Free Deacon's Touch by Callie Croix

behind them wasn't so lucky.
    An instant later, a deafening bang and the screeching of tires ripped through the quiet night. Whipping her head to the side, she caught sight of the BMW's tail lights speeding away into the darkness and the mangled, smoking wreckage behind them. Cursing, Deke slammed the truck into park and shut off the engine. Before she could utter a single word, he jumped out of the truck and ran for the other vehicle.
    Fumbling with the strap of the seatbelt, she followed on shaky legs. He was already inside the crumpled cab of the truck, talking to the driver. Jessie swallowed a gasp as she drew near enough to see the woman. The airbag had deployed, but her face was covered with blood, and her eyes were closed. She didn't respond to Deke's attempts at rousing her.
    He looked back at Jessie. “There's a med kit in the truck bed."
    She ran for the truck, located the heavy duffel, and hefted it from the truck bed. It weighed a ton. What the hell was in there, rocks? Struggling to hold the heavy bag, she rushed back to him. He handed her his cell phone and ripped the zipper open, exposing an oxygen tank. Her eyes widened. He carried an oxygen tank in his med kit?
    "Call 911."
    Her fingers shook as she hit the buttons, but the call wouldn't go through. “No signal,” she said, trying to calm her breathing as Deke worked on the woman.
    "Keep moving around until you get through. She's going to need an ambulance."
    She'd just passed the back of the wrecked truck when a plaintive wail came from inside the cab. Whirling around, she met Deke's grim stare. A baby. That crazy asshole had smashed into this poor woman with a helpless baby in the back seat.
    "I can't let go of her yet,” Deke said calmly. “Can you—"
    Jessie was already heading for the back of the pickup. In three strides, she was at the door, setting her leg against the truck frame to wrench it open. Her heart knocked against her ribs as the baby's cries grew louder, and when she finally saw it, her throat clenched. It had to be less than six months old. The baby was wedged in its rear-facing car seat, the seat crumpled around it.
    "Shh,” she soothed as she climbed in, fighting to stay calm even though she was shaking inside. The seat was pinned too tight for her to get it out of the base. “It's okay,” she told the baby, stroking a hand over the crown of his downy head. “You'll be okay, and Deke's taking care of your mama.” He had a couple cuts on the side of his face, probably from flying glass, but other than that she couldn't see any other obvious injuries.
    She looked up at Deke, who'd put a cervical collar on the woman and stabilized her position in the truck. “I can't get the seat out,” she called, trying to stay calm. “He's turning his head and kicking his arms and legs, so I think his neck and spine must okay. Can I take him out?"
    "No, just leave him where he is until I can check him."
    She maneuvered around until she could see into the baby's face. He continued to wail and thrash around, and just as she climbed deeper into the truck she glimpsed the pacifier lying on the floorboard. She wiped it against her jeans and offered it to him, and his chubby little hands reached out and yanked it to his mouth. In an instant, all was quiet.
    Far too quiet.
    Talking softly to the baby and dabbing at his cuts with her shirt, she dialed 911 again and set the phone between her ear and shoulder as she soothed him. In the front, Deke was hooking up an IV. How the hell did he know how to do that? And what was with all the equipment in his med kit? She closed her hand around the baby's fist when he grabbed her finger in a shockingly hard grip. Her heart pounded. The mother didn't look good. “She's breathing?"
    "Yeah, but not well.” He expertly got the line into a vein in her arm and taped it down. He met her stunned gaze. “You get through yet?"
    "Still trying.” Damn, what was with this part of the country? Where was a freaking