The ambulance took about fifteen minutes to come, although not because they weren’t hauling ass. Caldwell was nearly ten miles away, and that was the kind of geography no amount of pedal-to-the-metal was going to improve. The second they arrived, the EMTs didn’t waste any time getting up into the house, and they took over from Vin, doing a vital statistics check before one continued what Vin had started and the other went racing back for the gurney.

“Is he alive?” Vin asked when the workman was lifted from the floor.

He didn’t get an answer because the medics were moving too fast—which maybe was a good sign.

“Where are you taking him?” Vin said as he hopped off the foundation and hustled along with them.

“St. Francis. You got a name, age, anything on his medical history?”

“Chuck! Get over here—we need information.”

The foreman ran up. “Jim Heron. I don’t know much more than that. Lives alone down on Pershing Lane.”

“You got an emergency contact?”

“No, he’s not married or anything.”

“I’m the contact,” Vin said, taking out a card and giving it to the medic.

“Are you kin?”

“I’m his boss and all you’ve got at the moment.”

“Okay, someone from St. Francis will be in touch.” The medic disappeared Vin’s info into his jacket and the workman was shoved into the ambulance. A split second later, the double doors were shut, and the vehicle took off with lights and sirens going.

“Is he going to be okay?”

Vin looked back at Devina. Her dark eyes were glossy with unshed tears and her hands were up around the collar of her fur coat, as if in spite of all the white mink she was freezing cold.

“I don’t know.” He went over and loosely took her arm. “Chuck, I’ll be right back. I’m going to take her home first.”

“You do that.” Chuck took his hard hat off and shook his head. “Damn it. Damn it to hell. He was one of the good ones.”

CHAPTER
5

“Nigel, you are a sod.”

Jim frowned in the darkness that surrounded him. The English voice came from over on the right, and the immediate temptation was to open his eyes, lift his head, and see what was doing.

Training overrode the impulse. Thanks to being in the military, he’d learned that when you came to and didn’t know where you were, it was better to possum it until you had some intel.

Moving imperceptibly, he flattened his hands out and felt around. He was on something soft, but it was springy, like a deep-napped rug or…grass?

Inhaling deep, his nose confirmed his palms’ observation. Shit, fresh grass?