Julie Leto - Line of Fire

Then all went silent. Deadly silent. The kind of silent that creeps beneath the skin and chills to the bone. No sirens. No gunshots. No voices. Nothing but her own ragged gasps for breath. Faith fought the hyperventilation that would occur if she didn’t pull herself together. She held her breath, counted to ten, blew the air out slowly and then began again until she achieved a halfway decent calm.

George Yube was dead. Lorraine was critical. Now the paramedic had suffered a gunshot wound to the arm, if not worse. Faith blinked tears out of her eyes, trusting that the same police department she’d crucified in the courtroom would find a way to end this nightmare.

A S SOON AS THE SWAT detail cleared the smoke from the fire that had raged through the stairwell, Adam tore off his oxygen mask. His shoes squeaked as he walked across the hall, the soles sucking up the moisture from the fire sprinklers. Dan Egan had disengaged the automatic waterworks, but the damage was done. As the SWAT team moved stealthily in front of him, he stopped and kicked off his loafers. He wouldn’t have much traction, but he’d have the element of surprise—if the shooter was still on the loose.

They’d exited the stairwell on the fourth floor. A second SWAT team had scaled the roof and reported that the sniper was not there, nor was there any evidence he’d ever been this high up. The stairwell from the roof into the building had been blocked by a rusted-out panel from a colossal air-conditioning unit, leaving the teams sent up from the lobby to find the sniper. They split up, the first team proceeding to the fifth floor, the second filtering onto the third, with Adam bringing up the rear of the final group, which exited on the fourth. Max reported civilians here and ordered Adam to see to Judge Craven, whose hysterical court clerk had kept them from evacuating.

Despite Adam’s raging need to stick with the team as they moved down the hall to search for the sniper, he obeyed the order to protect Craven. If the shots weren’t random, anyone associated with Yube’s release could be in danger. That included the judge—and Faith. Adam swore under his breath, trying not to replay the scene again, as he had all the way up the stairwell. He’d hated leaving her. No matter how logical the decision had been at the time, no matter how safe he’d considered her to be, shoved up against the wall and out of the sniper’s sights, Adam had still abandoned her in the courtyard with only a dying woman and Yube’s bloody body for company.

He’d heard Max’s update to the team. SWAT had rescued Lorraine Nelson, but what about Faith? Was she still out there? Was she terrified or was she still clinging to that steely attitude she’d exhibited before he left?

From the other side of Judge Craven’s door, he heard sobs, as well as a man’s voice attempting to soothe. He knocked, quietly announced who he was, then turned the knob. Locked. Good for Craven.

A second later, the judge opened the door, looking nothing like the cool-headed, wise vanguard of law and justice he appeared to be on the bench. His tie was nearly unknotted and his sleeves and hands were darkened by soot. His usually slicked-back hair now hung across his eyes.

“Detective, we need a paramedic team. She’s inconsolable.” He gestured toward a young woman sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth. Tears ran in beige rivulets down her cheeks, tinged with black from her eye makeup. In a white sweater and pink dress, she hugged herself tightly, wailing loudly and resembling a miserable child rather than the twenty-something Adam guessed her to be.

He nodded at the judge. “They’ll be up as soon as the area is secure. May I?”

The judge nodded. Adam holstered his gun, relocked the door behind them and crouched next to the weeping woman. He saw no signs of physical trauma.

“What happened?” he asked.

Judge Craven smoothed his hair back and seemed, with Adam’s presence, to gain control of his normally refined and dignified manner. “Her brother died in the Oklahoma City bombing, and she lost a good friend in the World Trade Center. She’s petrified of terrorists. I’d guess post-traumatic stress disorder, though I’m no expert,” he said sadly.

When Judge Craven disappeared into his private bathroom, Adam leaned back on his heels for a second, hoping to hear something from the hallway to indicate that it was safe to move them out of the office. He heard nothing. Aside from the communications between the command center and the teams swarming the buildings, there’d been no activity from the sniper since that last random volley of shots, which had occurred only moments after the SWAT teams entered the smoky stairwell.

He touched the young woman’s arm. A quick glance up at her desk and the engraved nameplate told him who she was. “Mindy? I’m Detective Adam Guthrie. You’ll be okay. You’re completely safe in here. The SWAT team is in control. As soon as we secure the area, we’ll get you medical attention. Whatever you need.”

If she heard him, she gave no indication, just continued to rock and whimper. Adam glanced around the office, noticing a spilled can of diet soda dripping across the clerk’s desk. She’d probably dropped the drink when she heard the shots and screams. The sirens and sprinklers outside the office must have added to her terror. Yet her clothes were dry, indicating that she hadn’t ventured into the hallway. She must have dropped to the floor, where she’d been ever since.

Again, Adam thought about Faith, still outside, safe from the gunfire but not from the terror. Everyone had a breaking point, even sassy attorneys who looked as smooth and sweet as butter in a soft yellow suit. What would make her go over the edge? Seemed to him that a dead body with Yube’s injuries—gunshot between the eyes, the back of his skull likely blown out—might do the trick. Right now, Faith’s only view was that horrid violence, and for that most of all, he cursed himself again for leaving her alone. Knowing that Max had just ordered Flint to go back out and provide cover for Faith calmed Adam somewhat. But not much.

He didn’t know why he felt so responsible. Maybe his brother, Casey, a fellow cop, was right when he claimed Adam took the whole “protect and serve” thing too seriously. Still, a man was dead. Two women, Lorraine and the paramedic, were injured, and countless others terrorized—all in what amounted to a few moments of deadly fury.

Judge Craven emerged from the bathroom, his shirt changed and his hands clean. He held out a fresh but damp towel to Adam, apparently for Mindy, then crouched beside the woman, a small cup of water cradled in his hands.

“Mindy, have a sip, won’t you? We’re perfectly safe now, with Detective Guthrie here.”

For the first time, Mindy acknowledged their presence. She met Craven’s caring gaze, then, with violently shaking hands, reached for the cup. Craven smiled at her kindly and held the glass to her lips.

The usually stoic judge then took the towel from Adam and wiped the woman’s face clean, turning the terry cloth so that he never used the same spot twice. When he was done, he held up the towel, now streaked in beige, pink, black and red.

“I hate to tell you, Min, but you’ll have to redo the war paint before you go on your big date tonight,” Craven joked.

Mindy snuffled, and for the first time since Adam entered the room, spoke. “I’m so sorry, Judge Craven. I don’t know what happened. If you hadn’t come back when you did…”

Adam narrowed his gaze at the judge. “Where were you, Judge Craven? You weren’t out trying to play hero, were you?”

The judge leveled Adam with an indignant look. “I leave the heroics to the professionals such as yourself, Detective Guthrie. I checked the stairwell, but the fire and smoke were impassable. Mindy and I were stuck up here—until you arrived. Can we leave now?”