Seconds to Live (Scarlet Falls)

by Melinda Leigh

  “Looks like a bleeder,” Mac shouted at him. “If I were you, I’d want to get to a doctor ASAP.”

  The big guy’s glare was wide with fear and pain. The man under Mac continued to kick his feet. Mac added a knee in the small of his back. The air rushed out of number two’s lungs and he went still.

  “What. Do. You. Want?” Mac enunciated carefully.

  “You,” Number two hissed. “You’re worth five grand to Freddie, and he don’t care if you come in a box or a bag.”

  Freddie had put out a contract on Mac. He shouldn’t be surprised, but damn, he really hadn’t expected Freddie to go this far.

  He called 911. Five minutes later, a patrol vehicle arrived, then an EMT vehicle. The paramedics bandaged the bleeder. The cop handed out handcuffs and took Mac’s statement. A steady stream of quiet radio chatter flowed from the open police car. An ambulance arrived and the thugs were loaded into the back.

  The cop’s head swiveled toward his vehicle. “Hold on.”

  He ran back and grabbed the mic. Snippets of the quiet conversation made Mac’s belly ice up.

  “Shooting in progress. Officer down.”

  Stella knelt next to Brody and wrapped her arm around his waist.

  “Just go!” He waved.

  “No.” Hauling him to his feet, Stella staggered under his weight.

  A man in a white coat ran toward them from the pharmacy. “I called nine-one-one.”

  He went to Brody’s other side and helped Stella carry him across the street and into the building, where they eased him down on the floor in front of the register. Sirens approached. “I told them you needed an ambulance.”

  Weapon in hand, Brody tried to sit up.

  Stella shoved him down. “Hold still. You’re leaking.”

  Brody stopped fighting her and lay still.

  “Did you get a look at him?” Stella kept one eye on the yellow house through the plate glass windows. She suspected their shooter was long gone, but she wasn’t taking chances.

  “No.” Pain glazed Brody’s eyes. Blood soaked his pant leg and puddled on the gray linoleum.

  Dropping to her knees beside him, she tore open his pant leg. “Can you get me some gauze?” she asked the man.

  “Yes.” The man disappeared into an aisle. He returned a few seconds later with boxes of first aid supplies.

  “I’m the pharmacist.” He opened a box of gauze pads and tore a package. “Bill.”

  “Nice to meet you, Bill. I’m Detective Dane and this is Detective McNamara.” Stella exposed a nasty wound on Brody’s leg. A bullet had struck the meaty part of his calf. Covering the wound, she said, “We’re going to need more of these.”

  “Try this.” Bill handed her a roll of gauze and an ace bandage.

  “That should work.” She wrapped the wound, pulling the bandage snug but not too tight. “Are you hit anywhere else?” she asked Brody.

  He didn’t answer, and his eyes were closed.

  “Brody!” Stella felt for his pulse. It beat rapidly against her fingertips, but his face had gone dead-white. His leg wound hadn’t bled that much. “He must have another wound.” She ran her hands up his arms and legs.

  “Here.” Bill moved aside Brody’s jacket. Blood soaked his dress shirt. “He must have been hit under the arm. How the hell did that happen?”

  “He was below us.” Stella pulled at Brody’s jacket. “Do you have scissors?”

  Bill ran to the counter and returned with them. She cut away Brody’s suit and shirt. Lifting his arm, she stacked gauze and applied pressure to the wound. The hole was smaller but more dangerous than the one on his leg.

  Two patrol cars parked in front of the pharmacy. Bill went out to signal for the ambulance. Stella leaned into Brody. Blood welled between her fingers.

  The next few minutes seemed like an eternity. Finally, two EMTs nudged her aside. Stella stepped back. They took vitals, started an IV, and applied a pressure bandage. By the time they loaded Brody onto a gurney and wheeled him into the ambulance, Stella’s legs were trembling and queasiness stirred in her belly like a toxic brew.

  Lance rushed into the store, and Stella gave him a quick summary. Then she stumbled to the back of the store, went into the restroom, and heaved her afternoon snack.

  She added Ring Dings to her list of foods never to be eaten again. Last time it had been apple cider donuts. At this rate, all her favorite sweets were going to be off-limits.

  After washing her face with cold water, she opened the door. Bill the pharmacist was standing outside. He handed her a bottle of mouthwash. “Thought you might need this.”

  “Thanks.” She went back into the bathroom and swigged a capful.

  Second shooting of her career. Second after-shooting hurl. At least she consistently got the job done before letting adrenaline take over.

  “Thank you. For everything.” She handed Bill the bottle and went outside. Three SFPD cars lined the street. Forensic techs crawled over the lawns under portable floodlights, and a mixed crowd of gawkers and reporters gathered behind sawhorses.

  Lance led an elderly man with a cane to Stella. “This is Mr. Kiel. He’s the owner of the property. Lives in apartment one.”

  Skinny, stooped, and sweatered, despite the blistering heat, Mr. Kiel could have been anywhere from seventy-five to a hundred years old. He squinted at Stella through Mr. Magoo glasses.

  “Do you know where Mr. Crawley is?” Stella asked.

  “Hold on.” He reached to his ear. A tinny sound, like feedback on a microphone, came from his head. “Sorry. I turned off my hearing aid to take a nap.”

  “Where is the tenant for unit four?” Stella repeated.

  He leaned both hands on the top of his cane. “Jim died of a massive heart attack last week. His kids live in Florida. They took his personal stuff with them, but they arranged to have the furniture donated. Someone is supposed to pick it up by the end of the month.”

  “What about the unit below his?”

  Mr. Kiel sighed. “That’s been empty for two months. With two empty units, I don’t know how I’m going to pay my bills.”

  “Did anyone inquire about the empty unit recently?”

  He nodded. “Got a call this afternoon. First bite in weeks.”

  “Can you tell me anything about the voice?” she asked.

  “Sounded like a man.”

  “Do you have Caller-ID?”

  “No,” Mr. Kiel said.

  She’d have to request his phone records. Stella realized the sheer ridiculousness of her next question as she asked it. “Did you see or hear anything earlier today?”

  He laughed. “I can barely see and hear you, darling, and you’re standing right in front of me.”

  “Thank you,” Stella said. “We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.”

  The old man tottered away.

  “Let’s get some uniforms knocking on doors.” Stella eyed the maze of juniper bushes and rhododendrons that covered the landscaping. The chances that the neighbors saw the suspect were slim. The shooter had plenty of time to walk away while Stella was busy keeping Brody alive. But she spent the next hour interviewing the residents of the surrounding houses anyway. No one saw the shooter. The uniforms were still canvasing the rest of the neighborhood when she gave up and found Lance in the street.

  “I’m going to the hospital,” she said.

  “Any word on Brody?” Lance asked.

  “No. I’ll text you when I have news.”

  Church bells rang as Stella walked to the car. As she turned toward her vehicle, her eyes drifted toward the sound. A few blocks away, a church spire towered over the neighborhood. She hadn’t realized Our Lady of Sorrows was this close.

  A reporter broke through the line, jamming his microphone in Stella’s face. “Detective Dane, can you identify the officer who was shot? Was it Detective McNamara? Is that his blood?”

  Her hand rose in front of her face in reflex. She glanced down, her stomach recoilin
g at the splotches of red soaking her clothes.

  A large body blocked him. Lance. Before Stella could blink, he sent the reporter sprawling with a shove to the chest. The jerk landed on his back in the street. His microphone flew from his hand and skidded across the pavement.

  Stella stepped in front of Lance. She put two hands on his chest, but he plowed forward. Her shoes slid on the blacktop. “Lance. Stop. Please.”

  Rage widened his eyes. Breathing hard, he stepped backward. His fists opened and closed at his sides.

  Stella signaled for a pair of sheriff’s deputies to take over crowd management. When she turned back, Lance was walking away. He climbed into his cruiser and drove off. Stella made a mental note to check in with him later. Maybe he’d returned to work too soon.

  She got in her car, numb, and headed for the hospital, praying that Brody hadn’t lost too much blood.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  He locked his gun in his glove box.

  Now back to his original agenda.

  We now return to your regular programming.

  He felt so much better after letting the police know just what he thought of them. They’d be running from their own shadows. He’d need a cool head to ensure tonight’s mission went according to schedule. He had something special planned. He was pretty sure he’d found The One.

  And if not, another judgment and more punishment would be delivered.

  Back home, he checked the camera feed of the girl’s cell. She was curled up in a ball, unmoving. He should be anxious to get started. He should be preparing her challenge. Instead, he was filled with nothing but apathy. What was wrong with him?

  He’d slapped the police. He should be focusing.

  Pacing his control room, he reconsidered his plan. He glanced back at the monitor. She looked pathetic and weak. In choosing her, he’d wanted to test the will to survive against physical strength. Missy had been healthy. Physically, she should have had more stamina, but she’d failed. Dena had been accustomed to pain. He’d thought that would give her an edge. It hadn’t.

  But this girl was a survivor. Pain and impending death were part of her daily life. She should have great resilience. But looking at her now, all he saw was frailty. He could do nothing and she’d die.

  Hardly a challenge at all. In fact, he already felt like he was wasting his time. What had he been thinking?

  What he needed was to be truly challenged. But who would give him what he needed? It would have to be someone who was both physically and emotionally strong. Someone intelligent.

  Wait.

  He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before.

  He’d been selecting victims when he should have been seeking heroes.

  Detective Dane was in for a big surprise.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Mac sat in the waiting room, his hand linked with Hannah’s. Grant sat on her other side, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Mac’s eyes kept straying to the open doorway of the surgical waiting room. Stella had called to say that she was all right, but until he saw her, touched her, he couldn’t believe it. He needed to put his hands on her body and feel her alive and warm.

  A green-scrubbed surgeon stepped into the doorway, his mask pulled down around his neck. Sweat beaded his brow below his green surgical cap. He scanned the room. “Who’s here for Detective McNamara?”

  Hannah stood. Her hand trembled in Mac’s. He squeezed her fingers as the doctor approached.

  “He’s going to be OK,” the doctor said. “He lost a lot of blood, but he got lucky. The bullet missed the brachial artery. He’s asking for Hannah. Is that you?”

  “Yes.” Hannah’s voice was weak and shaky. This was the second time in his life that Mac had seen her truly terrified.

  The doctor pulled the cap from his head. “I’ll have a nurse come for you as soon as he’s settled in recovery.”

  Hannah dropped into the chair as if her legs gave out. Tears poured down her white face. Mac gently pushed her head toward her knees. “Breathe.”

  “He’s OK, Hannah.” Grant rubbed her back.

  She sat up and wiped the tears from her face with both hands. “I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. I’d be in the same shape if something ever happened to Ellie,” Grant said. “You too, Mac. I know you feel like you owe us—and the world—a debt of some sort, but we feel the same way about you. We abandoned you. Mom and Dad were both sick. You had no one, and we were both so caught up in getting the hell out of Scarlet Falls that we didn’t see that.”

  “We didn’t want to see it,” Hannah added. “We failed you, and we’re sorry.”

  “What?” Mac was incredulous. “I pretty sure I’m the one who failed.”

  Hannah shook her head. “You were a kid. We went off on our merry way, all full of the conquer-the-world Barrett ambition.”

  “I know I should have been worrying about you, instead of single-mindedly concentrating on my military career.” Grant shook his head. “Dad gave us a lot of good qualities. We’re determined. We don’t believe in failure.”

  “We’re honest and honorable to a fault.” Hannah added. “We know how to work together as a team.”

  “But he never taught us unconditional love.” Grant put a hand on Mac’s shoulder. “That’s what raising Carson and Faith has taught me. You love your family without judging them for their faults.”

  And Mac realized that Grant was right. The only person Mac judged was himself. He would do anything for his Carson and Faith. Nothing they could ever do could diminish his love for them.

  Footsteps in the hall approached. Stella appeared in the doorway. Rusty red-brown stains streaked her white blouse and black slacks. Dried blood spotted her face and crusted in her hair. Mac jumped to his feet, fear sprinting through him.

  He crossed the room in two steps. His eyes traveled over her body, looking for injury. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. Her face was too white and her eyes too dark. “I don’t think so. How’s Brody?”

  Think?

  He steered her to a seat. “The doctor was just in. Brody’s going to be fine.”

  “Thank God.” Relief seemed to weaken her. She rested her head against the back of the chair.

  “How about letting the ER docs have a look at you?” Mac didn’t like the shiver that passed through her body or the stunned look in her eyes.

  She shook her head. “I want a hot shower.”

  Grant nudged him. “Why don’t you take Stella home? I’ll stay here with Hannah.”

  “Are you sure?” Mac asked.

  “Go.” Hannah nodded. An exhausted smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “She needs you.”

  Did she? Mac turned back to Stella. She looked totally beaten. She definitely needed someone.

  Her eyes opened and locked on his. “I’ll be all right if you need to be with your family.”

  There was no way he was letting her drive home alone, covered in her partner’s blood. He didn’t want anyone else to comfort her. He wanted her to need him, for the bone-deep connection between them to go both ways.

  He stood and tugged Stella to her feet. In the hallway, he turned her to face him. Cupping her face in both hands, he kissed her on the mouth. “You scared the hell out of me.”

  “That makes two of us,” she said. “Did you think I wouldn’t hear about the incident in the alley near Gianna’s apartment?”

  “It was nothing.”

  “It was two armed men trying to kill you.” The no bullshit expression in her eyes demanded the truth.

  “Freddie has put a bounty on me.” He kissed her again. “I’m going to deal with it.”

  “How?”

  “I’ve already called the local DEA office.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, he steered her toward the elevator. “All I have to do is stay alive until they raid the compound.”

  “Is that all?”

  The door opened and they stepped in.

  Stella tur
ned to face him. “You are not expendable.”

  “OK.”

  “I mean it, Mac.” She splayed a hand in the center of his chest. “I care about you. You have to promise me to use the same caution that you expect from me.”

  She cared about him.

  “All right. I promise.”

  The tension left her body in one exhalation. “No more skulking around dark alleys alone?”

  “No.”

  The doors opened. She leaned on his shoulder as they walked arm in arm to the exit. Despite her clear exhaustion, her pallor, her distress, he absorbed strength from her embrace.

  Outside, they walked to her vehicle. Mac took her keys and then drove out of the parking lot. “Do you want to go home?”

  Stella held her hands out and looked down at her clothes as if just realizing she was covered in dried blood. “Not like this. I’ll scare the kids. Where’s your bike?”

  “I came with Grant.” Mac drove to his cabin, where he took her into the bedroom. Piling clean towels next to the sink, he began undressing her with efficiency. No pausing to enjoy the show this time. He wanted to inspect every inch of her skin for wounds. Adrenaline was almost as good as lidocaine for numbing injuries.

  She stared at the opposite wall, her eyes vacant as he peeled off her blouse. Red patches blooming on her skin would probably be bruises tomorrow. But no bullet holes. Unzipping her slacks, he slid them down her legs. A trickle of red ran from her ankle into her shoe. “You’re bleeding.”

  “I didn’t feel that.” Her brow knitted.

  Mac knelt to inspect her foot. An inch long splinter of wood was embedded in the soft skin just above her ankle. “This is going to hurt if I pull it out. Do you want me to run you back to the hospital?”

  “No. Just do it.”

  “You’d better sit down.” Guiding her to the edge of the tub, he reached under the sink for his first aid kit. The wound was shallow but it was going to bleed when he removed the chunk of wood. He guided her foot over the edge of the tub and put on the surgical gloves from the kit. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded.

  Mac gripped the edge of the splinter and tugged it free in one pull. Breath hissed from Stella’s lips and her face went as white as the porcelain sink. “Now it hurts.”