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There was so much to talk about, but Booth let his friend rest. There’d be time once he’d been treated.
Crispin moaned, eyes rolling underneath paper-thin eyelids. Booth pressed the gas harder.
Ember Memorial Hospital emerged up ahead.
He skidded the truck to a stop under the emergency awning, ignoring the No Parking signs. Engine running, he flung open the truck door and hopped out. He raced around the front of the truck and through the ambulance bay doors.
“Hey! You can’t park there!” a nurse called.
“It’s an emergency. I need a wheelchair. I have a patient in bad shape.”
“We’ve got this,” the nurse said.
Orderlies grabbed a gurney and followed Booth back to the truck. He stood there watching as they loaded Crispin’s limp body and shouted orders to each other.
Booth followed them inside. He wanted to help. Do something besides watch the doctors and nurses.
A nurse approached, eyes soft with empathy. “You did the right thing bringing him here. We’ll do everything we can for your friend.”
Booth nodded. He stared at Crispin’s motionless form. Why hadn’t he stayed at the hospital with him in the first place? Crispin had needed him, and he’d left his partner behind to go fight a fire.
But then, if he hadn’t been there, how many of his fellow smokejumpers would’ve died? Nova included.
The gurney turned into a room. “Wait right there.” The nurse gestured to a nearby chair and pulled the curtain, blocking his view.
The medical staff exchanged orders and vitals over the beeping and humming of medical equipment.
Booth was too amped to sit. He paced the tiled floor, torn between staying by Crispin’s side and the gnawing need to go find Floyd. And what about Nova? She needed him. The town needed him. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t be in three places at once.
He raked a hand through his hair.
This yo-yoing between his old life and his new one had to stop. Everything within him wanted a life with Nova, but how could he with The Brothers still out there?
He’d have to choose.
Nova or Crispin.
Sheriff Hutchinson strode toward Booth, hand resting on his holstered sidearm. A deputy trailed a step behind.
The sheriff stopped and cocked a sideways grin. “Trouble seems to follow you around, don’t it, son?”
Booth shot him a glance. “More like I’m chasing trouble.”
The sheriff crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “Care to fill me in?”
He recounted everything, starting with Crispin leaving the hospital. Hutchinson listened, pausing Booth to ask for clarification now and again.
When he’d finished, Hutchinson unfolded his arms and adjusted his hat. “Floyd wants something from you, Booth. This isn’t just about revenge.”
Booth clenched his jaw. The sheriff needed more information if Booth expected him to help at all. More?—not all. “Floyd’s after information. Something he thinks Crispin and I know about Henry Snow.”
“Henry Snow? That’s a name from the past. What does Floyd want with him?”
“He believes Henry has something. A missile, some weapon. And he’s willing to go to extreme lengths to find it.”
The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “And he thinks you know where Snow is?”
Booth nodded. “He doesn’t care what he has to do to find out. Including setting that fire in the jump base and nearly killing Crispin.”
