Читать книгу Emergency Response - Susan Sleeman - Страница 9
ОглавлениеCan’t breathe. Must breathe.
“No.” Darcie Stevens clawed at the beefy arm circling her neck like a hangman’s noose, her fingernails raking over her attacker’s fleshy arm.
Scratching. Ripping. Drawing blood.
It didn’t deter him. He tightened his grip, cutting off the last of her breath. “Give it up. You won’t win.”
She worked harder to release the pressure on her windpipe. Struggled for oxygen. Any. Even the tiniest sip of cold February air. Found none.
Her vision blurred and she blinked hard.
No! Please, no!
Was this the end? Desperation set in. She had to try harder.
She elbowed his gut. One hard, firm jab to the midsection, her elbow sinking into his stomach.
He didn’t move except to constrict his arm and draw her back more tightly against his flabby body. She felt a gun tucked into his belt pressing against her back.
No. No. No.
Did he plan to shoot her if he failed to choke her? She had to get away before he drew the weapon. But how?
Her shoes. Yes, her boots had spiky heels. They could do some serious damage. She stomped on his foot, grinding, pressing, digging for concrete.
“Uhhh,” he grunted. His arm relaxed a fraction.
Yes!
She pressed her hands together like a diver and shot them up under his arm, pushing with all of her strength. Widening the gap.
One final push. She gave it her all and broke free. She gulped air and didn’t waste time waiting to see what he might do, but took off down the sidewalk. Her steps, halting at first as she dragged in enough oxygen to pick up speed.
He followed her, the sound of his heavy footfalls reverberating in her ears. Her lungs were heaving with exertion. Her body begged to stop. To rest.
No. I can’t let him catch me. If he does...
She wouldn’t let that happen.
Please help me to go on.
Rain started to fall, pelting her face, soaking through her jacket. The moss-covered sidewalk threatened to take her feet out from under her. She focused on her shoes.
Careful now, one foot in front of the other.
She was making progress, but so was he. She could hear him coming closer. Closer. Step by step. Each footfall sounding like thunder in her ears.
The wind rushed past, carrying the echo of his heavy footsteps and masking his location. Could he have closed the distance? Was he readying himself to attack again? But why was he targeting her? What did he want? She didn’t live in this part of town. He likely didn’t even know her.
Was this attack random, like the woman who was mugged just down the street last week? A gang member had beaten her badly and she was still fighting for life. Was that this man’s plan, too? Was he simply trying to subdue her then rob her?
Darcie couldn’t let that happen. She churned her legs faster, harder. Her lungs screamed for relief. She couldn’t think about that. She forced her concentration onto the rhythm of her feet.
Step. Step. Step.
Faster. Faster, she moved.
She risked a glance back. She had a small lead.
Thank You, God.
She took another quick look at her attacker, searching for details she could tell the police.
He was tall. Thick. Beefy. His skin was dark—Latino, she guessed. She returned her focus to her stride. She was running out of breath and slowing. He was panting hard, but he could still catch her.
Help me, God. Please. Help me.
The thudding footfalls suddenly stopped. Had he given up? Had she succeeded in tiring him out? Had God intervened?
Relief surged through her body, but she kept going. She had to. She wasn’t safe yet.
A gunshot suddenly broke the quiet. A bullet slammed into the tree in the median. Wood fragments splintered and peppered her face. She closed her eyes for protection. Caught a toe in the cracked sidewalk. Plummeted to the concrete.
Oomph. She landed hard.
The rough surface ripped the skin from her palms and split the knees of her pants. She stayed on the ground, dazed for a moment, her brain a jumbled mess.
Another bullet bit into the concrete near her head. A jagged shard sliced into her neck. She cried out and protected her head with her hands. Her heart stuttered, feeling like it might stop, but she wouldn’t give up. Couldn’t give up. Couldn’t just lay there knowing the next bullet would hit the mark.
But what could she do? She couldn’t outrun a bullet.
Hide. She had to find a place to hide.
She pushed to her feet, started running again and searched the street. Run-down houses with peeling paint and weed-infested yards greeted her. No telling who lived in these houses, but she’d be safer inside. Or maybe someone would come out and help her if she pounded on a door.
Yeah, right. Not in this gang-infested neighborhood.
A bullet whizzed past her shoulder.
She glanced down the street. She could see her destination up ahead. Pilar’s house. She was almost there. Could she make it before this creep shot her in the back?
Another bullet zipped past her shoulder.
She had to try. She kept going and hunched her shoulders to make herself a smaller target. Just a little ways to go and she’d reach Pilar’s walkway where she could race inside to safety.
Shots kept flying.
Ping. Ping. Ping.
He was shooting like a madman, not even pausing to aim. She had to take cover. Now!
She dove behind a large utility box and curled into a ball. Sucking in air. Blowing it out. Thoughts zinging through her mind as fast as the bullets flying overhead.
What could she do?
Think, Darcie, think.
Help. She needed help. Her teammates on the First Response Squad would know what to do. They were all trained law enforcement professionals, but not her. She was the team’s paramedic and the only one without law enforcement credentials. Unfortunately, they couldn’t get across town in time.
Noah. She could call Noah. He was already on his way to meet her at Pilar’s house to talk to her about sweet little Isabel. As a homicide detective, he’d know what to do. He had to.
Darcie clawed through her purse until she grasped her phone. Her hands shook, blurring the screen, but she managed to press Noah’s number.
“Lockhart,” he answered.
“A man tried to strangle me,” she managed to get out. “He’s chasing after me now. He has a gun.”
“Where are you?” Noah’s voice was reassuringly cool and controlled.
“Behind a utility box close to Isabel’s house.”
The sound of her assailant’s boots beating down the sidewalk drew her attention. She came to her knees. Peeked over the box. He was running toward her, his gun in his hand.
He spotted her. Paused. Lifted the gun. He fired. She ducked. The bullet flew overhead.
“Noah, he’s shooting at me.” She drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them.
“I’m about a mile out,” Noah said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, but you’ll have to hold him off until I get there.” The sound of Noah’s siren coming 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 as Noah hated to admit it, Darcie’s assessment was spot-on. In neighborhoods like this, gang members were like ants. Where there was one there were a bunch more. It meant Isabel and her grandmother, Pilar, were constantly in danger living here. In fact, he and Darcie had scheduled a meeting with Pilar today to discuss finding a safer place for the two of them to live. That would now have to wait until the immediate danger had passed.
Darcie started to rise. “I have to check on Isabel.”
Noah rested a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not a good idea to leave yet.”
Darcie shrugged free. “Good idea or not, Isabel’s in a wheelchair and I need to make sure she’s protected.”
His resolve wavered. Always did around Darcie. She had a heart the size of Texas—one of the things he admired about her—and she mothered everyone in her life. Though that had more to do with losing her child in a car accident a little over six years ago than anything. She would risk her own life in a heartbeat to make sure others were safe. He respected her for that, too. Along with her fierce personality that let no one get in her way. Like right now. If he didn’t escort her to Isabel’s house, Darcie would walk over there on her own.
He had no choice. She was staying under his protection until her attacker was apprehended. There was no question about that. None.
“Let me check things out first and then I’ll take you to the house.” He stood, keeping an eye on her for a moment to make sure she remained seated, and then made a careful survey of the area.
His radio squawked as one of the officers in pursuit reported his location about a mile north of their position and requested a lockdown of the nearby elementary school.
Now that Noah knew Darcie was okay, he wanted to get in on the action. He was a cop at heart. Had always wanted to be one, always would be one. And right now, he wanted to join his fellow officers in pursuit of a creep who’d terrified Darcie. To hunt him down, slap cuffs on him and toss him in the back of his car. Glare at him, too, and offer a few choice words for good measure. But at this moment, Darcie needed him more. Even if she wouldn’t admit it.
He turned back to her and swallowed his emotions. “We’re clear for now, but stay close to me. We’ll go straight to the house and inside. Got it?”
A wooden nod was her only reply.
“Remember—” he paused for emphasis and offered his hand to help her up “—this situation is volatile and could change at any moment. Your life is still in danger and you need to follow my directions, not only for your safety but for Isabel’s and Pilar’s welfare, too.”
Another stiff nod as she slid icy cold fingers into his hand. He tugged her to her feet and drew her close.
She winced and jerked free.
“You okay?” he asked, wondering if he’d hurt her, or if she just didn’t want him to touch her.
She held up her palm. “I scraped my hands and knees when I fell.”
Hot anger flared at the raw skin, but he swallowed it down as he’d done on the job countless times. “I know you can treat the abrasions yourself, but you could have other injuries that shock or adrenaline are masking. It’s best to get you checked out by a medic.”
She frowned. “Isabel and Pilar are far more important right now than spending time on a scrape.”
She was right, but he’d still arrange for the medic. He urged her forward with an arm around her back. Her body trembled, sending his thoughts to the man dressed in blue. The thug who’d terrorized her. Her fear as she crouched in the rain waiting for him to kill her.
Noah’s anger fired hotter. Once they found the shooter, Noah would make sure the creep paid for hurting her. “Did you recognize the man who attacked you?”
“No,” she whispered. “But I can describe him.”
“Great. If we aren’t able to apprehend him today, we can get a sketch made.”
She shot him a pained look. “Not apprehend him?”
“Hopefully that won’t happen. Our officers are doing everything they can to catch him.”
“I know.”
“Do you have no idea why he attacked you?”
She shook her head hard, sending her ponytail softly whispering over his neck. “I figure it was just another random attack. You know. Like last week when that woman was mugged down the street.”
When she was beaten within an inch of her life. He kept the last bit to himself so he didn’t raise Darcie’s apprehension. That and to stop his mind from wandering to the dire consequences if he hadn’t been able to get a uniform here so quickly.
They started forward and he drew his weapon again for good measure. He pulled her closer. At five-nine—more like five-eleven today, in her heeled boots—she was only a few inches shorter than him. Her stride fell nicely into step with his and he caught a whiff of her fruity, tropical perfume. She’d worn the same scent since he’d first met her six years ago, when she’d joined the county’s First Response Squad.
As a detective for the Portland Police Bureau, Noah didn’t interact with the squad often, but he’d worked with them enough that he’d gotten to know everyone on the team.
Six members strong, they were all sworn deputies except Darcie. They performed regular law enforcement duties most of the time, but when they were needed in special crisis situations, they came together as a team. One specialized in bombs, another was a sniper, two of them were hostage negotiators and the last was the team leader. Darcie rounded out the team to provide medical support.
“Suspect’s on the move. Going over the fence.” The officer’s voice came over Noah’s radio, startling Darcie.
Noah hugged her tighter and sped up. In a daze, she trudged alongside him. He felt like he was dragging her—maybe causing her pain. He hated the thought, but if that’s what it took to get her safely inside, he’d do so.
They started up the walkway to the dilapidated bungalow Pilar rented from a slumlord who didn’t care much about maintaining his property. Pilar kept it clean and tidy, but there was only so much she could do when the landlord never made necessary repairs. To make things worse, the cracking paint and crumbling cement walkways were decorated with graffiti and broken glass. Nearby neighborhoods were seeing rebirth, but the revitalization hadn’t reached this street. The area was home to gang activities, which meant drugs and violence.
Darcie suddenly jerked back and pointed at the house. “Look. Bullet holes.”
Noah spotted three punctures in the wall near the living room window. Likely stray bullets from the shooter’s attack. His adrenaline fired higher. He moved Darcie behind his back and searched the area again.
The door suddenly swung open and he spun, gun pointed. Pilar’s dark eyes, below scraped-back hair, widened and she took a step back.
Noah huffed out a relieved breath and hurried Darcie up the walkway. Pilar stood waiting, a towel wrapped around her arm. Blood seeped through the worn yellow fabric.
“Your arm.” Darcie shot out from under his protection. “What happened?”
“A bullet...it came through the wall.”
“Isabel?” Darcie’s voice was deadly calm, but her eyes were wild with terror.
“She is fine. Hiding under her bed.”
Darcie sighed out a breath and peered at Pilar. “Let me take a look at your arm.”
Pilar lifted her hand and grimaced. “The bleeding has stopped.”
“I still need—”
“Let’s take this inside,” Noah interrupted.
“But the sirens...the gunshots stopped after the police cars arrived. Aren’t we safe now?” Pilar’s hand shook as she supported her injured arm and backed inside. “What is going on? Is it another gang shooting?”
“I don’t know the full details, but while the officers have everything under control, it’s still safer to stay inside.” Noah smiled again, putting on the officer persona he used to keep people calm in challenging situations. “Let’s have Darcie check out your arm, and then we’ll work on getting more details.”
Pilar smiled, but it was forced. “You’re both wet and must be freezing. I’ll get some towels before you catch your death.”
“Seriously, Pilar? You’ve been shot,” Darcie reprimanded. “You’ll sit down and let me tend to the wound.” Darcie gently prodded Pilar toward a worn armchair in the corner.
Noah took one last look outside, running his gaze up and down the road. Satisfied the women were safe for now, he closed and bolted the door. Double-checked it and glanced out the window for added measure. By the time he crossed the room, Darcie had settled Pilar in the chair. Darcie looked up at Noah, her focus clear once again. She’d shifted into rescuer mode, and with Pilar as a patient, Darcie could turn her focus outward. Maybe overcome her own shock.
“Can you check on Isabel?” she asked.
He really didn’t want to leave the front of the house, but someone had to retrieve the little girl. He nodded, then headed for the bedroom and turned down the volume on his radio to keep from worrying the six-year-old.
Her room, the size of a walk-in closet, held a twin bed with a woven blanket and a painted nightstand topped with a multicolored lamp. The small wheelchair Darcie had secured for Isabel after Isabel had been injured on a callout sat empty by the bed.
He hadn’t been at the incident but he’d heard a report that Isabel was living in deplorable conditions with her mother, Mayte. A social worker had come to the apartment to remove Isabel, but Mayte, high on drugs, had refused to hand over her daughter. A standoff occurred and the FRS responded. There was some concern about Isabel’s health, so Darcie went in with Archer, one of their negotiators. His job had been to talk Mayte down, while Darcie’s had been to make sure Isabel was okay. But Mayte clutched Isabel and backed onto an unsafe deck. The railing gave way and Mayte plunged two stories.
Darcie darted forward in time to catch hold of Isabel’s calf and keep her from falling, but the wrenching motion injured Isabel’s knee badly enough to require surgery. Mayte suffered a serious concussion. The good news was that the head injury kept her in the hospital long enough to go into drug withdrawal and to agree to rehab.
Now Isabel was once again in another traumatizing situation. The poor kid. She’d seen so much at her tender age. Way too much.
“Isabel, it’s Noah,” he announced to keep from scaring her even more as he stepped into the room. “It’s safe to come out now. I’m going to help you into your chair.”
He knelt by the bed and peeked underneath. Despite her living conditions or her recent accident, Isabel always had a big smile, and she flashed white teeth with a wide gap in the top.
“Hi, princess,” Noah said.
“Abuelita put me here.” Her smile faltered. “I was worried.”
“Don’t worry. Everything’s okay.” He reached under the bed and maneuvered her free, being careful not to bang her injured leg. He curled her into his arms and gave her a hug. She looked up at him, eyes wide.
“Abuelita got hurt.”
“I know,” he said, trying to play it down. “Darcie’s taking good care of her.”
“I thought maybe—” She shook her head and frowned. “You and Darcie weren’t coming. Or you got hurt. Like that lady last week.”
“No need to worry about that, princess. We’re all just fine. And your grandmother will be fine, too.” The vehemence in Noah’s voice made her smile disappear. He didn’t mean to sound so intense, but come on. No child should have their life invaded by man’s brutality. “Let’s go see Darcie, okay?”
“Yes, please.” Isabel’s face lit up and Noah’s heart melted. There was something about this urchin that made him happy. If she survived all this trauma and still smiled, he should be able to do the same thing in his own life.
He settled her into the wheelchair and pushed her to the living room. Darcie ran her gaze over Isabel with a trained medical professional’s eyes.
“Noah said you were here, but you really are,” Isabel said, and smiled.
“Hold tight to the towel,” Darcie ordered Pilar, then crossed over to Isabel.
Darcie squatted by the chair, and Noah saw her wince before she hid it. Her injuries bothered her more than she let on. She offered Isabel a beaming smile that utterly captivated Noah. In a situation that wasn’t as dire as this one, he would...would what?
Do nothing. Exactly what he needed to do. What he’d done for years.
On the day he’d met Darcie, one look at her hit him like a battering ram, but he’d done nothing about it—would do nothing about it, other than swallowing down his feelings and acting professionally whenever he ran in to her.
Her smile widened even more and Noah had to step back to get a grip.
Concentrate, man. Concentrate. She’s just a victim and this is just another callout. Do your job.
“Don’t you know by now that nothing would keep me away from seeing you?” Darcie asked Isabel.
She flung tiny arms around Darcie’s neck. The child clung to Darcie as if she was her mother. With Mayte in rehab since her accident, Isabel had transferred her need for motherly love to Darcie. He wasn’t surprised that Darcie hadn’t been able to resist loving Isabel. Still, if Darcie realized how invested she’d become in Isabel’s well-being, Darcie would shut down as she had since she lost her daughter. She avoided getting too close to anyone to avoid getting hurt.
Noah got that. He’d lost a son, too. Not to death, but to distance. He’d bailed on his pregnant girlfriend Ashley in college. Stupid move. But he was young and could barely get to class on time. How could he be responsible for a son?
He regretted it now. Every day. So he totally understood the wall Darcie put up to keep from caring and getting hurt again.
The hug ended and Darcie stood up.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked her and tipped his head at the far side of the room.
“Do you need me to call an ambulance for Pilar or have you already done so?” he asked when he couldn’t be overheard.
“I have. They’re on the way.”
“Good. So will you be okay if I head outside to check on the action?”
A pained smile crossed her face, but she nodded anyway.
“Don’t worry,” he added. “I’ll stay within view of the house. If you need me you can call out.”
She gave just the barest hint of a nod as she grabbed his hand. Her still cold fingers squeezed weakly. “Thank you, Noah. For being here for us.”
“It’s what I do,” he said and ignored how his heart warmed at her gratitude. “Lock the door behind me and stay away from the windows.”
“You are leaving us?” Pilar cried out.
“It’s okay,” Darcie replied. “He’ll be right outside and the danger has passed.”
Noah nodded his agreement. Darcie’s comment was technically true. The danger had passed. For now.
Only for now.
Darcie had gotten a good look at the creep who’d attacked her and could identify him. The man had to realize that as well. He had no qualms about attacking a woman, so if he evaded the officers today, he’d be more than happy to come after her again.
And the next time the creep got to her, Noah feared he’d succeed in silencing her for good.
