Prompt: anyone, carnival, "where the hell is my button"
Marshall cast concerned glances at Mary as he kept a firm hand on her elbow and guided her away from the gawking bystanders and flashing lights of the police cruiser. He looked back at the suspect sitting cuffed in the back seat. His gaze moved over to Delia, taking charge of Mary's witness.
Mary was shaken up and Marshall skillfully wove his way through the throngs of people attending the carnival. The sounds of screams from kids on the rides, the smells of caramel corn and fried everything, the dead eyes of the carneys. All were taken into his awareness. Finally gaining the parking lot, his attention fully focused on Mary again.
Her torn shirt was testament to how close the knife had come to her. She tugged futilely at the edges, muttering "Where the hell is my button?"
Marshall gently tugged her fingers away, noticing for the first time, the small bubbles of blood under her clavicle. Cursing silently, he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at it.
"I think the button was a casualty," he said grimly, the heel of his palm lightly grazing the curve of her breast. Mary looked up at him, a slight tremor running through her body.
"Are you sure you don't want to get checked out?" Mary's head was already shaking a negative.
"Take me home, Marshall."