by Pamela Clare
Meyer.
Vision fading, Joaquin pushed Mia away. “Run.”
That’s all he managed to say before pain and darkness took him.
21
Joaquin!” Mia’s heart seemed to explode in her chest.
Dear God, no!
She couldn’t get to him, couldn’t help him, couldn’t even reach his pistol.
Andy was running for her, pistol raised.
She started toward the shotgun, then realized that going after it would put her in the line of fire, Andy’s heavy footfalls already sounding on her front steps.
She bolted for the stairs just as the son of a bitch cleared the front door and opened fire again.
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
Her right arm went numb, drywall exploding in front of her face, bullets ripping into her walls, her own blood splattering the white paint.
Shit!
She reached the landing, ran into her bedroom and locked the door, using her left arm to block it with a chair. She backed away, ran for her phone, dialed 9-1-1. She gave dispatch her name and address. “Officer Petersen has been shot. He’s down. He shot Joaquin Ramirez, too. They may be dying. We need help—SWAT and medical. Andrew Meyer is the killer. He’s here.”
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Andy put a few bullets through her door to blast away the lock. “Mia, you fucking bitch! You can’t win. You might as well give up.”
She ignored him, interrupting the dispatcher. “He’s going to kill me if he gets through my bedroom door. Hurry for fuck’s sake!”
Please, God, no. Not Joaquin. Not my Joaquin.
Knowing she had only moments, she set the receiver down, keeping dispatch on the line, and went to her closet, looking for something, anything, that she could use as a weapon.
Ski poles. They would bend. She threw them aside.
A baseball bat. It was too heavy for her to wield with one arm.
Bear spray! She had a small canister in her backpack somewhere. She searched the pockets, found it, and used her teeth to peel off the plastic safety tab.
Andy roared in rage, kicking at the door now, trying to dislodge the chair.
Mia looked down, saw blood dripping from her fingers. Damn it. She didn’t have time to make a tourniquet. If Andy got through that door, her arm would be the least of her problems.
Joaquin!
She took cover as best she could inside her closet. She wouldn’t give Andy a clear or easy target. If that fucker wanted her, he was going to have to fight.
She took a deep breath, tried to focus her mind and calm the pounding of her heart. If she wanted to help Joaquin, she had to stay alive. She had to stay alive. She’d passed combatives training, but she hadn’t drilled in more than three years, and she’d never fought anyone hand-to-hand in real life.
Her bedroom door was coming apart, bits of foam and chipboard flying free.
Andy raged, kicked, slammed his body against it. “Open this fucking door!”
She got the pepper spray ready, tried to guess his height. She’d have only a second or two to keep him from blowing her away. If she could blind him, get the pistol away from him…
In the distance, she heard sirens.
“Do you hear that, Andy? They’re coming for you. They know it’s you. They’re onto your little trick with the animal blood. They know you killed Garcia and Frank. They have your DNA from when I shot you.”
That only enraged him more, the sounds coming from outside her bedroom more animal now than human.
The door splintered with a crack.
Andy kicked his way through the remaining pieces, shoving the chair aside.
Mia reached out of the closet with her left arm, aimed the bear spray at his face, hitting him dead in the eyes.
He screamed in pain, dropping his weapon and clutching at his face. “Cunt!”
She jumped out, lunged for the pistol, gripped it with her left hand, her right arm completely useless. He kicked at her, catching her in the sternum, knocking her back, crushing pain driving the breath from her lungs. The pistol skittered across her bedroom floor. She tried to reach it, pain almost making her sick.
Andy grabbed her by her hair, yanking her to her feet and throwing her back onto her bed. “You ruined my life!”
“You ruined your own life, you sad piece of shit!” She kicked him as hard as she could, hitting his face and throat, the pain in her chest making it hard to breathe.
Broken ribs?
Eyes red and watering, he fell on her, wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed, trying to strangle her.
“I think I’d like killing you with my bare hands better.”
Oh, no you don’t, you asshole.
She took hold of a ski pole with her left hand and jammed its pointed tip into his temple. He shrieked and released her, blood flowing from a wound on his head now.
She sucked in air, pain shooting through her chest. “How’s your headache now?”
He drew back his fist and struck her hard on the cheek, pain exploding inside her skull, lights dancing before her eyes, darkness dragging her down.
Stay awake!
If she didn’t, she would die.
She fought the darkness, opened her eyes, saw Andy retrieve the pistol.
It was over.
Mia fought to hang on, pain and blood loss sucking her down. “I held your hand. When you were in medical, I held your hand. I helped you.”
“Then you went and told Frank everything!”
The sirens were getting closer.
“You need to go, Andy. You need to run. They’re almost here.”
“I don’t care.” He took a few steps backward, pistol aimed at her. “When you’re dead, I’m going to put a bullet in my head. You have no idea how hard it was to see this through, to live with this pain every day. I’ve wanted to end it for so long, but I held on so that I could watch you die first.”
BAM!
Meyer howled, fell to the floor, looking in shock toward the doorway.
Joaquin!
He lay on his belly on the landing, pistol raised with one hand. “Stay… down…”
Whether Joaquin was talking to her or Meyer, Mia couldn’t be sure. She rolled off the bed, taking what cover she could, just as Meyer raised his pistol again.
This time it was pointed at Joaquin.
Mia heard herself scream. “No!”
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Meyer fell to the floor and didn’t move.
Mia struggled to her feet, kicked the pistol out of the bastard’s grasp, and picked it up, tucking it into her waistband before hurrying over to Joaquin.
She pulled him onto his back, the physical act making the pain in her chest unbearable. She knelt down, touched his face. He was pale and cold and shaking from shock and blood loss. His parka and T-shirt were soaked with blood, a trail of red leading from the wide-open front door across the living room and up the stairs.
He looked up at her, pain lining his face. “You’re … safe?”
“Yes. I need to get something to stop the bleeding.”
She dashed into the bathroom, grabbed a handful of washcloths, and ran back to kneel beside him, the pain in her chest making her work for every breath. She tore open his shirt, saw a bullet wound in his upper right abdomen, and pressed a folded washcloth against it, applying as much pressure as she could with one hand.
He grimaced, moaned, his jaw tight.
“I’m so sorry, Joaquin. I’m so sorry.”
Worry came over his face. “You’re … hurt. You’re … bleeding.”
Her arm throbbed now, blood dripping out from beneath the sleeve of her parka, staining her hand red. But he was much worse off, blood quickly soaking the washcloth.
She grabbed another, placed it over the first, and pressed harder. “Don’t worry about me. I’m going to take care of you.”
He reached up, cupped her cheek. “I don’t think… it matters—”
“No! Don’t say that.”
She tried to act like she wasn’t scared to death. “You’ll be fine. They’re almost here. Just hang on.”
“You’re … crying.”
She was?
“I’ve never … seen you cry before.”
“I’ve never been afraid that you were fucking dying before!”
His lips quirked in a smile. “You … are incredible.”
“Stay with me, Joaquin.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “Please, stay with me. I love you, Joaquin. I love you. Please don’t leave me.”
Why hadn’t she told him sooner?
He seemed to fight for every word, his brown eyes looking into hers, his love for her shining through his pain. “Te amo, Mia. I love you, too.”
Then his eyes closed again.
“No! Joaquin, please.” But Mia was struggling now, every breath painful.
Darkness coiled around her, tightening its grip on her chest, making her dizzy.
She had to stay conscious, had to stay awake. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be able to maintain pressure, and he would bleed out here outside her bedroom.
“Stay with me… I love you, Joaquin… I love …”
Spots took over her vision, and then there was nothing.
Mia heard herself cry out, gentle hands pulling her from Joaquin and turning her onto her back, pain like a weight on her chest.
“Mia, can you hear me?” A familiar voice spoke to her, hands moving over her. “Shit. Some of this blood is hers. She’s hit. Eight-twenty-five.”
A burst of static. “Eight-twenty-five, go ahead.”
“We need another ambulance. Female victim with GSW to her right arm. It looks like she’s lost a lot of blood. I think she must have a collapsed lung or some kind of chest injury, too. She’s having trouble breathing.”
Someone put pressure on her arm, pain bringing her eyes open.
Julian’s face loomed above her. “I know it hurts, Mia, but I’ve got to slow your bleeding.”
“No. Help … Joaquin.”
“Just rest, Mia. He’s in good hands.”
“Jesus! Did Ramirez drag himself this entire way?” That was Marc.
“It looks like it.” Julian’s voice again. “He took the guy out from here in four shots—one to the pelvis and three to center mass. Her bedroom looks like a war zone.”
“God! That fucker beat the shit out of her.”
“You should see what she did to him.”
She must have passed out again because when she opened her eyes next, she was crying out in pain, EMTs with blue gloves touching fingers to her bare chest.
“There’s no pneumothorax. I think we’re looking at a fractured sternum.”
Motion. Bright lights.
She was cold. So cold.
Snatches of conversation drifted around her.
“It looks like she put up one hell of a fight.”
“We need to make sure her trachea doesn’t swell.”
“They tried to save him, but he was pronounced dead at the ER.”
Joaquin? He was … dead?
Pain filled her, her heart seeming to shatter. She couldn’t find the strength to speak, tears rolling down her temples.
“It sounds like he deserved it. I heard one of the cops saying he’s killed three people, including a brigadier general.”
No, not Joaquin. Andy.
Andy was dead.
Sirens. People rushing. A nurse putting an IV in her arm.
“Mia, we’re going to give you some oxygen and something for pain, okay? Then we’re going to get a CT scan of your chest.”
“Joaquin?” she managed to say.
Then her pain faded along with all awareness.
Mia heard herself moan.
“Mia, you’re in the recovery room. It’s Doctor Aito. We took that slug out of your arm and put your humerus back together with some hardware. We also repaired the damaged nerve. How do you feel?”
“My chest … hurts. My arm … feels like you cut it off.”
“Luckily, we didn’t have to do that. We’ll try to get your pain under control.”
But Mia had to know. “Joaquin. How is Joaquin? Please … tell me.”
“Your friend and the police officer are still in surgery.”
In surgery.
That meant they were both still alive.
Thank God.
Joaquin was alive, but his life was still on the line.
Mia woke to see daylight outside her hospital room window, her thoughts fuzzy from morphine.
“You’re awake.” Isabel, Joaquin’s mother, stood beside her bed, a comforting hand resting on her left arm. “How do you feel?”
“Joaquin—is he…?” Oh, it hurt to breathe, the pain in her chest still sharp.
Isabel smiled, lines of fatigue on her face. “The bullet struck his liver. He made it through surgery. The doctor said they had to give him forty units of blood. They kept him in ICU overnight, but he’s stable now.”
Thank God!
Relief washed over Mia, bringing tears to her eyes. “I was afraid I’d lost him.”
Isabel gave her a tissue. “So was I. I’ve been worried about you, too, hijita. You’re hurt, too. Tell me what about you so I can tell Quino.”
“I have a broken sternum where Andy kicked me, but no heart damage. A bullet broke my arm, but they put it back together. They think I have a concussion, too.”
Isabel stroked her hair. “You poor thing! Can I get you anything?”
Mia shook her head. “I just want to see him.”
“We’ll make that happen soon, but for now, you need to rest.” She patted Mia’s arm. “I can see why my son fell in love with you. You’re very courageous.”
An image of Joaquin lying on his belly at the top of the stairs, pistol raised, flashed into her mind. Bleeding, in pain, and weak, he had dragged himself across the living room and up the stairs to save her.
“I don’t understand why you’re being so kind to me. Joaquin was almost killed trying to keep me safe. He held me back and opened the door and …”
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Mia squeezed her eyes, shut out the memory of gunshots. “He saved my life.”
Isabel took her hand. “The only person to blame is the murdering bastard who shot him, and he’s dead. I’m proud of the man my son has become. If he loves you so much that he is willing to give his life for yours, then I love you, too. You’re a part of our family now.”
Mia found herself blinking back tears again. “Thank you.”
“Elena’s here. She wants to see you. Is that okay?”
“Elena’s here?”
“Most of the family has been here.” Isabel smiled. “They set up a special room for us last night because we were taking up most of the surgery waiting area.”
That made Mia smile, too—and put an ache in her heart. She knew the police department had contacted her parents. Apparently, they’d just set off on a cruise and were somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico. They had sent her flowers and a card, but they hadn’t gotten off the ship and flown back to the US to see her.
“Rest, hijita. We’re just down the hall. I’ll send Elena in.”
Mia caught her hand, stopped her. “Tell Joaquin I love him.”
Isabel gave her fingers a squeeze. “I will, but he knows, Mia. He knows.”
Joaquin sat propped up on pillows and surrounded by friends, drifting in and out, trying to keep up with the conversation, his mind in a morphine haze.
“You’re one hell of a shot, Ramirez,” Hunter said. “You fired one-handed, right?”
“Yeah.” A memory of Meyer raising his pistol and pointing it at Mia cut through the morphine, putting a knot in Joaquin’s stomach. “I was afraid I wouldn’t hit him.”
“You got him—four times,” Darcangelo said.
“I guess shooting at the police range paid off,” Matt added.
Hunter slapped Matt on the back. “You’re welcome anytime, Harker.”
“I heard they just moved Pet
ersen out of ICU. I guess the bullet ripped a hole through his lung. He came close to bleeding out.”
“I’m glad he made it.” Joaquin knew he could tell his friends anything, but the admission he was about to make wasn’t easy. “I know it’s wrong, but when I heard that fucker Meyer was dead, I was glad I was the one who’d killed him.”
“If you’re hoping one of us will tell you that you should feel sorry for that, you’re barking up the wrong tree.” Tessa Darcangelo had a sweet Georgia drawl that made everything she said sound polite. “I’m glad you killed him, too.”
“It was either him or you and Mia,” Kara said. “I’m glad it was him.”
“He killed himself,” Zach McBride stood near the foot of Joaquin’s bed, arm around Natalie’s shoulders. “The moment he murdered that medic, he started down a path that put him in front of your bullet. All you did was pull the trigger.”
“I’m so sorry, Joaquin.” Sophie looked pale and upset. “It must have been terrifying for both of you.”
Joaquin knew that hearing about what had happened to him and Mia couldn’t have been good for Sophie, who had just been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder thanks to the holiday party from hell. “Don’t worry about me. You just take care of yourself.”
She nodded, Hunter’s fingers twining with hers.
“I’m going to be meeting the agencies involved to debrief this investigation,” Reece said. “There was some good police work, but there were some oversights. I need to understand what happened and make sure our state law enforcement agencies are working together the way they’re supposed to.”
“Thanks, man.” Joaquin reached out to fist bump Sheridan.
Cate stepped into the room. “Hey. I thought you might want this.”
She set a copy of the paper on his lap, the words “Deadly Shooting: Disgraced soldier murders two, wounds three in quest for revenge” across the top of the front page.
“Good job, Cate.”
“I’m glad you’re okay.” She gave him a tight smile, clearly still angry. “See you back at work soon.”
Then she turned and left the room.
“Bless her heart. What was that about?” Tessa asked.
“She’s the one who fucked up,” Alex said. “She needs to get over it.”