All I Need (Hearts of the South) by Linda Winfree Page A

here?”
    Hours later—longer than she liked—her patient was finally evaluated, stabilized, and on his way to be prepped for surgery. She peeled off her bloody gloves and gown and shoved them into the biohazard container. God, she was tired.
    The paramedic—Dempsey, according to his nametag—had hung with her and Haley the whole time. He tore off his own gloves and went to the sink to wash his hands.
    “Thank you for staying with us, Dempsey.” She snapped on another set of clean gloves and started clearing the debris. “You were amazing.”
    “I always am. Ask anyone.” He grinned at her over his shoulder, but the smile morphed into a puzzled frown that she was too exhausted and on edge to deconstruct.
    After she’d restored the room to order—Haley was down the hall, aiding Layla with a patient presenting with chest pains—Savannah used the desk phone to call surgery and check on the injured EMT. He had major tissue damage and associated internal bleeding, but the prognosis was positive. She propped her elbow on the desk and pressed her forehead against her fist. Her eyes burned, and she blinked hard.
    He was going to be okay.
    That was good.
    “Do you know anything?” Dempsey’s terse voice carried from down the hall, growing closer, and she straightened. Nobody was going to witness her moment of weakness.
    “Pinpointed the shooter’s position from the cell signal. He—or she—was on the bridge. Crime-scene techs didn’t find anything—no footprints, no vehicle tracks, no shell casings. Bet he used a brass catcher, so the son of a bitch knows what he’s doing.” Rob turned the corner with Dempsey and Troy Lee. “We have the recording of the call, but I swear it sounds like one of those voice-changing apps. The cell is another throwaway, I guarantee you.”
    “Guess that rules out it being somebody’s stupid kid.” Troy Lee’s mouth was set in a tense line. His leather gun belt creaked as he rested his hips against the desk pushed against the opposite wall.
    “The 5.56 rounds rule out it being somebody’s stupid kid.”
    “I’m not feeling good about going back to work here, guys.” Dempsey leaned on the counter across from Savannah.
    “Don’t get out of that bus without your vest from now on.” Rob paused, his concerned gaze lingering on Savannah. She looked away. He’d know what was going on in her head, and she couldn’t handle any tender emotions. “Are you headed home?”
    She nodded, her throat too tight for words. She lifted a hand in silent farewell and walked away from the conversation. She didn’t need to hear any more.
    Once the side-entrance door closed behind her, she sank onto the rough concrete step and rested her face against her hands. She would not cry. Simply one moment to get herself together, then she’d go home.
    * * * * *
    Emmett pulled the bow across the strings, wincing at how out of tune his violin was. He fiddled with it and tried again. Fine-tuning the instrument helped keep his mind off how damned mad he was, how damned tired he was of Savannah’s games. Invite him to dinner, then blow him off—first not showing up, then not responding to the text he’d sent to make sure she was okay.
    His common sense tried to whisper that, hey, she worked in the damn ER. Stuff happened. She was busy and had been held up, that was all.
    The hotheadedness that came out whenever he was hurt shouted that he seriously didn’t need this shit in his life. He didn’t need her in his life. He recognized the irrational nature of that voice and tried to calm it down. Hotheaded, hardheaded—neither of those traits ever led to anything good for him.
    Her car purred outside his door, and he set the violin too roughly in its case. If she’d been held up, fine, but she couldn’t text or call before leaving the ER? At least he’d picked up that basic courtesy from his mama. He was just pissed enough to tell her he didn’t need her or her shit in his life, too, but he wanted to