Emergency Response

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.