Judd curled one muscular arm around her waist to steady her. He tucked her behind his large frame and strode toward Theodore, who had collapsed in a heap. She made a grab for Judd’s belt and hooked two fingers through the loop, following him as people cleared a path to Theodore’s inert form. Judd yelled over his shoulder at the bartender, “Call nine-one-one. Now!” He crouched beside Theodore, feeling for his pulse. “Towels, I need some clean towels to stop this bleeding.” “I-is he still alive? Has he been shot?” London had never seen so much blood. She unbuttoned Theodore’s shirt at the neck. “He’s still breathing, and I don’t see any bullet wounds.” The waitress who had served them earlier rushed from behind the bar with a stack of white towels. “Is he okay?” “He’s lost consciousness.”
