Remember Me by Sharon Sala Read Free Book Online

bloody lips.
    â€œSee if that television chopper is still around. We’ve got a hot one, and he’s not going to wait for Lifeflight!”
    Within minutes, the injured man had been stabilized and strapped to a stretcher. A couple of workers began carrying him out to the lawn toward the waiting helicopter.
    â€œI’ll fly in with the news crew and be back as soon as possible,” Pete said. “You go with the search dogs. There could be more survivors.”
    Charlie nodded and headed back to the mansion at a jog.
    Pete shaded his eyes as he hurried beside the stretcher. Suddenly the man began to moan.
    â€œYou’re okay, buddy,” Pete told him. “We’re going to take real good care of you.”
    â€œWoman…find my woman.”
    Pete frowned, then reached for his two-way. It crackled as he pressed the send button.
    â€œDaley here,” he said. “The victim is asking about a woman. Be on the lookout for another body nearby.”
    â€œRoger that,” a voice said, and the connection was broken.
    The man’s eyelids fluttered, then he sighed and slipped into unconsciousness.
    The whap-whap of the spinning helicopter blades soon made talking impossible, yet Pete felt obligated to give the man a last bit of hope.
    â€œHang on, buddy,” Pete yelled as they began loading him inside. “As soon as we get you to a hospital, they’ll fix you up real good.”
    Then he crawled in, directing the position of the stretcher inside the chopper, before settling down on the floor beside him.
    â€œTake her up!” Pete yelled, and grabbed on to the back of a seat as the chopper suddenly rocked.
    â€œSorry,” the pilot yelled. “Crosswinds.”
    Pete rolled his eyes and said a quick prayer. Moments later, they were airborne. Aside from a periodic check of the IV they’d started, there was little he could do except study the injured man’s face.
    He looked foreign, that much he could tell, but in L.A., that meant nothing. Black-winged eyebrows arched above deep-socketed eyes. The jut of his nose and the cut of his cheekbones bespoke what appeared to Pete to be a Middle Eastern heritage. Even though his skin was ashen and dust-covered, the even, toast-colored cast looked natural, rather than artificially tanned. Pete glanced back at the mansion, stunned by the sight of the devastation from the air, then shook his head in disbelief, amazed that the man was still alive.
    â€œI’ll bet you’re one tough son of a bitch, aren’t you, buddy?” But the man didn’t answer.
    A few minutes later, they began to descend. As they landed on the hospital roof, Pete made last-minute checks on the man’s vitals, making sure the nurses would have all the information they would need. Moments later, a trauma team met them at the door. Pete jumped out, helping as they transferred the stretcher to a gurney.
    Pete began relating vitals as they scooted the stretcher in place. As he stepped aside, one of the nurses got a clear view of his face.
    â€œOh my gosh! That’s Pharaoh Carn!”
    There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone stared at their patient’s face; then they began to run, pulling the stretcher as they went. Saving his life was uppermost in their minds. It didn’t matter what he did for a living, but in L.A., Pharaoh Carn’s ties to the mob were well-known.
    Pete went as far as the door, then watched as the trauma team disappeared with the victim.
    All the way back to the site of the search, he kept wondering about the woman Pharaoh Carn had lost. She must have been important to the man. He’d asked about her with his last conscious breaths. He wondered if they had found her. He wondered if she was dead.

Four
    D uring the last day and a half, Clay had gone home only once, for a shower and a change of clothes. His parents had offered to take turns sitting with Frankie while he got some rest, but he’d