by Lynette Mae
Off the main room, they reached a short hallway. A six-byeight-foot bathroom to their right was cleared quickly and now she had a decision to make. Two doors. There was no doubt that Honeycutt was in one of the rooms, probably with Jessie. It made sense that he would try to leverage her life right down to the end. He knew they were here, but Devon wanted to utilize the advantage of surprise as much as possible. Hitting the wrong door gave the full advantage back to Honeycutt and that could be deadly for Jessie.
She tapped three of the team members on the shoulder, pointing at the door to the left, immediately storming toward the next room. She knew Nate didn’t need her to speak.
As they hustled the remaining ten feet to the door, the only sounds were that of the calamity gathering outside. The overwhelming force was building for a scorched earth response to the madman’s latest act. Devon wasn’t going to let that happen. Honeycutt’s retribution belonged to her. It was now or never.
“SO, HERE SHE comes,” Honeycutt taunted in a singsong. “SWAT team.” He snorted, and spat. “She acts like she’s a fucking man. Now, the last thing you’re gonna see before you die is your girlfriend take a bullet in the head.” He raised his pistol in front of him and pointed it at the door. Without warning, the cop shoved her body to the right, tipping the entire chair. Her shoulder struck him in the left hip and knocked him off balance, even as she crashed to the floor on her side. The hole in her shoulder started bleeding again.
She moaned and cried out, “Devon...don’t...”
He scrambled to his feet and pulled a knife from his boot. “You’re gonna regret that, bitch.” His face contorted in his rage. “By the time she figures it out, you’ll already be drowning in your own blood. I learned a trick or two from some gang-bangers in prison.” The knife pierced her side between her third and fourth rib so quickly that she didn’t know what happened. She grunted and drew a labored breath, something that would become increasingly difficult. He’d watched a man die on the prison yard the same way.
The cop struggled to draw air into her lungs.
The door crashed open, sending splinters of wood flying into the room.
NATE’S BOOT STRUCK beside the doorknob, splintering the frame and rupturing the latch. The door crashed inward. He followed his momentum through the opening. Devon ducked and moved to her right into the room. She raised her rifle and the shooting started. Everything erupted in muzzle flashes and gunfire, with bullet fragments ricocheting around them.
At least one bullet ripped into Nate’s shoulder and splattered blood on the right side of Devon’s face. She focused past the drops on her goggle lens. He fell back against the doorframe in her peripheral vision. Nate pushed upright again and switched his gun to his off hand to continue the fight. Devon scrambled further right, scanning to assess the threat. At the center of the room, Jessie’s chair lurched to the side, striking Honeycutt, knocking him to the floor. He nearly dropped the pistol he’d been holding and was now scrambling to get behind her for cover.
“She’s as good as dead, James. You’re too late.” He laughed.
Devon’s field of vision narrowed to focus. Honeycutt. Holding a gun and a bloody knife. On his knees behind Jessie’s chair. His torso and head were exposed.
“Drop it,”
He raised his pistol.
Two to the body… She squeezed off two rounds that tore through his chest. The force of the shots threw him back against the wall. He dropped the gun and the knife. His shocked expression morphed into hatred as he struggled to breathe. Blood soaked the front of his shirt and dripped from his mouth as he tried to speak again. She stole a quick glance at Jessie, still tied to the chair lying on the floor. The terror in her eyes sealed the deal. Honeycutt’s arm stretched toward the gun that he’d dropped to the floor.
One to the head… The M16 barked, and it was over.
Devon slung the rifle over her shoulder and rushed to Jessie. She lifted the chair upright, alarmed at the shoulder wound and Jessie’s pallid complexion. Someone else on the team called for the medics. She removed her goggles and a glove, reaching out to gently grasp Jessie’s chin. “Jess?”
Her eyes were glassy, and the dazed expression made Devon think she was barely clinging to consciousness. But she was alive. Tears stung in Devon’s eyes as a sigh of relief escaped her lungs. Devon’s entire world was reduced to this moment.
Jessie blinked a few times. She stared at Devon, recognition slowly dawning. “What…took you…so long?” she quipped, but her breath came in short gasps.
Devon chuckled and swallowed a lump in her throat. “Sorry. I’ll try to work on that.” She worked the knots to free her, fighting back threatening tears. Once her hands were freed Devon repeated the process to release her feet, then stood and pulled Jessie up with her. She grasped her by the shoulders as Jessie swayed slightly. “Wait. I’ll call someone.”
“No,” Jessie said. “I want out of here—” She gasped for air. “Now.” She looked down at Honeycutt’s lifeless form crumpled on the floor. Devon felt only numb at the sight of his bloody body. The outcome was the consequence of his actions.
“Easy does it,” she said.
To Devon’s relief, the other team members were helping Nate through the doorway. She slipped an arm around Jessie’s waist to guide her from the room. Jessie wheezed after the first couple of steps and sagged against Devon. Was she feeling the effects of the blood loss and the entire ordeal? Probably. Devon gripped Jessie more tightly to support most of her weight, and they moved through the remains of the house.
Outside, the scene had transformed from the rigid, orderly mission to the controlled chaos in the aftermath of horror. A halfdozen ambulances sat nearby, red lights flashing against the blackness, bathing the already macabre scene in an otherworldly glow. One of the ambulances pulled away in full emergency mode, its siren piercing the night. Paramedics treated the wounded in a makeshift triage area. White tarps covered three bodies just beyond what used to be the front door. Devon assumed three Orange County deputies had died, and she fought sudden panic, silently praying that Jillian wasn’t one of them.
“Ohhh,” Jessie moaned softly.
Devon pulled Jessie more tightly against her. “Let’s keep going. The paramedics need to look at you.” As they worked their way past the injured, Devon furiously searched the faces for some sign of Jillian.
Devon guided Jessie to the nearest unoccupied ambulance and a medic met them near the back of a rig.
A stout medic said, “I’ve got her.” His words were more of an order, and he grasped Jessie’s free arm. Reluctantly, Devon released her, and the medic helped her into the ambulance where his partner waited. They laid her on the gurney inside and immediately set to work recording vital signs and treating her wounds. Devon watched for a moment from the back door, wincing as the medic nonchalantly inserted an IV needle into her right arm. The other guy cut her t-shirt to begin assessing her injuries.
“Damn,” the second medic said.
“What?” Devon tried to see around him.
“She’s got a helluva bruise on her chest. Probably trauma where her vest took a bullet.” Devon closed her eyes and said another thanks for Jessie’s survival.
The two medics hunched over Jessie, and Devon couldn’t see a thing. Now that she was safe and getting treatment, and Devon was certain there was nothing she could do, she had to find Jillian. She had to know. She climbed up into the rig. “Jess, I’ve got to see about something.”
She took Jessie’s hand, relieved when Jessie squeezed her fingers. Something in her eyes conveyed not only understanding, but also a blessing. “Go do what you need to do.” Once again Devon was certain she didn’t deserve this woman.
“I’ll be right back.” She raised their joined hands, then released her and climbed from the rig. The sound of a helicopter overhead made her look up. “Ahh, Mac.” Devon sighed, wondering what she would tell her if the news on Jillian wasn’t good.
The Tampa SWAT commander
stood near what was left of the front of the house. Orange County’s forensics team was just beginning the process of documenting the damage. Bright flashes of light went off as a photographer snapped shots of the tarpcovered bodies. Shards of glass, splinters of wood, and chunks of plaster littered the area, making it look like a war zone. Mini Beirut.
The Tampa SWAT commander disconnected the call he had been on as Devon approached. “James, how are you?”
“Fine, sir.” She looked past him to where the remains of the officers lay.
He turned with her and shook his head in sorrow. “Helluva night.”
“Sir, the Orange County team—do you know…?” Fear flooded the pit of her stomach and she couldn’t finish the question.
“They lost three. Two of the others have non-life threatening injuries. Their team leader, Sergeant Gray, wasn’t it? She’s critical. The advanced life support bus that just hauled ass out of here was transporting her.”
Devon felt the words like sharp blows to her gut. “Will she make it?” she asked slowly, wondering again what she was going to tell Mac.
“They didn’t say. The TAC medics began first aid immediately. They were working her the entire time, though.” He drew a long breath. “Her commander says she’s tough as nails. We just have to believe she’ll pull through. How’s Kilbride?”
“Holding her own.” Devon didn’t mention the bullet stopped by Jessie’s vest because she didn’t want to think about it. “Captain, I—”
“Corporal James?” The voice of a young deputy approaching interrupted Devon’s thought.
“Yes?”
He looked apologetically at the captain. “Excuse me, sir. Corporal, there’s a Tampa pilot outside the crime scene who is demanding to speak with you. Should I tell her you’re busy?”
Devon addressed the captain. “Sir, she’s Sergeant Gray’s partner. If you don’t need me right now…”
He nodded. “Your debriefing can wait. Tell McKinley I’m sorry.”
As Devon approached the outer perimeter, she found Mac leaning over the trunk of a police car holding her head in her hands. Devon’s heart ached for her friend, even as her own emotions and fears churned inside. She placed a hand on Mac’s shoulder and forced what she hoped looked like a reassuring smile.
Mac raised her head and met Devon’s eyes with an anguished expression that tore at Devon’s heart. She threw herself into Devon’s arms. The two women clung to one another, each one seeking an anchor in the midst of ongoing horror. After a few minutes, Mac let go, but it appeared she was hanging onto a thin thread of control. “Have you heard anything about Jill?”
“They took her out of here to the hospital minutes ago. She’s getting the best care possible.”
“What hospital? We have to go.” She started away, but Devon pulled her back.
“Hold on. Let me find out for you and we’ll go. How’d you get here anyway?”
“Landed in the field at the end of the road. They’re probably pissed, but I don’t give a fuck. I couldn’t stay up there and not know what was going on.”
“Yeah.” Devon would have done the same. She asked gently, “Can you tell me what happened?”
“I was in the air. I heard the entry order on the radio, and I saw them hit the door. And then...” Her voice broke and tears streamed down her cheeks. “Everything exploded.” Mac stared into the night with the horror of the visions reflected in her eyes. When she continued her voice was shredded with agony. “The blast threw them in the air like paper dolls. I...there was nothing I could do. And then...I heard the...you calling Jill...and I kept watching, willing her to get up.” She squeezed her eyes shut against new tears.
Devon gripped her shoulders. “Listen.” She waited until Mac looked at her again with tear-filled eyes. “The medics started first aid right away. Jillian’s a fighter, you know that.”
“But…” Her voice trailed away as fear won out.
“Don’t even think it,” Devon countered. “Jillian has you now. She’s not giving up. Don’t you dare give up on her.”
“I’m scared.”
“Me, too. Come with me. I need to check on Jessie and then we’ll get you over to the hospital.”
She pulled Mac quickly through the wooded area toward the two remaining ambulances. “Jessie’s right here. Just let me—” One of the rear doors of the rig slammed shut and the paramedic was about to close the second one in Devon’s face. She reached out to grab the edge of the door, startling the medic.
“Let go of that door!” he shouted at her. Beyond him, the other medic spoke tensely into the phone. “Patient has experienced a hemopneumothorax to the right side of the chest cavity. Puncture wound between third and fourth rib. It appears the lung is fully compromised and internal bleeding is severe. Prior loss of blood from a gunshot wound in the shoulder is complicating matters. Patient now unresponsive.” All sorts of equipment was hooked up to a now unconscious Jessie.
The shock of seeing Jessie helpless with the medic pushing a flexible tube directly into her side stunned Devon to silence. The other medic slammed the second door and started for the front of the ambulance. Devon grabbed his arm. “What’s happening?” she nearly screamed.
“Internal bleeding. She’s taking a bad turn. We need to get her to the hospital. Fast. I can’t tell you more than that.” He slammed the door shut and jogged to the driver’s door.
“Wait! What hospital?” Devon shouted.
“Orlando Medical Center.”
The rig screamed away, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake, leaving Devon and Mac standing alone in the woods with their futures hanging in the balance.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
THE TRAUMA WING of the emergency room was a frenzy of activity. Paramedics shoved stretchers through the tight spaces, while doctors and nurses triaged patients, tending to the most critical injuries first. Clusters of officers stood in every available space, some wearing the blue of Tampa and others the white and green standard sheriff’s department colors. Mac and Devon ran down the hallway to the rooms indicated by the charge nurse.
“Do not get in the way!” she called after them.
They pushed through the double doors to a spacious treatment area. Teams of doctors and nurses swarmed around two patients on either side of the room. Devon could barely make out Jessie’s brown hair on the gurney to the right. She cringed and groaned audibly when the doctor unceremoniously shoved a chest tube into a small hole cut in the side of her chest. Blood flowed immediately through the tube to a clear bag on the floor. Devon felt her stomach flip.
“More suction,” the doctor demanded. “We can’t move her to the OR until we get this bleeding under control.”
“I’ve lost her pulse,” a tension-filled voice said from the other table. Ten feet away, the doctor working on Jillian issued orders in rapid-fire succession. Most of the medical terms were foreign to Devon, but the urgency of their efforts was painfully obvious.
One of the male nurses retrieved a piece of equipment on wheels from the far side of the room. He pushed it near Jillian’s right side and flipped a switch. The doctor at the center of the action took two paddles from the machine. “Clear!”
Both Mac and Devon flinched when the electrical shock was delivered. Jillian’s body jerked on the table, then was still again. Mac looked as terrified as Devon felt. She reached out to take Mac’s hand.
“How did you get in here?” The charge nurse returned to control the scene, grabbing them by the arms and pushing them back through the doors into the hall. “You need to wait outside now.” Her voice was commanding but her eyes were sympathetic. “The doctors will be out to speak with you as soon as they can.”
Devon took one more look through the round window at the drama continuing to unfold. The weight of Honeycutt’s crimes collapsed upon her with brutal clarity. He had done the worst kind of damage possible. Inside that room, two of the most important women in her life lay side by side, fighting to stay alive. She presse
d her hand briefly to the glass, whispering, “I love you,” just before the nurse pulled her and Mac away.
“HERE.” STEPH HANDED Devon and Mac each a cup of vending machine coffee. “I know it’s wicked, but it’s the best I can do at eight a.m.”
They sat together on the green vinyl couch of the operating room waiting area, supporting each other through the long hours. Across the room, Jessie’s sergeant sat with the SWAT commander, talking quietly. The lobby of the hospital was still filled with cops, but they had ordered all but family and a few close friends to clear the OR waiting area. Devon was grateful that she and Mac had some space. Everyone meant well, but regurgitating the details of the raid to every colleague who showed up was torture. Then again, left to their own devices, the rumor mill would run rampant as the story took on a life of its own.
Devon reminded herself not to dwell on what she couldn’t control. She could only focus on Jessie and Jillian’s recovery.
“Did you get in touch with Jessie’s folks?” Mac asked. Her hands were in a constant state of motion, tapping her leg, picking at her cuticles, cracking her knuckles, or like right now, wringing tightly together. Devon could sympathize, the wait was excruciating.
“The ship sailed yesterday,” Devon said. “They have a day at sea. So, I requested dispatch to try an emergency ship-to-shore message with my cell number. The Kilbrides finally take a family cruise and this happens. Mrs. K. wanted both girls to go with them, but Jessie said she didn’t want to take the time off. Sure wish she had.” She scrubbed her face with her hands. “I hope they tell us something soon, so I’ll know what to say to them. Did you call someone, Mac? I mean, I know Jill doesn’t have anyone, but for you, maybe?”
