by V. K. Powell
As she started inside, one of the EMTs called, “Dr. Carlyle, would you ride with us? This is my first week, and I could use a second pair of eyes and hands. This guy’s pulse just bottomed out and his breathing is extremely shallow.”
“Sure.” She started toward the second ambulance, but Finley, who was running alongside Hank’s stretcher, hooked Dylan’s arm and pulled her toward the other ambulance.
“Come with us. Hank needs your help…I need you.”
Finley’s eyes showed panic and the same discomfort Dylan had noticed last night when she’d asked for Dylan’s assistance. Hank was important to Finley, and Dylan wanted to say yes, but the rules of triage were clear and existed for a reason. Dylan’s duty to her patients had to come first. She clasped Finley’s hand and answered with all the confidence and concern she could muster. “Hank will be okay. I have to go with the other victim.” The look Finley gave her said she’d committed an unforgivable sin.
* * *
Finley climbed into the first ambulance and called back to Dylan, her throat tight with fear and anger. “Can you at least make sure Robin is okay until I make other arrangements? His mom is visiting her mother in California.”
“Of course. And, Finley, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” Finley shrugged away when Dylan reached out. She took care of herself and everyone else, but she’d made the mistake of asking Dylan for help. That wouldn’t happen again. She prayed Hank wouldn’t need it on the ride to the hospital. She settled in beside him, and the driver sped away with lights and sirens rolling.
“Here, clean yourself up.” The EMT absently passed her hand sanitizer and wipes while monitoring Hank’s condition. “Don’t want to scare the nurses.”
Finley’s arms were sticky with blood up to her elbows, her uniform soaked. The whole box of wipes wouldn’t clean up the mess, but she focused on the deliberate, mundane task as the adrenaline ebbed and her pulse slowed. She’d been blindsided, laughing and joking with Hank and Robin one second, in a shit storm the next. She’d violated a basic police rule—always be aware of your surroundings—and Hank paid the price.
The bad guys had surprised them, and everyone was lucky more people weren’t injured or killed. She’d responded quickly when someone shouted gun, but she was already seconds behind the shooters. She hadn’t even gotten off a round because other officers and civilians stood between her and the suspects. She shuddered. If she lost her best friend, made Becky a widow and Robin fatherless, she’d never forgive herself.
The ambulance slammed to a stop in the ER bay, and Finley bailed out with the EMT and ran beside the stretcher into the ER. Hank was pale, his eyes closed. She leaned down and whispered, “You’re going to be fine. You have to be.”
“Give us room, Officer.” A doctor elbowed her aside. “We’ll take it from here.”
“But I need—” What did she need? To be with Hank in case he…she couldn’t even think the die word.
“Fin.” Nurse Anita, her friend with benefits, put a hand on her arm, but Finley resisted.
“I want to be in there with him, in case he needs me.”
“Finley, there’s nothing you can do.” Anita eased her toward a consult room and closed the door. “Are you hurt? You’re covered in blood.”
Finley shook her head.
“Look at me, Fin. Your friend is going to be okay. You got him here in time.”
She protected people and kept them safe, but she’d failed, and Hank was paying for it. The adrenaline effects faded, and Finley slumped in a chair, feeling jittery. When it mattered most, when it was personal, she’d let Hank down. The thought that he might die or be permanently handicapped terrified her.
“Is there anything I can get you, babe?” Anita asked. “I really need to get back out there.”
Anita stroked her arm, but Finley stared straight ahead, refusing comfort. “Just let me know how he’s doing.”
When Anita left, Finley wrapped her arms around herself and rocked while the scene and her failure played over and over in her head. “Be aware of your surroundings. Expect the unexpected. Ever vigilant. Never lose focus. Always watch the hands.” She’d failed Hank, Becky, Robin, her bosses, and her fellow officers. She stifled a sob, and her father’s voice sounded in her head. “Get off your ass and do something.”
Chapter Five
Dylan followed the stretcher carrying the shooter into the ER and ahead, saw Finley trail behind the EMTs with Hank. Finley’s body practically pulsed with the combination of fear, anger, and adrenaline that were keeping her going, but Dylan could tell she was headed for a crash.
“Unconscious GSW?” An older doctor Dylan recognized from her residency came toward her. “Any change in his condition?”
“Yes and no.” She gave him a quick rundown. “Do you want me to assist?”
“Type and cross times two,” he yelled to a nurse. “I’ll take it from here, Dylan, but if you would, run interference with the police. One of theirs is injured, and you know cops.”
“Not really,” she muttered. She’d lived with cops all her life but never understood why they jumped in front of guns and knives to protect strangers without regard for their own safety or the consequences to their families. “I’ll do my best.” When it came to protecting their own, cops were dogmatic, and Dylan wasn’t anxious to stick her head further into their business, especially when she was still so unsettled.
She walked toward the consulting room where she’d seen Anita take Finley but instead veered toward the locker room. Her workplace felt different when people she knew were patients. She needed a few minutes to wrap her mind around the difference and clean up before facing them again. Consoling families and friends never got easier, and they certainly didn’t need to see her covered in their loved one’s blood. She peeled off her blood-spattered blouse and tossed it in the hazardous materials trash bin. She knew several ways to remove blood from clothing, but she’d never be able to wear the blouse again. She showered quickly and put on a fresh pair of scrubs. Before heading back to the ER, she stopped at the desk to check on both patients.
In the few minutes she’d been away, the ER waiting area and adjoining consult rooms had filled with police officers, plainclothes and uniform. She recognized uniforms of the Greensboro, High Point, Winston-Salem, and Burlington departments, along with members of the SBI, FBI, and sheriff’s department. They huddled in small groups, some paired off talking quietly in corners, and others stood alone. She felt their fear and helplessness like another presence in the crowded space.
Dylan spotted Bennett’s tall frame in the center of a group of officers, waved to get her attention, and nodded toward the consulting room she’d seen Finley enter earlier. When Bennett joined her, Dylan pushed on the door, but officers were packed inside so tightly, it wouldn’t open. She placed both hands against the door to try again, but Bennett shook her head.
“Will you wait a minute, please?”
“Why?”
Bennett stepped in front of Dylan so she’d have to look at her. “I need to know my baby sister is okay.” When Dylan didn’t answer immediately, Bennett asked, “Are you…okay? I know this is hard and I’m sorry they sent you to deal with us. Cops are a handful at the best of times.”
“Don’t I know it.” Dylan suppressed her case of nerves and bad memories. “I’m fine, Ben. I went into medicine to help people who’ve suffered and lost, the way we have.”
“Just remember I’m here if you need me.”
Big sister to the rescue. As much as Dylan argued for her independence and wanted to take Jazz’s turn in the cottage out back for some separation, family was her strength and foundation. “Thanks, but I’m okay.” The tangles in her stomach released a little at the concerned look in Bennett’s eyes. “How are things at the station?”
“Shea is pretty torn up. Poor kid blames herself for the whole thing. Robin is worried about his dad. Emory is distracting them with games and story time.”<
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“Hopefully, Emory can help them understand.” Dylan took a deep breath and nodded toward the door. “Let’s do this.” She saw Bennett stand a little taller and shift from big sister to police captain mode.
Bennett shouldered her way into the room and waved for silence. “Guys, we’ve located the suspect vehicle abandoned at Four Seasons Mall. CSI is processing it now. The other shooter is still at large and could’ve stolen another vehicle or be on foot in the area. Stay sharp when you get back in the field and keep your cool. We’ll catch this guy, but we need to do it by the numbers.” After a round of muted agreement from the troops, Bennett motioned to Dylan. “Dr. Carlyle can give us an update on Hank.”
She swallowed hard. Everyone looked at her like she had a magic pellet to make this all go away. If only. “Officer Hinson suffered a gunshot that nicked his right femoral artery. Fortunately, we got him here in time. He’s going to surgery shortly and will be in recovery after. His prognosis is good, barring unforeseen complications, but it’ll be a while before he can have visitors.”
The officers fired questions, but Bennett shook her head. “That’s all we know right now, guys. Give us the room. If you’re on duty, get back to it. I’ll update Communications Center when I have something new. If you’re here for support, keep the hallway clear so the staff can do their jobs.”
The officers filed out, leaving Dylan, Bennett, and Finley Masters. Finley stood alone in the center of the room—pale, blue eyes wide, gaze locked on the floor, and sweating in her black uniform pants and sleeveless T-shirt—a total contrast to her usual cocky arrogance. The vulnerable sight tugged at Dylan’s heart, bringing out the nurturer in her. Finley’s bloodied uniform shirt and utility belt rested in a heap on the floor beside a chair. Dylan guided Finley toward the chair, concerned she might be in shock. “How do you feel?”
“Fine.” Finley shrugged her off. “I’m not the one with the problem.”
“You’re sweating and—”
“The room was packed with cops and hot as hell. Of course, I’m sweating,” she snapped, sharp and loud.
“Steady, Fin,” Bennett said. “Dylan is just trying to help.”
“Like she did in the field leaving Hank to bleed out?” Finley glared at her, and Dylan felt her fear and frustration like a wall between them.
She tamped down the urge to defend her actions and motioned for Finley to take a seat beside her on the sofa. She was hurting, and Dylan wanted to comfort her. “You’re upset about Hank, and I’m so sorry he was hurt. One day when things aren’t so chaotic, if you want, I’ll explain triage, but right now, let’s focus on what’s going on with you.”
Dylan reached for Finley’s hand and again she pulled away. “I need to make sure you’re okay…” Stubborn cops. Never admitted they needed anything or anyone. She tried another tack. “If you don’t get medical clearance, you can’t go back to work.” She glanced to Bennett for support.
“You’ve been through a lot tonight, Fin. Let Dylan check you out.”
Finley finally sat, and Dylan pressed her fingers against the pulse point at her wrist. Strong and regular. Good. Her skin was warm and dry to the touch. She cupped Finley’s chin and forced eye contact. Energy vibrated between them, and Dylan gulped for air. “I’m going to check your pupillary response.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“You hit the ground pretty hard. I’m being cautious.” Finley stared at her, and Dylan momentarily lost concentration and focused on the silver necklace around Finley’s neck instead. Dog-tag shaped locket with a tree engraved on the front. Was there a picture inside? She took another breath, regained her composure, and pulled the penlight from her scrubs pocket. She flashed it in Finley’s eyes, satisfied with their response. “You seem okay.” But Finley still looked shaken, and Dylan didn’t want to leave her. “Hank was lucky you were there.”
Finley scoffed and scooted away from her on the sofa. “Right, because I kept him from getting shot? Kept Robin from a life of nightmares? Or because I caught the suspects?”
Dylan flinched at the anger and hurt in Finley’s voice but kept her tone even, reassuring. “Because you pushed him and Robin out of the line of fire. His injury could’ve been worse or Robin could’ve been hurt. And you immediately applied pressure and helped us stabilize Hank.”
“I did?” Finley’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “I did.” She sounded almost wistful as she glanced at Dylan. “You did too. Sorry for earlier.”
“No problem. It was chaotic. Is his family here yet?”
Finley jumped up. “Oh, God, I forgot. Becky.”
“I called her,” Bennett said. Dylan had almost forgotten her sister was in the room, watching quietly close by. “Becky is in California with her mother, and they’re catching the next available flight. She asked if you’d take Robin overnight since Hank doesn’t have any immediate family.”
“Yeah, sure. He’s been to my place. It’s familiar.”
Bennett turned to Dylan. “And the suspect? What’s his condition?”
“Gunshot wounds to the shoulder and head. The one to the shoulder isn’t problematic. The fact that he’s still unconscious is. He’s in X-ray to determine the path of the bullet to the head and see if there are any bone or bullet fragments in the skull we need to be concerned about. We’ll have to wait and see.” She stood and touched Bennett’s arm, needing to feel the physical connection to family.
“Are you heading home now?” Bennett asked Dylan.
“I don’t feel comfortable leaving yet.” She glanced toward Finley and then realized Bennett would attach significance to that look, but she wasn’t sticking around because of Finley. “I won’t be much longer…unlike you, Captain. I’m sure you have details to attend to before you call it a day. I’ll keep you posted on the officer’s condition.” She kissed Bennett’s cheek and looked at Finley one last time. “Let me know if you or Hank’s family needs anything.”
* * *
Finley waited until Dylan left before addressing Captain Carlyle. “Ma’am, I’m sorry for giving her a hard time. It’s just—”
“Been an emotional day. I hope you don’t have any hard feelings toward Dylan about how she handled the shooting victims earlier. She’s a good doctor, just doing her job. Was that the cause of the tension between you?”
Finley couldn’t tell the captain about her first encounter with Dylan so she skirted the question. “I was off base tonight. I’ll apologize again next time I see her.” Bennett Carlyle and Jazz Perry were revered, practically legends at Fairview Station, and they’d probably hate the idea of her even thinking about their sister.
“You’re a cop. None of us likes hospitals or feeling helpless. I sometimes wonder whether we’re born with those feelings or if they become ingrained through the job.” She studied Finley for several seconds before adding, “Are you all right being our liaison with Hank’s family or would you prefer I assign someone else?”
“I’m good, but I’d like…” Finley forced her shoulders back and met Bennett’s gaze, her brown eyes so much like Dylan’s that Finley did a double take. She’d been short and rude to Dylan, so Bennett might not be receptive to her request, but Finley had to try. “Captain, I’d like to be on the team investigating the shooting.”
“I appreciate the offer, but you know how this works, Fin. CID handles the criminal case, and IA conducts the officer involved shootings. It’s protocol.”
“But I didn’t fire my weapon.” Finley wiped her sweaty face on the tail of her T-shirt.
“It’s not a good idea,” Bennett said. “You’re close friends with Hank and his family. He was your training coach, for God’s sake. That’s a bond that lasts forever.”
Securing a position on the team was a tough sell, but she gave it everything she had. “Aren’t we all family? Detectives are seldom on scene at the time of an offense, but they’re still invested in catching the suspect. We’re all willing to do whatever it takes. I have to do this, boss. I o
we it to Hank. I can be objective, just like any other officer working the case.”
Bennett shook her head. “The CID sergeant assigns detectives to his cases. If he asks for patrol assistance, I’ll consider putting your name forward. You’ll be busy with Hank and the family for a while. It’s handholding, not the fieldwork you want—”
“But it’s important they know we’re here for them. I get that, ma’am, and I won’t let them or you down.” Whether she was part of the investigation or not, she’d find a way to contribute, but she still wanted just a hint of legitimacy for her efforts. “You won’t mind if I ask some questions, check with informants, that kind of stuff, right?”
“I expect that from everyone.” Bennett’s phone pinged and she glanced down. “Emory and Jazz are bringing Robin over.” Finley stared at her boots, and Bennett added, “Don’t blame yourself for any of this, Fin. You did all you could, more than most. Take a break and get something to eat and drink before you come back. Robin will need your strength.” When Finley started to object, she added, “That’s an order.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Finley retrieved her shirt and utility belt from the floor, threw them over her shoulder, and left the consulting room. She headed mechanically toward the canteen, more concerned about Hank’s condition than eating. As soon as she was sure Hank was okay and Robin had his mother back, she needed to find the second suspect. At the end of the hallway, she turned toward the canteen, but a muffled cry drew her in the opposite direction.