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tion. The crowd of people in the hallway dispersed as the EMTs approached. |
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"Hey, Craig," McCall said, still perched on the windowsill. Packard turned around. "I'll come by and visit you. We'll have that talk soon." |
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The man smiled and nodded, a spark of hope lighting his eyes. D.J. shook her head at the change in the man. She had no doubt he'd be all right now, and all it had taken was a few sentences from someone who truly cared. The taste of failure flooded her mouth. Why couldn't she have been the one to help him? |
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D.J. spun back toward McCall, her hands on her hips. "How'd you do that?" she demanded. |
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McCall, who had started to inch the rest of the way inside, pulled back at her loud demand. He wavered backward, off balance. The one leg he'd slung inside the room slid with the rest of him toward oblivion. |
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D.J. gave a yelp of fright and dove for McCall's arm. Before she could catch him, he flipped forward with a graceful movement reminiscent of Bruce Lee. Where had the guy learned that trick? He came back through the window toward her at full force. Unable to stop his forward momentum, McCall careened into D.J., knocking her to the ground and following her to the floor. |
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Her breath came out on a whoosh and a grunt. Brother, was he heavy. |
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"Ouch!" She poked at his shoulder, hard, with her finger and encountered bunched muscle. He might look tall and wiry, but underneath the loose-fitting jeans and baggy University of Wisconsin sweatshirt |
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