Emergency Response. Susan Sleeman
to life filtered over the phone.
She wished she could hear it wailing down the street instead. “I—I—”
“You have a gun, Darcie. Use it.”
“Shoot him?” Her? Fire a gun at someone? She was a paramedic—she treated gunshot wounds, she didn’t cause them. Sure, she carried. She had to. Her FRS teammates insisted on it, and they’d taught her how to fire a gun, but they were always around so she never thought she’d actually have to use it. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Get it out, Darcie.”
“I—”
“Do as I say, Darcie,” Noah commanded. “No excuses. Put your hand in your purse and grab that gun. Now!”
His sharp voice broke her reluctance. She sat up, slid her trembling hand into the bag, finding the cool metal and curling her fingers around the grip.
“Got it.” She lifted it out. Her heart kicked hard against the wall of her chest. The gun in her hand trembled.
Oh, God, please no.
“Noah, I can’t shoot him,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“Yes, you can. You have to. I—” His voice was cut off. She looked at her phone.
The call had disconnected. Most likely the signal had dropped—a common problem in this hilly neighborhood.
She was on her own again.
Her assailant’s boots slapped the sidewalk.
Close now. Insistent. Threatening.
Thump...thump...thump.
He reached the box.
She dropped the phone. Lifted the gun. Held it out. The cold metal was foreign to her hands.
She raised it higher. Stretched out arms that felt limp, like a rubber hose.
“Oh, God, please,” she begged, her heart in her throat. “Please don’t make me shoot him.”
* * *
Noah glanced at his phone. Call dropped. He’d lost Darcie. No surprise. He’d had problems with bad signals in this neighborhood before.
He slammed a fist into the wheel, his mind racing to find a way to help her. But maybe it was better this way. He could respond without having to split his concentration.
Right, better! How was it better not knowing if Darcie had managed to defend herself before some shooter took her out?
It wasn’t. But he couldn’t risk calling her back. Her ringing phone might give away her hiding spot, or distract her at the wrong moment.
He had to get to her, and fast.
He punched the gas. His sirens screamed and the light bar strobed in rhythm with his windshield wipers. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. His pulse beat triple time as anxiety climbed up his back and threatened to swamp him.
Eight years as a police officer and he’d never felt such fear. But then, a woman he cared about had never been under fire. He couldn’t live with himself if anything happened to Darcie.
Father, please! Keep her safe. Let me arrive on time.
At the corner, he hung a hard right, the car hugging the curb and squealing. Onlookers watched from the sidewalk, but the road was clear of vehicles as a siren wailed from the south. Good, a patrol officer had responded to his radio call for backup and had arrived.
Noah rolled up on the scene moments later, taking in everything at once. The tired neighborhood. The shooter racing down the street, his weapon dangling from his hand. The lack of movement behind the utility box. The patrol officer bolting from his car in hot pursuit of the shooter.
Noah slid his vehicle in place next to the cruiser and forced himself to pause behind the door for safety as he thoroughly assessed the area. The air was heavy with tension as thick as the pounding rain. Dark and ominous skies hung overhead. A dog frantically barked in the background, the noise mixing with the wail of the sirens. The lone uniformed officer continued down the street, trailing the intruder, who was dressed in an oversize blue shirt and sagging jeans that looked like they might drop at any second. Noah made him as Latino, five-ten, two hundred and twenty-five pounds.
“Police. Stop,” the officer shouted, then his voice came over Noah’s radio as he reported to dispatch that he was on foot and needed backup.
Noah swung his gaze to additional patrol cars arriving from the other direction. The officers sprang from their cars and joined in the pursuit. The radio squawked with the first officer’s voice, telling the others to set up a perimeter, and their lieutenant instructed them to switch radio channels to prevent other traffic from interfering with communications.
With several officers in pursuit of the suspect, Noah was free to check on Darcie, but he wanted to keep up on the action so he quickly adjusted his radio. Holding his weapon in defensive mode, his senses on high alert, he headed for the utility box.
By the time he crossed the road, his jacket was soaked and water dripped from his hair. He swiped the moisture from his face and cautiously approached. The last thing he wanted was for Darcie to mistake him for her assailant and fire at him. Or even let a nervous finger jerk the trigger.
“Darcie,” he called out when he was still ten feet away. “It’s me. Noah. The shooter is gone. You can lower your gun now.”
She didn’t respond.
Was he too late? Had she been shot?
Closing the distance, his heart slammed against his chest. “Darcie, are you okay? Did you lower your gun?”
“Yes.” The barely audible word drifted over the box.
He nearly sagged with relief and stepped around the box. He found her slumped against the metal, her legs splayed out, her gun lying on her knees. Her chestnut hair hung wet and limp to her shoulders, and her usual smile was nowhere in sight. She stared ahead, her eyes vacant.
Her unfettered anguish stopped Noah cold. He’d had an awareness of Darcie for years, but neither of them was in a place for a relationship so he’d kept his interest to himself. But now, seeing her like this—emotionally ripped apart—it was all he could do not to wrap his arms around her and comfort her. The only thing stopping him was the certainty that she’d push him away.
“I’m going to take your gun now, Darcie,” he said to keep from startling her. He gently took the weapon, but she didn’t move. He clicked on the safety and shoved the gun into his belt. Still no reaction.
She was in shock. Not surprising after her ordeal.
He gently laid a hand on her arm to encourage her to look at him. “How are you doing?”
She didn’t bat an eye. “I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not. You’re in shock and need medical care.”
She shifted to face him. “I’m the EMT here. I know what I need and I’ll be fine.” She fired him a testy look and started to rise.
Good. At least he’d gotten her to react, but he wasn’t letting her get up.
“Hold on.” He tightened his grip on her arm. “They’re still chasing down the suspect. We’ll wait here until he’s apprehended.”
Her eyes flew open, fear lurking in their depths. “Surely he won’t come back here.”
“With officers in pursuit, it’s not likely, but you never know. He could double back. Could even try to barricade himself in one of these houses.”
“Isabel,” Darcie cried out and shook off his hand. “She could be in danger. I have to protect her. This guy, I think he’s one of those gang members terrorizing the neighborhood. There might be others.”
As much