Mr. Accidental Hero: Jet City Matchmaker Series: Jeremy

  I responded immediately. I'm on it. I'll see what I can find out and get back to you.

  I thought, Damn it, Jeremy. What are you up to?

  I wasn't the kind to panic, but I remembered when Lazer had slid off the road and disappeared in the early morning hours in his car and the scare that had given me. Jeremy and the guys had gone looking for him and saved his life. If Jeremy was in trouble, too, as remote as that seemed, I needed to find out.

  I called Jeremy's number. Pick up.

  * * *

  Jeremy

  Falling asleep with the woman who's just refused my marriage proposal doesn't sound like the usual thing for a guy in my position to do. But that was exactly what happened. My ringing phone brought me out of a deep, surprisingly contented sleep. The door wasn't completely shut.

  I had to shuffle around in my clothes on the floor to find the phone in my pants pocket. By the time I found it, it had woken Crystal and stopped ringing. Before I could even look for a voicemail, it started ringing again. I looked at the number and answered. "Ashley?"

  "Thank goodness." Ashley let out a whoosh of breath. She was clearly worried. And maybe a bit peeved. "Are you okay?"

  Crystal woke up and sat up, too, pulling the sheet up around her.

  "I was." I rubbed my eyes. "I was sound asleep until you woke me."

  "Do you know where Crystal is?" Ashley was definitely worried. "Did you drop her off? If so, when? Her friend Anna just texted me. Crystal hasn't checked in with her." She rattled on about a security system Anna and Crystal had. She talked loud enough that Crystal heard her.

  Crystal made a face and held her hands up. "Oops. Sorry. I'm on it." She slid out of bed and looked for her purse and phone.

  "Jeremy?" Ashley said. "Are you there?"

  "I'm here." Damn. Caught in the act. "Crystal's fine. She's with me. She's calling Anna right now. Sorry. She just forgot."

  "With you." Accusation was heavy in her voice. "And where is that?"

  I sighed and tried not to break out laughing. "Well, Mom, if you must know, we're on a red-eye train heading back to Seattle. I took her to Portland for a beer. We'll be back in town in about forty minutes. I'll make sure she gets home safely."

  Ashley calmed down. "I hope so. I'm not fond of getting emergency texts from friends of clients in the middle of the night. I can't believe you kidnapped a date."

  "Kidnapped?" I laughed. "Is that what her friend is worried about?"

  "It was implied."

  "Huh," I said. "A guy takes a girl on a romantic choose-your-own-adventure date and ends up the villain."

  "I didn't call you a villain—"

  "This is all your fault," I said. "You're the one who told me to up my game—"

  Ashley started laughing. "Fine. I'll take the heat. Just bring Crystal back in one piece and make sure she checks in with her friend again when she gets home."

  I hung up and waited for Crystal to finish her call. She was being damningly demure all of a sudden, sitting on the side of the bed holding up the sheet to protect her dignity. And shielding herself from what I wanted to see.

  When she finished her call, Crystal began picking through the pile of discarded clothes, looking for her panties. Her face lit up when she found them and pulled them out of her jeans. "Anna wasn't happy with me."

  "So I gathered." I followed her progress as she picked up her bra and blouse.

  "I was supposed to check in with her." Crystal grimaced. "We have a system."

  "In case I'm a serial killer."

  She shrugged.

  "Nah. I get it," I said. "Safety first. It's the smart thing to do."

  "It would have been, if I'd remembered to take my phone off airplane mode and called her when I was supposed to."

  "Airplane mode? Going old school for this date? I'm flattered."

  Her smile was radiant. "And now you're onto my backup security measures. If you're going to kill me, do it now before you get caught."

  "I'll pass. I like what we did earlier too much to cut off the spigot just now."

  "Sexual favors will spare my life. Good to know."

  "Ashley chewed me out. In her way."

  "I heard. Did you give us away?" She shook out her jeans.

  "Being on the train saved us."

  She let out a sigh of relief. "Good. In retrospect, it's probably good Ashley called. At least we know she cares." She laughed. "And I was dead to the world. I quite possibly would have slept all the way to the North Pole."

  "I think the porter would have woken us."

  "And found us naked in bed?" She shuddered comically.

  "I'm sure they've seen it before."

  "They haven't seen me. I've never been caught like that. And I don't intend to." She pointed to the bathroom. "I'm just going to freshen up."

  I nodded, watching as she disappeared into the bathroom. Asking her to marry me tonight had been a spur-of-the-moment decision of the heart. What can I say? I'm from a decisive family. From the moment I met her at the accident scene, I knew she was the one. If I hadn't asked her tonight, I would have proposed the next time I saw her. Or the next.

  Maybe I would have planned it out a little more if I'd thought ahead. Maybe not. If I'd had time to think about it, I would have worried it was too soon. That my enthusiasm would scare her off. I was convinced that my quick and early enthusiasm for the right woman wouldn't scare her off. And I was right. Didn't mean she was going to say yes the first time. Yeah, there was always a catch. Maybe I'd still top Dad and only have to ask twice.

  Since I was going to have to ask her again—and possibly several times after that—it looked like I was going to have to put a little thought into making the next time romantic.

  I paused. How was I going to top tonight? That was the question.

  * * *

  Crystal

  I took my time in the bathroom. I still couldn't believe I'd fallen asleep so easily in Jeremy's arms. And slept like the dead. Sleeping, literally sleeping with someone, was a sign of trust. Unless you're dead tired and have been up for days, you don't let down your guard like that.

  The entire evening and night still felt like a dream. Had he really proposed? This wasn't my first proposal, but the first two didn't count. I would never have married either of those guys. One proposed as a way of trying to win me back after I'd broken up with him. And the other was just drunken mutterings. Like tonight? I smiled to myself. That one had been nothing like tonight. And Jeremy hadn't been drunk.

  I dug around in my purse and found my touch-up makeup bag. I fixed my mascara and touched up my lip gloss, still wondering if I should have accepted Jeremy's proposal. There are such things as long engagements, after all. And engagements can be broken. Getting engaged on your second date could be a story for your fiftieth wedding anniversary.

  I kept second-guessing myself. What's the rush? We have time, I told myself. Plenty of time.

  16

  Crystal

  The train pulled into the station right on schedule. Jeremy used his app to call for a ride for each of us. We detrained hand in hand with the few other passengers who were getting off in Seattle. Most of them were bound for destinations north. Many of them peeled off toward parking lots and garages or the light rail station.

  Jeremy walked me to the street. The nights were getting cold now and felt pleasantly like fall. I snuggled into my jacket and up against Jeremy, still not wanting the date to end.

  The city at night should have been quiet. It was nearly four in the morning. Three obviously homeless men huddled near the building just out of the streetlight near the station, trying to keep warm. They were dirty. One of them muttered to himself as if he was stoned.

  Jeremy seemed relaxed, but I could feel him watching them as he guided me as far away from them as possible. Only a few other passengers milled around by us.

  Jeremy pulled me into his arms as we waited for our rides. "I had a great time tonight. I think a date this good deserves another." He
looked at me expectantly.

  I was, of course, amused on at least one level that he found a date where he'd been refused a great time. But I kept that observation to myself. I knew what he meant.

  "I agree—" Before I could finish my sentence, I heard an oomph and a grunt, then yelling and obscenities from the group of men we'd been trying to avoid.

  We turned in unison toward the commotion. The men had grabbed a man I recognized as a fellow passenger from the train and were accosting him. Time moved in slow motion at the very time in the evening I would have willed it to speed past. Even my brain seemed slow.

  It took me a moment to understand and realize what I was seeing. The men were in the process of robbing the guy from the train. One of them held his arms behind his back. Another repeatedly punched him in the gut. The third was frisking him, looking for cash.

  Druggies. Addicts. Looking for money for a fix.

  Jeremy let go of me and yelled at the men, "Hey!" He grabbed my arm and said urgently to me, "Stay here. I mean it." Before I could answer or stop him, he was running to help the man being beaten.

  For the first time in my life, I hesitated rather than running immediately to the rescue. I wasn't afraid of heights or fires. I wasn't afraid of drowning. I'd faced all of those. But suddenly I was afraid of some homeless drug addicts. I was frozen in place. Out of my element. My mouth went dry. I tasted fear, real fear. And the tang was bitter and filled with disappointment. I stood still, a passive bystander, like so many people I'd silently berated in the past, while Jeremy raced to help alone.

  He was outnumbered and slighter built than at least two of his foes. My mind raced. I reached into my purse for my phone and dialed 911. Did I have a weapon on me? Anything? I had to force myself to run after him. I was rooted in place.

  By the time my feet moved, he'd reached the men. He grabbed the guy doing the beating by the back of his dirty coat and pulled him off the victim. Jeremy threw an expert punch, knocking the guy on his back. It was obvious Jeremy had martial arts training. His moves were smooth and calculated to hit vital, vulnerable strike points. He quickly disabled the puncher.

  The other thug let go of the victim and ran. The third now had the man's wallet in his hand. He took off, too.

  "Nine-one-one. What's your emergency?"

  I stared at my phone as if I'd forgotten I'd dialed. When my voice came out, it was a frightened croak. "Three men are beating another man and robbing him outside of King Street Station—"

  One of the running men suddenly turned. As he raised his arm, I realized with horror he had a gun. My mouth opened, trying to form words. Trying to warn Jeremy.

  There was a crack of gunfire. One shot. Jeremy fell back and clutched his side.

  "Ma'am? Ma'am. What was that? Is that gunfire? Are you still there? Are you okay? Are you in danger? Get out of the line of fire."

  "Nooooo," I screamed.

  The sound of another shot sliced the silence dead of night is famous for. Jeremy fell to his knees, still clutching his side.

  "Ma'am. Ma'am." The operator's firm tone reminded me of my mom. "Talk to me."

  "Gunfire. Gunfire." My legs felt like lead and rubber at the same time. They couldn't move fast enough. They threatened to go wobbly and not hold me up. The night took on the horror of a nightmare where you run and run and can never reach your destination. It seemed like the distance between us kept growing.

  Jeremy toppled over and sprawled on the ground, unconscious.

  As I fell to my knees beside him, my field of vision narrowed to just him.

  His hand was bloody. He was bleeding from his side.

  "Ma'am?"

  "They shot my boyfriend." My voice verged on hysterical. "Send help. Send help now. Please. He's bleeding."

  The emergency operator murmured something that was supposed to be comforting and began asking rapid-fire questions. Where was my boyfriend shot? How bad was the injury? Where was the shooter now? Were we safe?

  "He's shot in the chest. They shot him twice." I began shaking. It took all of my effort to simply concentrate and make sense of the questions she was asking. Unless I thought very hard, they were like gibberish. This wasn't like me. I didn't crumble in an emergency. "I don't know. I don't know. The shooter and his pals ran. My boyfriend isn't conscious. He's bleeding from his side through his jacket."

  I followed her instructions and put my phone on speaker and set it beside me. She was telling me to find the wound, guiding my fingers with her words.

  I moved like her puppet, carefully, as gently as I could, peeling back his unzipped jacket to reveal his shirt and gently rising chest, spotting the bloodstain and small bullet hole in his shirt on his left side. "I found it—the bullet hole." I described the location. "Should I lift his shirt? I can see the wound."

  "We'll leave that to the paramedics." Her disembodied voice was calm and reassuring. "Apply pressure. Stop the bleeding. Help's coming. Help is on the way. Stay with me. Stay with me."

  I wished I had a compress, something, anything, to press against his bullet wound. I had nothing. Even my light coat was not made of absorbent material. Why hadn't I worn a sweater or sweatshirt? Something soft.

  Jeremy's jacket was no help, either. It wasn't absorbing the blood that had already spilled on it. His blood was trickling off and oozing ominously onto the sidewalk. I was afraid to take his coat off anyway. Afraid I might further hurt him in the process. Afraid of what I might see. He needed the warmth of the coat. He had to be in shock. I prayed he was in shock and not feeling any pain.

  I clasped my hands over the bloody bullet hole, prayed, and applied pressure with both hands and locked arms. "Hurry. I can't stop it. Hurry." Blood oozed through my fingers.

  I looked down at his motionless body, full of regret. This man was my soul mate. If I'd said the word, he would have been my fiancé. Why had I turned him down? In that moment, all my arguments seemed silly and rang hollow.

  Why had I been so arrogant, thinking we had time? Why hadn't I realized that time is an illusion? Why hadn't I realized what a cruel bitch fate could be? How she could snatch happiness and life away at a moment's notice.

  "I'm sorry," I whispered to Jeremy. "Don't die. Don't die. I just found you. How will I live without you?" I leaned close. "Live and I will marry you. I promise. We'll have children, two, maybe three. And a house and a beautiful life. Be a hero, my hero, and don't leave me."

  "That's right," the 911 operator said. "Keep talking to him. I'll stay right here with you."

  I didn't give a damn that she heard me. Or that the call was being recorded.

  How would I live with myself for not being by his side when he needed me? If I'd been there to help him, taken down the guy with the gun before he got it out…

  Sirens. I jerked my head up. Sirens coming toward us. As I looked for them, I was startled to see a crowd forming around us. My focus had been so narrow, just Jeremy and the voice of the operator.

  The guy who'd been beaten crawled up next to me. He had a black eye and clutched his stomach. He touched my arm.

  I jumped.

  "How is he?" The man's voice was weak, his eyes full of concern. "Are you okay?"

  I nodded, still stunned, feeling helpless and powerless. And angry. Damn cowards.

  The sirens stopped abruptly. They were replaced by commanding male voices yelling at the crowd to let them through. As the crowd parted, we were bathed in blue and red flashing light. I looked down to shield my eyes from the glare. Two policemen and a paramedic crew waded through the crowd toward us.

  "They're here," I said to the operator. "Help is here." My voice broke.

  The guy Jeremy had knocked out was groaning and coming to. I wanted him out cold. I couldn't stand the sight of him or the sound of his pathetic moans.

  I stared to him, shaking, nodding to him. "Him. He's one of the guys who jumped this man." I nodded to the victim, afraid to take my hands off Jeremy and remove the pressure I was applying. "Help this man. Help my bo
yfriend. And take that man out of my sight."

  I had no sympathy for the perpetrator. None.

  One of the officers cuffed the street thug as a paramedic kneeled beside me. "What do we have here?" He covered my bloody hands with his gloved one.

  "He's shot." My vision was bleary with tears. I choked back my anger and fear and kept my arms locked, hands pressed against Jeremy's wound.

  "Let me have a look." He gently pried my hands away from holding Jeremy's life in.

  Another paramedic put his hands on my shoulders from behind. "Come with me. Let me have a look at you."

  I shook my head. "No. I'm fine. I can't leave him."

  "We're here to help. But we need room." The paramedic was gentle. "Give us room to work. Let me take a look at you." He caught me beneath my arms and pulled me to my feet.

  I was too weak to resist him. Part of me knew they were right, and I gave up the fight. They needed space. I was no help now. "I'm fine. Just stunned."

  He picked up my phone, put his arm around my shoulders, and led me away.

  I craned my neck, trying to look past him. "What are they doing to Jeremy?"

  "Taking good care of him," my paramedic said. "Right now, the best thing you can do is let me make sure you're okay. He's going to need you later." He said something to the 911 dispatcher on my phone and hung up. He slipped my phone into my purse, which I was stunned to realize was still slung over my shoulder. He handed me a towel from his bag. "Let's get you cleaned up and look you over."

  "None of this blood is mine," I said. "I'm not hurt. I was a bystander." I was shamed by the admission.

  More squad cars arrived. Police officers were questioning the crowd, gathering statements. As the paramedic finished with me, one came over to take my statement.