Page 24 of Slack Tide Kill

In the back of the ambulance, Sally rolled up her shredded leggings and a male paramedic with sure hands set to work cleaning the wounds. Every dab of stinging iodine hurt, but she was good at ignoring pain.

Not so good at ignoring Liam O'Connell.

He hovered nearby, watching over her. He looked bad. Burst capillaries in his pale cheeks like blood freckles, eyes red-shot, hands quivering faintly. Then there was the smell; the same hot fog that had come off him for months now.

Alcohol.

She'd tried to raise it with him several times. He'd made jokes about late nights out at clubs, dancing until the dawn. But she'd followed him home once. There'd been no club. Just a trash can filled with vodka bottles.

"You OK?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he lied easily. "Was at a club last night, though. Didn't expect to get called in."

Sally managed a smile. "Me either. But here we are." She waited a moment, but he offered nothing more.

"Almost done," the paramedic said, and began winding the fabric around Sally's calves. "Next time you're on the beach, I recommend jeans. The weather changes fast around here."

"You're not kidding," Liam said. "That came on like a tsunami."

Sally just watched him. He'd changed somehow, and it dug at her. The self-assurance was gone. Like he was performing the role, no longer inhabiting it. It made her sad and a little angry. Not at him, not exactly, but she didn't know why.

"Thanks again, Liam, but you don't need to babysit me. Why not go liaise with Mayhew and Akilota. Get started on that warrant."

"Yeah, good idea," he blurted, a little too loud, then dropped out of the ambulance.

The exchange left a sour taste in Sally's mouth. She hadn't meant to give him an order, but that was how he'd responded to it.

The paramedic taped the last bandage. "All done."

"Thank you," Sally said absently, and dropped back to her feet. Her left ankle wobbled but held.

"A word of advice?" the paramedic said.

"Jeans, got it," she muttered, then climbed out of the ambulance and back into the downpour.

"Your partner's in withdrawal," the paramedic called after her. She turned, eyes narrowed against the rain, really looking at the man for the first time. He was tall, maybe five years older, with a silver-shot stubble and wide-set brown eyes.

"Hands shaking," he went on. "That's not just one big night. That's alcohol dependence."

Sally hadn't noticed that. It annoyed her. "You going to report him?"

"It's not for me to do that. That's for his partner. But I do know one thing."

Sally waited.

"A man like that needs professional help."

Sally let a moment pass. "Who the hell are you?"

"John Logan," he answered. "Amongst other things, I'm an AA sponsor. Used to have a real problem myself. Maybe I can help."

Sally narrowed her eyes. "Is this some kind of shakedown, John Logan? We hire you, you keep quiet?"

He smiled. That was even more annoying. "Nothing like that, I promise. Just an honest offer of help."

"You already wrapped up my legs. That's all the help I want."

She walked away, angrier now than before.