The Choice

Chapter 3, The Choice

Chapter Three

Sam Carre pressed a napkin to the oozing cut on Marcie's forehead. Her face turned a pasty white, and she grabbed his shirt. He knew that look. She was about to pass out.

"Marcie, sweet thing, take a breath and look at me. You going to be sick?" She said nothing. Her arms shook as she held tight. "Marcie, come on. How you doing? I need you to answer me."

Slowly, her cornflower blue eyes met his. They appeared dazed, confused, and, for a moment, unseeing. "I'm dizzy."

He pushed back her long, curly locks. Each strand was like silk against his fingers, and all that full, wavy hair enhanced the plump roundness of her cheeks. He looked around to see if someone claimed her. No one stepped forward.

He lifted the soaked napkin and studied the gash on the left side of her forehead. Blood seeped and dripped in a steady stream over her brow. Sam glanced up when an elderly woman dangled a linen scarf in front of him.

A large, mocha-skinned, out of shape security guard pushed through the crowd. His name tag said "Stoffer," and he leaned into Sam's space. "Wow, that's a gusher. She sure knocked it good. So what happened here?"

His colorful manners snapped Sam back like a time warp.

"Snatch and grab. Kid took off, got her bag and sent her for a tumble. Did anyone call an ambulance?"

"Hmm, ambulance is coming," Stoffer replied roughly. He squinted his dark eyes to get a better look and then shook his head. Grimacing, he glanced at Sam and leaned closer with his hands balanced on his knees. "She with you?"

"Nope, just on my way home."

"Lucky guy." He patted Sam on the shoulder and then stepped back to reach for the radio fastened to his belt. He uttered something incoherent into it and wandered off.

Sam forgot his own misery when he focused on Marcie. It felt good, in this whole convoluted mess called life, to help someone else. When had he last done that?

"My name's Sam. Where'd you come from, Marcie?"

Her face shifted through a mirage of emotions, as if struggling with the simple question. Long, dark lashes and pale eyelids blinked when she glanced up to the left over his shoulder.

Sam followed her dreamy gaze but saw nothing except a bunch of gawkers with luggage passing by. Marcie stiffened; her eyes widened, and color infused her cheeks. Did she know someone? Should he jump up and ask the crowd if anyone knew her? Before he could, her arms trembled again.

"Are you looking for someone? Is there someone with you?"

Her eyes leapt to his, startled like a deer. He'd seen that wild-eyed plea many times on victim's faces. Maybe she knew her attacker. This was a complication; one he didn't need in his screwed-up life.

A gurney squeaked behind him.

"Move aside." Stoffer waved his hands, shooing back the crowd.

The pretty lady tightened her hold on his cotton shirt. Sam held her shoulders. "Calm down. It's going to be all right."

She was such a small woman, with curves in all the right places; a body the right man could scoop up with one arm to protect from whatever frightened her. Her mouth gaped wide. She tried to speak. She gasped for breath once, twice, until her sweet, clear voice pulled him further to her plight. "I don't know.... I can't remember."

Sam blinked. Holy shit, what a long response time.

She had a strong grip for a woman with such tiny, delicate hands. She wasn't going to let go. Sam swore under his breath because he was no more able to leave her, at this moment, to fend for herself than he could a wounded puppy. "Ah, shit."