Instead, he tucked his arm around her back and rolled with her behind a thick tree, then slammed her up against it, keeping her covered as another spray of bullets sent bark flying a few inches from her head.
Okay someone was pissing her off. She wanted her gun and now.
“Let me go!” she hollered.
“Stay still before you get hurt.”
She pushed at him, but he had better leverage and it was like trying to move the tree. He wouldn’t budge.
“Is it museum security?” she asked.
“No. No one in uniform. Someone dressed in black.”
Oh, hell. This wasn’t good. Who was shooting at them?
And where was security? Goddamn useless donut-eating morons! They were probably cowering under the lobby desk after they heard gunshots.
Mac shot off another round. “Do you see anyone else?”
She craned her head around him, searching both sides.
“No. Just the single shooter.”
Mac aimed, fired, then said, “I think I might have hit him. Let’s move!”
Before she could object, he grabbed her hand and hauled her to her feet, dragging her along behind him. Bullets sprayed the dirt near their feet. No time to argue or grab for her gun along the way.
They tore down the alley toward his bike. “Get on!”
She didn’t even think this time, letting common sense prevail. She hopped on the back of his bike, wrapped her arms around him and held tight while he revved the engine and tore off down the alley, escaping the barrage of bullets as if the hounds of hell were chasing them.
Lily was afraid maybe they were. She didn’t exhale the entire time Mac wound them around side streets and clear out of the city limits. They rode for hours, Lily’s mind whirling the entire time. She didn’t speak and neither did Mac. Her body was too frozen with shock to move or talk or notice where they were headed. Not until they were well out of town and she realized they were in some remote location. Since no bullets had whizzed by her ears, she assumed they weren’t being followed, but she wasn’t about to off-balance the bike by shifting around to look.
There were no street lights and the road had changed to two lanes. The trees were taller and more dense and the temperature had dropped, making her shiver from the chill.
They’d moved from city to country, the smell of pine and clean air much more evident than in a smog choked city.
After what seemed like hours of riding, evidenced by her rather numb tender parts, Mac finally turned onto a dirt road and into what appeared to be a deserted campsite. She hoped he knew where he was going, because she was hopelessly lost. When he pulled over, Lily resisted the urge to whoop for joy. He turned off the engine and waited for her to slip off the bike. He followed after her while she bent over to stretch her tight muscles. He pulled a bottle of water out of a saddlebag and took a long swallow, then tossed it her way.
She drank greedily, soothing her parched throat. And she finally exhaled.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yes. Who was shooting at us back at the museum?”
she asked.
“I have no idea. I thought maybe you would.”
She shrugged. “No clue.” But now that she had her wits about her again, she gave him a scathing look. “Are you out of your mind? Did you feel it necessary to play hero back there?
We could have both been killed.”
He stared at her, not even moving while she advanced on him. And he didn’t say a word. Fine then, she had plenty to say. “For your information, I spent three years on the police force before leaving to become a private investigator. I know how to handle a gun. The one you knocked out of my reach. I could have helped. But, oh no. You had to throw yourself on top of me like some freakin’ superhero and prevent me from grabbing my gun.”
“You were a cop?” His eyes widened.
“That’s not what we’re talking about. We’re discussing your macho show of over protectiveness back there.”
“I was trying to prevent you from being shot.”
“I didn’t need your help.”
Ignoring her outburst, he unzipped his jacket and slowly started peeling it off his shoulders, as if he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to her.
“Are you listening to me at all, Mac? Are you hearing what I’m saying? I am competent, goddamit. I am not some air headed idiot who needed protecting. And where’s the vial?”
Once he had the jacket off, she zeroed in on the dark stain on his arm and a river of blood pouring off the ends of his fingers. Any anger she felt dissipated in a rush of panic and concern.
“Oh. shit. You were shot?” She rushed over and began to pull up his shirt.
“I’m fine,” he said, but he didn’t try to stop her.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Bullet just grazed me.”
Her gaze rocketed to his. “Oh, and you’re some kind of psychic doctor, I suppose. How do you know?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been shot a few times. I know.”
She shuddered at the thought. “Spare me the details.
Let’s get this shirt off.” She drew the shirt over his head, then peeled it gently away from his shoulder, taking special care when she pulled the fabric down his injured arm.
“We need more light.” She looked around the campground, spotting a grey brick building with a single overhead light a short distance away. Bathroom. “Have you got a first aid kit in the bike?”
“Yeah. Left saddlebag.”
She hurried over and fumbled through the bag, found the first aid kit and a flashlight, then pushed him toward the bathroom. The light switch revealed a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling. Thankfully there was a wink and paper towels in there.
“Sit,” she ordered, pointing him toward the wooden bench next to the shower.
“Bossy,” he teased, grinning up at her.
Ignoring him, she wet some paper towels, turned on the flashlight and placed it on the edge of the sink so it was pointing toward his arm. She cleaned the wound, wiping away the blood so she could get a look at the injury.
Like he said, it was a graze. Mean looking and about three inches long, but not deep enough to need stitches. He was lucky the bullet had barely scraped the flesh of his arm. She cleaned it, applied pressure until the bleeding stopped and after spreading some antibacterial ointment on it, placed a bandage over the wound.