressed it to the wound. “He needs a hospital.”

  “Not until I get my apology.”

  “For what?”

  “He said I was a worthless loser.”

  “You hit him,” Dustin pointed out. “And then you shot him. I think you’re even.”

  “Mom said he has to apologize, that I shouldn’t give in until he apologizes.”

  “Mom?” Dustin divided a look between the two guys as sirens sounded in the distance. “You’re brothers?”

  “Only temporarily,” the brother holding the gun said. “Because I’m going to shoot him dead if he doesn’t apologize, and then I’ll be an only child.”

  The manager groaned and lay back. “Jesus. You’re crazy.”

  “Say you’re sorry!”

  “Just say it,” Dustin grated out, trying to stop the bleeding and having little luck.

  “No way in hell!”

  The armed brother waved his weapon, looking quite pissed off at the world. When it ended up in the vicinity of the terrified clerk, she let out a low cry and started to back away.

  “Don’t move!” The manager, gray from blood loss and pain, yelled from his position on the concrete floor. “God, Tess, don’t get shot for me!”

  The gun was in her face now. “Yes, Tess,” the manager’s brother said. “Don’t get shot for him.”

  “Okay, let’s just all stay very calm,” Dustin slowly rose, holding up his hands. “You don’t need the clerk anymore, right? You can let her go. Let both women go.”

  “They can identify me.”

  That didn’t sound promising. For any of them. The police were probably outside by now, maybe even making their way in somehow, or so he hoped, so he figured stalling was key. “Look, why don’t you tell me what it is you want, and I’ll try to negotiate it for you.”

  “I want an apology, or he dies.” Emphasizing this, he pointed the gun at his brother.

  Tess screamed and scrambled backward, turning to race recklessly toward the door.

  “Stop!”

  Knowing it was all going to go bad, Dustin grabbed Cristina and shoved her behind him, dropping them both down as the guy waved his gun around like a mad man over their heads.

  Well, shit, he thought. He should have quit yesterday.

  8

  F ROM BEHIND Dustin, where he’d shoved her, Cristina couldn’t see, but what she heard stopped her heart.

  “Stop!” crazy-gun-dude yelled. “Stop or I’ll shoot you!”

  “Don’t shoot her!” his brother cried.

  Cristina lifted her head.

  Tess wasn’t stopping. Heart in her throat, Cristina tried to get free from Dustin’s grip but then he was surging forward, throwing himself at the gunman.

  In Cristina’s life, she’d been afraid many times, but never like this, never such a gut-wrenching horror. “Dustin!” She reached for him, grabbing, but catching only his belt, and the holster for his scissors.

  Dustin landed on the gunman and they rolled around on the floor, each grappling to be on top.

  Cristina held the scissors like a weapon, planning on stabbing gun guy, but the two men kept moving, rolling, bizarrely in tune to the clerk screaming her head off. Then the man with the gun shoved free of Dustin, whose face was bleeding. He’d lost his glasses and squinted, as crazy-gun-guy leapt to his feet and aimed at the clerk’s back.

  “No!” all of them yelled. Dustin lunged to his feet, the sudden motion causing the gunman to whirl on him just as the manager, still on the floor, yanked on his brother’s leg hard, causing him to lose his balance.

  The gun went off.

  Time stopped and so did Cristina’s heart as she watched Dustin jerk. She dove for him as the deranged brother fell, and they all hit the floor in unison.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” she gasped, grabbing Dustin as he doubled over and grabbed his leg, his face a mask of agony.

  The room was suddenly filled with police and everything was a blur.

  Except Dustin, still in her arms, eyes closed, his precious blood pumping out of a hole in his thigh. “Dustin.”

  James was suddenly there, as were two paramedics from station #33, all getting in her way, pulling Dustin out of her arms.

  “He’s going to be fine,” she told them, stepping back out of the way so they could get him on a gurney.

  Blake was there. He hugged her hard, and into his chest she said it again. “He’s going to be fine.”

  “I’ll take you to the hospital,” he said, far too solemnly.

  Which was odd because Dustin was going to be fine. Fine.

  B LAKE GOT Cristina to the hospital right behind the ambulance. As they rushed into the E.R. alongside Dustin, Cristina never took her eyes off his pale, pale face. A nurse cut away his pants while a doctor barked orders over his head.

  Cristina tried to get a good look but another nurse eased her back out of the way. But she stayed in the room. “Look at that, Dustin. I’m getting you out of your pants without even trying.”

  Dustin’s mouth quirked, but his eyes stayed closed. “Be gentle.”

  There was a lump in her throat the size of a football. “Hey, I’m always gentle with the lightweights, ace.”

  “I’ll have you know I’m no lightweight. I know what I’m doing…”

  Cristina choked out a laugh. He did. He did know what he was doing, always. “Dustin-”

  “Yeah…” His voice was fading away, which terrorized her. But it was just the drugs, she told herself.

  He was fine.

  Out of the speakers came some soft, elevator Christmas music, reminding her that tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Someone had the small TV at the nurses’ station on CNN, muted, and ticker after ticker spelled doom and gloom for their economy. “You know, it’s really not a good time to be selling a house,” she whispered.

  Blake reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Cristina-”

  “Seriously. He should just forget about selling his damn house.”

  “I think I can get this bullet out without sending him to surgery,” one of the doctors said.

  “Do it.” Dustin sounded as if he was breathing through gritted teeth.

  “Give him more pain meds,” Christina demanded. Why weren’t they giving him more? “Blake-”

  Blake held her back, whispering in her ear. “They know what they’re doing. You know they know what they’re doing.”

  “Do you feel this?” the doctor asked, poking at Dustin’s bare foot.

  “Feel what?”

  Oh, God. “He’s going to be fine…” She stared at Dustin’s too-pale face. “You hear me, Dustin Mauer?”

  The doctor gave Blake a look that had the firefighter holding on to Christina very tigh