She let go of his hand to accomplish the task, and he cursed himself for making a tactical error. But then she braced one hand against the center console and reached across him, bringing her hair within a few inches of his nose. He drew air in and registered the scent of lavender.

Dark satisfaction curved his lips. He hadn’t made a tactical error. His brainpower remained intact, and he was going to be just fine. The constriction of his seat belt released.

She arched back and resumed her earlier position.

He extended his hand.

She took it. “Better?”

“Much.”

The sound of sirens reached him. In response, resistance sharpened inside him. He didn’t want to be parted from her.

Twice before in his life, he hadn’t wanted to be parted from people. When he was eight. When he was thirteen. Both times, his desires hadn’t mattered.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked. “I’d be happy to call someone.”

“No. I’m not the type . . . to alarm people . . . before I have solid facts.” He paused for a moment to gather his strength. The pinpricks still wouldn’t go away.

The sirens drew nearer. Louder.

He rested the back of his skull against his headrest but kept his face turned fully to the right, his concentration trained on her. “After I speak with the doctors . . . I’ll make calls. To tell people what’s happened.”

“Okay.”

The sirens grew so loud that they made conversation impossible.

She craned her neck to look toward the road.

Idiot sirens. Violently, he wished he could take back her 9-1-1 call.

He had to remember that he was a stranger to her. He couldn’t expect her to feel about him the way he felt about her. She hadn’t been in a crash. Her head was clear.

The noise of the ambulance cut away. Its lights continued to revolve, sending rays of red and blue against her face. She gave him a small, encouraging smile. “They’ll be here in just a second.”

He gripped her hand more tightly, holding her with him. He memorized the curves and lines of her forehead, cheeks, hair, neck, arms.

Men’s voices neared.

She moved to exit his car.

He didn’t release her hand. “Don’t go,” he said.

She leveled a bemused look on him. “I need to get out of their way. It’s all right. They’re going to take great care of you.” Gently, she slipped her hand from his and scooted away.

All he could think was, No. Don’t go. But he’d already said that, and it hadn’t worked. He couldn’t force her to remain with him.

“You’re going to be just fine,” she said.

He was not going to be just fine without her.

Two men in EMT uniforms filled the passenger-side doorway. They were leaning in, talking to him.