Susan Sleeman - Emergency Response

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.