Sandra Orchard - Critical Condition

* * *

The panic Zach had seen in Tara’s eyes had gripped his emotions and wouldn’t let go. He yanked the pass card from the computer hub he’d been testing and headed for the nurses’ station. After witnessing the hold Whittaker had had on Tara’s arm, he’d thought the hospital’s Golden Boy might be their man, but after talking with him, Zach wasn’t so sure. He needed to hear Tara’s version of what had gone down in the lobby at lunchtime.

The nurses’ station was vacant. He walked up and down the halls, glancing in patients’ rooms, but found no sign of her. Anxiety mounting, he checked the staff lounge.

Alice Bradshaw glanced up. “Looking for someone?” she asked in that gratingly precise tone of hers.

“Yes, the head nurse.”

“That would be me.”

Alarm bells went off in Zach’s head. “You? I thought Miss Peterson—”

“She went home sick. I’m covering for her. Can I help you with something?”

“It can wait. Thanks.” He went back to the computer he’d been testing, but a niggling uneasiness made concentrating impossible. Only yesterday, Tara had outright refused to take time off. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed her number.

After five rings, voice mail kicked in.

He clicked End without leaving a message. If she felt sick, she’d probably gone straight to bed. He wandered past Whittaker’s office, and at the sight of him frowning at the computer monitor, breathed a relieved sigh.

Zach shook his head. What was he thinking? That Whittaker would hunt her down with some threatening reprimand?

If she felt scared, she would’ve come to him. Even so, the acid burning his stomach showed no sign of abating. He borrowed the phone book from the nurses’ station to look up her address. But there were three columns of Petersons, and not one had a first initial T. He called Rick.

“What’s up?”

“I need Tara’s address. Something weird went down at lunchtime, and she left early. I need to make sure she’s okay.”

Rick rattled off the address. “Do you think she’s in danger?”

“I wouldn’t be asking for the address otherwise, would I?” Zach snapped. “I’ll be in touch.”

He clamped down his riled emotions and hurried out to the hospital parking lot. Lord, please let me be overreacting.

Consulting the map he’d picked up in the hospital gift shop, he wound through three unmarked subdivisions before finding Pine Street. He pinpointed Tara’s house and slowed to a crawl. The driveway was empty.

He double-checked the house number against the one Rick had given him. Same. His pulse spiked. All afternoon, concern had nagged him. Clearly, he should’ve paid more attention.

He tried her cell phone again.

“Hello?”

Zach’s heart leaped at the sound of her voice. “Tara, where are you? Bradshaw said you were sick.”

“Yeah, I am. I brought Suzie to my mom’s for the night.”

“You’re at your mom’s?”

“Just leavin—”

Tara screamed and what sounded like gunfire blasted over the phone.

“Tara? Tara? Talk to me. Tell me where you are.”

THREE

Screams—her own screams—barraged Tara’s eardrums. She dove face-first into the front seat of the car and covered her head with her arms.

The window behind her seat shattered, spraying glass over the seats, her clothes, her hair.

“Tara, talk to me!” Zach’s voice shrilled from the vicinity of the floorboard.

She took one hand from her head and felt for her cell phone. If she hadn’t been reaching into the car to grab the phone, that first shot might’ve gone through her heart instead of through her car and out the passenger window.

Her fingers closed around the phone as another shot ripped through the door. Clinging to the phone, she rolled to the floor. Pebbles of glass ground into her legs and arms. “Someone’s shooting at me!”

“Are you okay?”

“Someone’s shooting at me!”

“Where are you?” he demanded.

“In my car.”

“I need an address!”

The sound of screeching tires pierced the air. “I think he’s gone. I hear sirens coming. I’ll just—”

“Tara, stay down.” The urgency in Zach’s voice knocked her back with all the force of a physical push. “Don’t lift your head. Tell me where you are.”

“Sam’s Cove. Thirty-eight Eagle Avenue. It’s ten minutes west of Miller’s Bay.”

“I’m on my way, but stay on the line. Are the sirens getting closer?”

The steady timbre of his voice eased her heart’s frantic pounding. “Yes.”

“Good. Someone must’ve called it in. Stay down until the cops get there.”

She swiped at a tear dripping down her cheek and gasped when her hand came away bloody.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m bleeding.”

“Were you hit?”

“It’s just from the shattered glass, I think. I don’t know....” She felt herself losing control. “Zach, I can’t stay here. What if the shooter comes closer?” Except she couldn’t run for the house and draw gunfire near Suzie.

“Stay calm. Put pressure on the wound. I’ll be there as fast as I can. Just hold on.”

At the sound of feet pounding toward her, she curled deeper into the narrow space beneath the dash.

A hulking figure appeared at the door, blocking the light.

Tara couldn’t help it. She screamed.

“What is it?” Zach asked urgently.

“Tara, it’s me.”

Relief poured through her as she recognized the voice of her mom’s neighbor John Calloway.

The older gentleman gingerly pulled her free of the glass. “Let me get you inside.” He tried to pry the phone from her clenched fist. “The police are on their way. Your daughter is screaming for you, and it’s all your mom can do to hold her.”

Suzie’s cry fired Tara’s muscles. She dropped the phone and ran to the front door, where Mom held her thrashing daughter by the waist. The instant her mother released the child, Suzie tumbled into Tara’s arms.

Mr. Calloway herded them inside the house.

Within seconds, an explosion of colored lights strobed through the window, dancing across the walls of the tiny living room.

Tara collapsed into an armchair, and Suzie burrowed into her arms, sobbing. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s okay.”

Tara’s mom shook her head, but thankfully didn’t voice her disagreement.

“Did you see the shooter?” Mr. Calloway asked.

“No.”

“You must have seen something,” Mom pressed, her voice edging higher.

Tara squeezed Suzie more tightly and gave her mother a not now look.

Mr. Calloway shook his head. “You never saw things like this when I was a kid. It’s the drugs. Seems to be all kids care about these days. The cops say they broke up that local drug ring, but I don’t believe it. Before long we’ll be no different than those American cities you see on TV.”

Her mother slipped from the room and reappeared with a damp facecloth. She gently dabbed at Tara’s face. “The cut doesn’t look too bad. I don’t think you’ll need stitches.” The cloth came away bloody, and Mom’s wary expression belied the calm in her voice.

Through the window, Tara could see an officer unfurling caution tape as another pointed in the direction from which the shots had likely been fired. She shivered. Drive-by shootings weren’t supposed to happen in quiet communities where churches outnumbered bars four to one.

A loud rap sounded at the door. Mr. Calloway let in a uniformed police officer and directed him to Tara.

The officer removed his hat. “I’m Officer Nelson, ma’am. I need to ask you some questions.” His gaze shifted from her to Suzie.

Mom reached for Suzie’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Grandma will get you some milk and cookies while your mommy talks to the police officer.”