She wavered a bit, but spoke strongly. “Any chance you could move the baby seat over to Marisel’s car? It’s that green Forrester across the street.”
Emilio, whose gaze had stayed on the door where Marisel had disappeared, looked at Cooper. “I’m on it.”
Soon Marisel was back and Emilio helped the group get settled in the station wagon. Cooper turned to Sylvia. Her gaze followed the car as the rain and dark engulfed it.
“They named the baby Aniya. It means, look up to God.”
He was quiet for a moment, watching her. The urgent need to act that had driven her for the last half-hour was gone now. She looked about to collapse.
He bit down on the urge to comfort. His fingers itched to take her arms and snug her up against his chest. He reminded himself of his job. “Did you get a look at the car the shooter was in?”
Instead of answering, she bent over, leaning with her hands on her thighs, her head down.
Cooper took her arms and raised her back up. “Are you okay?”
Her only response was a soft moan as she swayed a bit on her feet. He steadied her and she looked up at him. Without taking her gaze from his, she slowly slid one hand under her jacket. When she brought it back out, she held it between them, palm up. Cooper looked down and saw it was covered with blood.
“Shit.” He grabbed her wrist. “Is that yours?”
She didn’t answer, didn’t take her eyes from his face. Cooper brushed her jacket aside and saw her white tee shirt was soaked with blood, from her ribs all the way down her right side. The black stain, glimmering crimson in the limited light, seeped into the jeans she wore.
“Baby,” he said, not stopping to think about how improper that was. He took her up into his arms and looked around. The ambulance was gone. He carried her to the squad car, cursing himself for failing to take the basic step of ascertaining the number of injured. Where had he left his head?
“Emilio!” He called his partner over. “She’s been hit. Get Jackson over here to drive us in.” He slid into the rear seat, keeping her held tight in his arms. Soon Jackson was in the driver’s seat, cranking the engine. Emilio held the back door open for a moment, giving Cooper a look.
Cooper met it, but had no explanation to give. “Oh, yeah—I think there’s another woman in labor up there. You’d better stay with her until someone else gets here.”
Emilio paled.
“Don’t worry. She’s only three centimeters—she’s got some time yet.” Now there was a little green around the edges of pale. “Help’s coming.”
Emilio seemed frozen, so Cooper pulled the door shut himself. “Let’s go.”
Tires squealed as they pulled out. Acceleration pressed him back into the seat and brought Sylvia’s weight harder against his chest. He brushed strands of wet hair away from her face, stroking. Her eyes opened and he kissed her forehead, then tucked her head against his shoulder.
“I couldn’t see the color of the car. It was dark. They didn’t have their lights on.”
“Shh.” He kept his lips on her forehead, wondering at but accepting the pounding of his heart.
“The gun came out of the back window. It was rolled down, but not all the way, like one of those cars where the back window only opens half-way.”
He shushed her again, biting back the word that was in his head—sweetheart. He enforced it this time by putting his lips to hers. When he lifted his face to look at her, she was watching him.
“Investigator—“
“Cooper.”
“Cooper. You kissed me.”
“Yes.” He wanted more. He wanted to loosen her hair and bury his hands in it. He wanted the taste of her, the feel of her. He wanted her safe.
He squeezed gently where his hand held her against him. “Hush, please. Rest.”
“I was shot, wasn’t I?”
He nodded, fighting icy fingers of fear that nearly stopped his breath. He stroked her face as he felt the wetness of her blood saturate the leg of his jeans. He hardly knew her, but he wasn’t sure he would survive losing her.
He could barely hear when she echoed his thoughts.
“What a strange night.”