Kingston Kidnappings (What Happens In Vegas Book 3) by Matt Lincoln (great book club books .txt) 📗

well. The worst pain seemed to be radiating from my head, most likely as a result of whiplash or hitting the window when the car flipped. I looked down to check myself for any signs of bleeding and noticed for the first time that my arms and torso were covered in small cuts.

“That must have happened when the windshield shattered,” I muttered to myself.

“What?” Miranda asked.

“I’m fine,” I insisted. “My head’s killing me, but I don’t think anything’s broken.” I tried to push my door open, but it had been crushed and wouldn’t budge. The passenger side door seemed relatively unharmed, which meant that the truck must have struck mostly my side of the car. I scooted over to the other side of the car, desperate to get out of the mangled heap.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Miranda asked with concern.

“I’m getting out,” I answered. “It’s hard to breathe in here.”

“Okay, just be careful,” she warned as she walked around to the other side of the car to help me out.

My legs felt fine, but the pain in my abdomen intensified when I stood up. I lifted my shirt to inspect the damage. My eyes widened with shock at the large red and purple bruise that spread from one end of my waist to the other. My chest, too, was sporting a similar bruise. It must have been from when the seatbelt caught me when we crashed.

“You look like crap,” Miranda balked as she took a step back to assess the damage.

“Thank you,” I deadpanned.

“No, really,” she insisted. “You’re covered in blood. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“They’re mostly superficial cuts,” I sighed. The shirt I’d worn that day was white. Now the entire thing was stained dark red and made my injuries look worse than they were. “My head hurts more than anything.”

“Well, that’s not surprising,” Miranda frowned. “You were out cold for a minute there. And considering how bad the wreck was, I’m surprised we both didn’t end up with worse.” She nodded toward the car, and for the first time, I turned around to take a good look at it. It was destroyed. The front and top of the car were both smashed in, the glass over all the windows had shattered, part of the bumper was gone, and the entire surface was scratched and cracked.

“Thank goodness for seatbelts,” I remarked. “Have you called Wallace yet?”

“Oh, no, I haven’t,” Miranda replied. “I was too focused on calling the ambulance. I totally forgot to.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket again. Though she’d seemed collected, if a little angry, earlier when I’d first regained consciousness, I could see that her hands were beginning to shake now. It was normal after a traumatic incident like a car crash for victims to go into shock after initially experiencing a burst of adrenaline. I’d probably start exhibiting the same symptoms in a few minutes as well.

“He’s meeting us at the hospital,” Miranda informed me as she ended the call. “He wants us to let the paramedics take us since we might have internal injuries or brain damage or something.”

“He’s not wrong,” I shrugged.

Miranda rolled her eyes.

“Anyway,” she continued. “He wants to talk to us just in case whoever hit us was related to the case somehow.”

“Does he think they were?” I asked.

“I dunno,” Miranda shrugged. “I was just thinking it was some selfish jerk pulling a hit and run, but it could be related. Someone sent a bomb to Fiona three months ago to stop her from investigating a case. It’s not that unbelievable to think that someone would try to take us out, right?”

“That’s true,” I agreed. I could hear sirens approaching. The ache in my head was beginning to intensify, and the sound of the sirens wasn’t helping. We watched as the ambulance pulled up beside the wreck and a pair of paramedics hopped out of the back. We agreed to ride with them to the hospital in the ambulance, but we both turned down the idea of using a gurney.

“Could you turn the sirens off?” I asked once we were on the road.

“Are you experiencing head pain?” One of the paramedics asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Any other symptoms?” the man asked as he moved forward to shine a small flashlight into my eyes. “Numbness, confusion, memory loss?”

“No,” I answered. “Just my head and neck.”

“Okay,” the man responded before moving to the front of the ambulance to say something to the driver. A moment later, the sirens went silent, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

At the hospital, Miranda and I were separated so we could be checked out properly. I was formally diagnosed with whiplash but was told I didn’t appear to have a concussion or any neurological issues.

“Just be careful not to overexert yourself,” the doctor warned. “It should get better with the aid of ice and painkillers, but if it’s still painful in two weeks, make an appointment for a follow-up visit.

“Got it,” I nodded, though I knew full well I probably wouldn’t be following his orders. At least not the part about overexerting myself. Every time I got hurt on the job, the doctors told me the same thing, and every time, I didn’t listen. I couldn’t. This was a physical job, and danger was just another everyday aspect of it. The doctor had given me an injection of painkillers, and just a few minutes later, I was feeling significantly better.

I went off in search of Miranda and found her sitting in a nearby waiting room, playing a game on her phone.

“Hey,” she smiled at me as I approached. “What’s the damage?”

“A few lacerations,” I answered. “And I have whiplash. The doctor said it should go away on its own, though. What about you?”

“Three stitches,” she announced, pointing to the bandage on the right side of her forehead.

“I hope it doesn’t scar,” I frowned sympathetically. Injuries to the face were upsetting for anyone, but I imagined it must be especially upsetting for women. Miranda didn’t seem