Page 138 of Crash Course
Still, to Cruz? Big deal. Major big deal.
"All right," Tiles said. "Were you there? Can you tell me what happened?"
"Yeah. Her building has an underground garage. We were walking toward the car and it . . ."
Whoa. Cruz’s head spun for a second, the room whirling around him. His breath caught and he gripped the bedrail, hoping to hell his legs didn't cave on him.
"Mr. Blackwell?"
Cruz blew out a hard breath. "Yeah. Sorry. I guess it all caught up."
Tiles studied him with the fascination of a scientist on the hunt for a rare antidote. "Understandable," he said. "I see some scratches on your face. Were you injured in the blast? Hit your head? Anything?"
"No. I'm good. I got knocked down, but caught myself. Didn't hit my head."
Cilla had taken the brunt.
All he knew was they’d both been sent ass over elbow and by the time he’d gotten to her, she was flat on her back on the concrete with blood dripping from that canyon of a wound.
Cruz cleared his throat. "We, uh, were knocked off our feet. I don’t know if she got hit with glass or some other debris," he pointed at her face, "but she’s got that nasty gash."
"Let’s take a look." Dr. Tiles moved to the opposite side of the bed. "Priscilla? Can you hear me?"
Cilla’s eyes fluttered open. A good thing, considering she’d suffered a head injury.
"Hi," Tiles said. "You’re in the emergency room. I’m Dr. Tiles. May I examine you?"
Her eyes drifted closed, the lids obviously too heavy for her. "Yes," she said.
The doc lifted the bandage, cocked his head one way, then the other and replaced the dressing. "It’s a large laceration. We’ll clean that up and I’ll get it stitched."
Cruz nodded. "Here? In the ER?"
"Yes, sir."
Cruz peered back at Cilla and the unmarred perfection of the right side of her face in contrast to the gaping wound he’d seen on the left. For whatever reason, his mind kicked back to theCharlotte Lawyercovers he’d seen online after he’d first met her and had gone digging for info.
Not that she was a cover model for a living, but a woman this freaking stunning? One who clearly cared about her appearance, given the care she took putting herself together, he had to think, wouldn’t want her face butchered.
Would anyone want their face butchered?
Conjuring what little of a filter he could, he chose his words and faced the doc. "I mean no offense here, but I have to ask. Are you a plastic surgeon?"
"Me? No. We don’t have plastic surgeons in the ER. Typically, we get patients stitched and then they follow up with a plastic surgeon if necessary. I assure you, Mr. Blackwell, I’ve stitched plenty of wounds. I’m good at it."
Good? He’sgood.
Cruz nearly laughed, because the gash on Cilla’s face? Nasty. Right now, he’d pass on good. They needed great.
"I’m sure," Cruz said, tapping the browser on his phone. "But you don’t know her."
He searched Cilla’s name, clicked on the images tab and found theCharlotte Lawyercovers he’d been so enthralled with. On the latest, she wore a black pantsuit and her signature sky-high heels while standing in a courtroom in front of a judge’s bench. Her hip-shot stance and crossed arms screamed badass and this doc needed to see it. To see her in action. So to speak.
He held the phone up for Tiles.
"This," Cruz said, "is Cilla. She’s a lawyer. On the freaking cover." He pulled the phone back and enlarged the image. "Look at her face. She’s . . . beautiful. No, more than that. Stunning. She gives pressers and sound bites like a rock star. The cameralovesher."
He paused a second, glancing down at her. Jesus, she was banged up. That alone carved a hunk of his soul away.
