I rushed to the vehicle to assess the injuries of the driver and any passengers while shouting into my radio for Greer to inform dispatch that we had a 10-53 and needed an ambulance ASAP.

Because of the sloping ground, it wasn’t easy to get down the bank.

Once at its base, I knelt and peered into the car.

The driver, the car’s sole occupant, was conscious, pinned upside down, and when I asked if he was alright, he coughed out in a pained voice that he couldn’t move his leg.

A piece of metal protruding from beneath the dash had pierced his left thigh, and based on the amount of blood already dampening his jeans, I guessed it might’ve severed an artery. If that was the case, it would almost certainly prove fatal within minutes—unless I could stop that bleeding.

The man started asking for help, but his voice faded as he drifted into unconsciousness.

I tried opening the door, but it was too mangled to move.

If I could have gotten something around his leg, I might’ve been able to tighten a tourniquet above the wound, but the way he was positioned, that wasn’t going to happen. I needed to get him out of that vehicle.

The smell of gasoline was not a good sign.

Normally, because of the possibility of a neck or back injury, after a crash you want to support the victim’s neck and keep the spine aligned and immobilized until paramedics arrive, but in this case, the only way to save this man’s life would be getting him out and stopping that bleeding.

I checked his pulse and found it thready and weak.

Gas was dripping down and pooling onto the interior of the car’s roof.

You need to get this guy out now.

A hefty, guttural voice called out behind me: “Back away.”

I turned, only to find Blake Neeson’s hulking bodyguard towering over me. Blake was one of the most wanted men in the country. I’d been tracking them both since last summer, and I had absolutely no idea what Mannie was doing here right now.

“On your knees.” I drew my weapon. “Now!”

He didn’t move, just said, “You can arrest me after I get him out, but if you cuff me, the man in that car will bleed to death.”

“Get down!”

“You’re not listening. Do you want me in custody, or do you want him to survive? Because right now, you get to choose one or the other.”

He’s right. Don’t stall.

I didn’t like it, but time was definitely not on the side of this injured driver.

Mannie had me by at least a hundred and fifty pounds, and looking at him, I guessed nearly all of it was muscle.

“Can you get the door off the car?” I asked.

“I can try.”

“Do it.”