Free Quick Fix by Linda Grimes Page A

just above and to the right of her navel. There was a wound on her back, too, so I reached for another towel and covered it, applying pressure as hard as I dared. She’d been shot through and through, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the front or the back. I just knew that if I didn’t slow the bleeding, she’d be dead before I could find out who she was.
    “Billy!” I hollered again. “Where are you? I need you. Now, damn it!”
    No answer. I let go of the towel and disengaged the woman’s hand from the drawer. I lowered her gently, counting on her body weight to keep the towel pressed firmly against the back wound, and placed her hand on the towel in front.
    “You keep holding this right here,” I said to her. “You hear me? Hold it tight. I have to get a phone.”
    A clatter on the breakfast bar above me alerted me to Molly’s presence. She dropped a cordless handset on me. Smart monkey.
    I was about to dial when I heard a voice coming from the phone: “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?” Molly had already dialed for me.
    “A woman has been shot. She’s bleeding. Hurry!” I said, and verified Billy’s address. I disconnected as soon as the dispatcher told me help was on the way, swiping the phone across my bath towel before I laid it back on the counter. My fingers were still covered in blood. I wiped them off, too. Which was silly, because they got bloody again as soon as I touched the woman.
    Who was she? And, geez, what was I supposed to do with her until help came? Think, Ciel.
    What I really wanted to do was call Mark. But I didn’t dare take the time—if she didn’t bleed to death, shock could still kill her. What were you supposed to do for shock? Keep her warm, right?
    Okay, blankets. I ran to the living room. On the sofa was a throw cover Auntie Mo had knitted for Billy when she was stuck on bed rest with one of her pregnancies. God, she’d kill him if he got it stained. Crap. What the hell was I thinking? It was there. I needed something now. I grabbed it. It was as ugly as sin, anyway. A few bloodstains couldn’t make it any worse.
    I laid it over the woman, checking her wound as I did. It was still oozing. Oozing was better than gushing. I was afraid to lift her to check her back. The pressure from her weight on the wadded-up dish towel might be all that was keeping her from bleeding out.
    “Thanks, Ciel.” The words were thready, spoken so softly I couldn’t be sure I’d heard my name. I stared at her face, really looking at it for the first time.
    “My God … Laura? Is that you?”
    It was. The long, auburn hair was now black and severely short, with eyebrows dyed to match. Or had the auburn been the dye job? But her forest green eyes were exactly as I remembered them. Her lips and cheeks were devoid of their usual healthy color— duh, Ciel, no wonder —but it was definitely Laura. She was the CIA operative who’d recently helped Mark crack a neo-Viking terrorist ring. I’d met her in Sweden when my then-client’s fiancé got kidnapped by the group.
    “Laura, what happened? What’s going on here? Who did this to you?”
    “Well, I could tell you, sugar, but then…” She tried for a smile, but it was replaced by a grimace as she sucked in a breath.
    I was glad she still had her sense of humor, but killing was not something I wanted to contemplate, even in a punch line.
    “Don’t talk. Help will be here soon.”
    “Ciel, tell Mark…”
    I took her free hand. “Quiet now. Save your breath.” As much as I wanted to know what she had to say, I was more worried about her dying. First things first.
    “Tell him he was right.”
    Her eyes fluttered shut again, and I felt panic grip my chest. I had to fight the urge to shake her, to yell at her to stay awake. The wail of a siren getting closer penetrated my growing bubble of fear, easing it some. Thank God. Maybe now my head wouldn’t explode.
    “Forget it,” I said, babbling anything, trying to will her into