Marisela Morales 03 - Dirty Little Christmas - Julie Leto Read Online Free Page B

elbows and knees, then swept out what she hoped was an effective round-house kick before the motion spun her helplessly to the ground, the back of her head cracking against the shattered pavement.
    “Crap. It’s okay. You’re safe,” the voice, male and gruff and unfamiliar, reassured. “You’re not hurt, just dazed. But your friend…”
    The voice trailed off and his silence—or else, the lack of words, because silence was no longer possible in the hysteria of sound—told her Lia’s injuries were not superficial. The smell of gunpowder singed the inside of her nostrils, turning them into raw wounds that burned from the chemical stench of the fire extinguishers.
    Her vision cleared enough for her to make sense of the scene. The police had descended, along with paramedics, though there was no ambulance in sight. Her car was smoking, the windshield shattered.
    She moved to stand, but her knees buckled. When she fell, someone caught her. “Whoa, there. You gotta stay put.”
    “My sister—”
    Her sister…what? Was kidnapped? Taken by masked men in a dark SUV from which she’d gotten neither license plates nor make and model?
    “She’ll be fine,” the cop reassured. “She’s hurt, but breathing on her own. The ambulance can’t navigate the parking structure, but the EMTs will take her down in the elevator and take her to St. Joe’s. It’s the closest emergency room. You, too.”
    “No,” Marisela shouted, the reverberations of her own voice sending her into a spiral of dizziness, even though her ass was still firmly planted on the ground. “No hospitals.”
    Especially not St. Joe’s. Never St. Joe’s. She’d been born there, but she’d nearly died there, too. Unless she was unconscious and strapped to a gurney, she’d never step into those sterile hallways ever again.
    “You’re hurt—”
    “Check me out here. That was my car those assholes blew up. I’m not leaving until you catch them.”
    Marisela’s vision cleared enough for her to stumble over to Lia, lying on a wheeled stretcher. Two paramedics worked on her. While one gently laid her head back after swirling clean gauze around her eyes, the other tapped an IV line into her arm.
    Still, she managed to gesticulate wildly as she answered the questions posed by a female detective in a crisp, navy suit.
    Italians. The only way to shut them up was to tie down their hands.
    “And then the car just exploded! Where’s Marisela? I need to see her. Oh, God. Can I see her?”
    Marisela shouldered her way close and grabbed Lia’s hand. “You’re going to see me after they take care of you, entiendes ? Calm down.”
    “Where’s—”
    “Shhh,” Marisela said, trying to keep her voice soothing even as she attempted to keep Lia from mentioning Belinda. “I’m okay. I’ve got this. Just let them help you.”
    The female paramedic, a pretty blonde with kind blue eyes, shot what Marisela assumed was a sedative into the IV. Once Lia settled down, Marisela asked, “Is she going to be all right?”
    Before the paramedic could answer, her partner wrapped his hand around Marisela’s upper arm. “We need to examine you next.”
    She tugged free. “You need to answer my question.”
    “Marisela?” Lia said, tugging aside the oxygen mask tied loosely on her face. “ Mija , don’t give the fireman a hard time. Es muy guapo, si ? Muy, muy guapo .”
    The paramedic grimaced. “She’s on serious pain killers and her eyes are wrapped.”
    “Maybe,” Marisela said, sensing she’d get more information out of the medic if she ran with Lia’s flirtatious lead. Her gut ached with worry for Belinda, but before she set off to recover her sister—which she would do—she had to make sure Lia was going to be okay. “But you are easy on the eyes. Question is, are you just another pretty face on the annual hunk calendar or do you really know about medicine and…stuff?”
    Her vision was still shaky, but she could have sworn the man blushed.