"Jane, come to me, pchelka!" she looked around and saw Boris reaching for her, his large arm thrust under the car.
She reached out and put her hand in his, trusting him completely. His hand immediately engulfed hers and with a grunt of pain he pulled her bodily from under the car. Jane winced as her sweater rode up and the bare skin of her side scraped across the pavement. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. She suspected Boris was shot and he was still trying to help her. If he could suck it up then so could she.
Boris pulled her into a sitting position next to him. His other hand was pressed tightly to his shoulder where blood was seeping from between his fingers.
They heard the screech of tires. Jane tried to crawl up the car to look over the hood. Boris yanked her back against
