Julie Anne Lindsey - The Sheriff's Secret

Slowly, a few brave souls ventured into the storm, plodding through puddles toward their vehicles and prompting the others to follow. The lot was nearly empty this time of day, making Mountain Medical Plaza the perfect location for her private morning sessions.

Tina followed Carol and Steven toward a massive pickup truck whose lights flashed and locks popped up upon approach. Tina’s car was the small sedan two spots away. Steven slowed his pace as he neared Carol’s truck, suddenly unconcerned by the rain and wholly focused on a distant point in the morning sky.

“Steven?” Tina lifted her handbag overhead, a makeshift umbrella, and squinted through the rain. “Everything okay?”

He raised an arm, finger pointed at the building’s rooftop. “Do you see that?”

The fine hairs on the back of Tina’s neck raised to attention. She forced her eyes to focus through the downpour. “What do you see?”

A small shadow rocked into view. What appeared to be the long barrel of a rifle stretched out before it.

Ice coiled in Tina’s gut. It couldn’t be...

“Gun!” Steven yelled. “Get down!” He turned for Tina, arms thrown wide as one loud blast of gunfire cracked the air. Steven’s head whipped back and his gait fell short. His legs crumbled beneath him and his body collapsed onto the rain-battered asphalt in a silent thud. Group members screamed and hollered around her, scattering between vehicles and running for the building. Shattered glass rained over Steven, falling from the truck window at his side.

Tina’s lungs burned as she struggled to breathe. She fell to the ground, barely perceiving what had happened. Wind whipped through her hair and mingled with the ringing in her ears. Voices warbled around her, distorted by the storm and panic beating through her head. “Stay down!” she screamed. “Get down and stay down!” She forced her eyes to search for the shadow once more, but it was gone.

Where did it go? She craned her neck in every direction, as if the shooter could be anywhere, beside her, behind her. Her chest ached and her mouth dried. How could she know who the next bullet would hit? Would there be another? Was the man finished shooting, or was he reloading? She dug her phone from her purse and dialed 911.

“911. What’s your emergency?” a tinny voice echoed in her ringing ear.

Tina scrambled under the truck, counting pairs of feet moving through the lot toward the building. Four. Good. The rest were safe and together now.

“Ma’am? What’s your emergency?” the voice repeated.

The world snapped back into focus then, the tragedy becoming unbearably clear. “There’s a gunman at Mountain Medical Plaza.” The words fell clumsily off her tongue, a line memorized for a play. Impossible to be real. “One man is down. I don’t know.” She stared at Steven’s motionless form. “He’s not moving. I don’t know where he was hit. There’s so much blood.”

“Where’s the shooter now?”

“I’m not sure. He stopped, I think.” Tina willed her mind into focus. Her group needed her. Steven needed her.

“Are you somewhere safe now, ma’am? Is there somewhere you can find shelter until emergency responders arrive?”

Her office door seemed miles away, but two group members were already there, crouched against the wall, and two others were steps away. She could help them. Get them inside.

Screaming tires drew her attention across the lot. A faded red pickup truck roared recklessly in the distance and fishtailed onto the county road beyond, barreling away like the devil was chasing it.

Tina pulled in a long gulp of oxygen to clear her brain. “I think the shooter is gone now. There was only one shot. Maybe two minutes ago. And someone’s racing away in a pickup.” She forced herself from beneath the truck and onto her knees, crawling over the broken glass to Steven’s side. “A man’s been shot. He’s not moving.” She stared at his motionless chest. “Not breathing.” Tina pressed shaky fingers to his neck in search of a pulse that didn’t beat, then tried again. “No, no, no, no.” She set the phone on the ground at Steven’s side, pressed the speaker option, then laced her fingers against his chest and said a silent prayer. Tina filled his lungs and pumped his heart for him until her arms shook uncontrollably from terror, grief and effort. “He’s not breathing,” she cried. “His heart isn’t beating. CPR isn’t working.”

Behind her, the group bellowed for her to come to them. Above her, the thunder rolled.

Tina grabbed her phone and pushed onto her feet. In a torrent of desperation, she forced herself away from Steven. A round of ugly sobs pressed through her tightened lips as she hurried back to the group collecting outside her office once more. She wiped her hands on her shirt, smearing it with blood, then jammed her key into the lock and ushered the others inside. “One man is dead,” she reported to the woman on the phone. “The rest of us are...” Are what? Fine? None of them were fine. A man had just been murdered in front of their eyes. “No one else was physically injured.”

She wiped her eyes and nose, fighting the wave of panic determined to lay her in a useless ball. How many times had she called 911 as a kid? How many times had her drunken father taken his frustrations out on a mother too depressed to get out of bed? Broken limbs and noses. Cuts and bruises. Nothing like this. Never like this, and yet she’d felt exactly this way. Desperate. Afraid. And guilty. Always guilty. “I’m so sorry,” she wept. “So very sorry.”

The soft cry of an approaching ambulance registered in the distance, refueling her hope and drive. “I hear them now,” she told the dispatch operator. “Help is almost here.” She made the second announcement more loudly, aiming her words at the terrified group before her.

Tina slid her suit jacket from her shoulders. “You will survive this,” she told them, falling back on her training. “Understand?” They stared in variations of shock, anguish and despair. “You are survivors.” She forced the words from between clenched teeth, as much for her own benefit as theirs. “Help is almost here now. You’re going to be okay.”

Except Steven. Steven would never again be okay.

When she could find no more words, she carried her jacket through the raging storm and placed it over Steven. Fresh out of faux strength, Tina fell onto her bottom beside him, cell phone in hand, and bawled. What was wrong with this world?

* * *

CADE COUNTY SHERIFF West Garrett pressed a wide-brimmed hat over his head and levered himself out of the cruiser. A carousel of red-and-white lights illuminated the gruesome scene at a local counseling practice. Blood and glass covered the lot beside a newer model pickup truck. EMTs spoke with a cluster of people near one building.

A man lay motionless and partially covered by a tiny, bloodstained woman’s coat. This must have been the fatality Dispatch had announced. Presumably, the coat belonged to the woman curled up at the man’s side. Her arms were wrapped around her knees and her face was buried in the material of her ruined suit pants. Only the top of her blond head was visible, and it was shaking with each new sob she released.

West made his way, slowly, toward the woman.

The coroner dropped a black bag on the ground opposite the deceased.

“Ma’am?” West tugged the material of his pants and crouched beside her. “I’m Sheriff West Garrett. I’m afraid I need to ask you a few questions.”

The woman stilled. Her sobs ceased.

West rested his forearms on his thighs, allowing his hands to dangle between his knees. Rain dripped from the brim of his sheriff’s hat and the sleeves of his slicker. “Are you hurt, ma’am?”