Читать книгу Protecting the Pregnant Witness - Julie Miller - Страница 8

The Past

It was a bone-deep instinct to shut down his emotions and simply survive that allowed Rafe Delgado to tune out the world and squeeze the trigger.

Aaron was down. The car had plowed right through him, tossing him into the air and speeding past as he landed with an ominous thud on the pavement of the busy Kansas City street.

Bang.

And then the world rushed in and the fear welled up as snapshot images and jarring noises etched themselves indelibly on his battered soul. Shouts. Curses. Lights flashing. Sirens wailing. Radio static. Screams. The squealing, grating crunch of a car spinning on its blown-out tire and slamming into the bricks of a building down the block from the bank the driver and passengers had just robbed.

“Aaron?” No. Hell no. Rafe holstered his weapon and ran. He put out one hand to stop a truck turning the corner in front of him and radioed in the call for an ambulance. They’d been the first cops on the scene to answer the bank’s silent alarm. Rafe’s partner—veteran cop, friend, mentor—had said they needed to stop the getaway car. It was harder to catch a gang of thieves once they were on the run than to stop them before they escaped. They’d stopped them, all right. “Aaron!”

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. Rafe Delgado was finally making something of himself. Learning to be a cop, learning to trust. Learning from the best. Sergeant Aaron Nichols was a friend and father, his confessor, as much as he was his partner. The perps had ignored Aaron’s warning, had ignored his gun. Rafe had stopped them, but not soon enough.

Barely aware of the other uniformed cops swarming the neighborhood—stopping traffic, herding bystanders off the street, pulling the three dazed and injured criminals out of the car and handcuffing them on the sidewalk—Rafe ran to his fallen partner where he lay bent and broken in the middle of the intersection. Ignoring the pool of blood staining his knees, he knelt down beside Aaron.

“Aaron?” Those deep blue eyes, set between lines of laughter and wisdom, struggled to focus. Rafe scooped up his partner’s beefy hand and squeezed it, drawing Aaron’s attention. “I got ya, Sarge. Hang in there. The ambulance is on its way.”

Aaron’s scarred-up boxer’s paw tightened weakly around Rafe’s fingers. A breathy hint of his Americanized brogue whispered, “Did we get ’em?”

“I shot the tire and they spun out. Save your energy. Don’t talk.” His hand was cold. There was too much blood. Rafe lifted his head and shouted wildly. “Medic! I need a medic!”

The thick fingers convulsed around Rafe’s. “This one’s bad, sonny. No doctor can help me.”

“That’s Irish bull. You stop bleedin’. You hear me?”

Aaron’s pale, trembling lips curved in a familiar grin. “Givin’ me orders. Who outranks who?”

“Just trying to keep you around, old man.” He wanted to apply pressure to the wound bleeding so profusely at the back of his head. But that meant rolling him over, and Rafe was certain from each shallow wheeze for breath that there were internal injuries and that moving him could make things worse. Rafe’s eyes filled with tears and he swiped away the useless evidence of emotion to keep his partner’s face in focus. “Aaron, tell me what to do.”

Aaron’s eyes grew distant. He knew he was dying. He knew. “You’re a good cop. I knew you would be. I’m proud of you, son.”

The faint trill of his native Irish accent was evident even with each gasp. He’d brought his son to this country when his first wife had died. His second wife had given him a daughter and divorced him. He was the best KCPD had to offer. He’d been through too much. He didn’t deserve to die like this.

Fluid gurgled in Aaron’s throat. “Rafe?”

“I’m right here. What do you need?”

He summoned his strength and squeezed Rafe’s hand one last time. “You take care of my Josie. Patrick, too. This’ll be hard on them. They need someone to depend on.”

Rafe nodded. “I’ll be the big brother they never had. Until you get better.”

“You’ll…need family, too.”

“You’re my family. Now shut up. Save your strength.”

“Got to say this… A father worries…” Rafe wouldn’t know. The man who’d sired him hadn’t worried about anything but his booze and keeping child services out of his hair. Years of practice shut down the memories of pain and anger and betrayal that tried to rear their ugly head. Aaron needed him. His bloody fingers were scratching blindly across his belt. “Where’s my badge?”

“Here.” Rafe plucked the scuffed-up badge off the pavement and put it into his hand before pulling them both onto Aaron’s chest. “Your badge is right with you, Sarge. Feel it?” The blue eyes drifted shut. “Sarge! Stay with me!”

They opened again. “Take care of my girl. Such a good heart. She has…crush…on you.”

“I know. With you watching over my shoulder, nothing will ever happen.”

“No, I…damn.” A shallow rale stuttered through his chest.

“Aaron?”

“Watch Patrick…he’ll fight ya.”

“I can handle him.”

His eyes opened and closed in lieu of a nod. “I love them. Tell ’em that.”

“I will.”

“You’re…better man…than you think.”

The tears chafed beneath his eyelids. “Quit talking like you’re—”

“Promise me…protect them.”

And then Aaron’s scrappy boxer’s fist went slack. His eyes glazed over and he was gone.

“I promise.”