Читать книгу Swat Standoff - Lena Diaz - Страница 14

Chapter Six

Donna tried to peel Blake’s hands off her arms. He was crouched beside her and wouldn’t let her touch Randy.

“Let me go,” she pleaded. “I have to check for a pulse. Maybe we can still save him.”

“It’s way too late for that. The blood’s already starting to dry. He’s gone.” He gave her a light shake. “Donna, look in my eyes, not at him. Trust me, you don’t want this to be the last image of your friend burned into your brain. You don’t want to remember him this way for the rest of your life.”

She was still trying to pry his fingers off her, but the anguish in his voice cut through her own haze of grief and despair and made her pause. Part of her had known that Randy was beyond help. But part of her was in denial, or had been. Blake’s tone had snapped that second part back to reality.

She shifted her gaze to his. The hollowness and pain in his dark eyes nearly stole her breath. What was he remembering from his own past? What kind of tragedy would put those shadows in someone’s eyes? Without even thinking about it, she cupped his cheek.

He ducked away, forcing her to drop her hand.

“Come on,” he said, his voice gentle but strained, all signs of whatever he’d been thinking about erased from his expression. “Let’s make that call to the station.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Randy was your friend. You shouldn’t be here, cop or not. The best way to help him now is to leave the crime scene to others to process.”

He didn’t give her a chance to argue. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her out of the barn. She was so surprised that she didn’t think to protest until he was lowering her back to standing.

She smoothed her shirt down and straightened her shoulders. “I’m a police officer first, a woman second. And I’ve spent half of my life working hard to ensure that I’m treated with the same respect that my male peers are treated. So don’t you dare ever try to carry me like that again unless we’re lovers and you’re carrying me to bed. Got it?”

His eyes widened, and she could feel her face flaming over her poor choice of words. But in that one moment, with him carrying her from a crime scene, all her struggles, the fights to be treated with respect in a profession dominated by men, came boiling to the surface. She would grieve, bitterly, for her longtime friend later. But right now she needed to be the best cop—the best detective—she could be so they could catch the killer and find the rest of the team.