Page 88 of All I Need (Hearts of the South)
He hated it.
The radio blipped, their dispatcher calling for available units to respond to an automobile accident a few miles from their location. Walker accelerated before Emmett even reached for the radio.
Troy Lee responded right after Emmett. “C-13, C-2-A en route also, Chandler.”
The centralized 911 channel flared with traffic, Clark and Jim confirming they were in transit from the northern end of the county.
Walker swooped through the curves and hills that made up the rural highway. Within minutes, he turned onto County Line Road, Troy Lee’s Charger close behind him. As they topped the first hill, the accident scene came into view. Black smoke poured skyward, and flames leaped high from the car angled into the ditch.
“Son of a bitch,” Walker whispered. He maneuvered the car to block one lane, Troy Lee doing the same with the other lane, leaving room for the volunteer-fire-department trucks as the firefighters called in estimated arrival times. “Hope no one’s still in that.”
Emmett exited the car, his attention zeroed in on the details of the scene. The blaze licked at the branches above the car, the fire roaring and wood popping and spitting. The acrid smell of burning rubber and charring metal assaulted his nostrils. The cadence of the running feet behind him belonged to Troy Lee, and Bennett’s voice came from the rear of Troy Lee’s car. The rumble of an ambulance engine competed with the growl of the fire.
He stopped short, mere yards from the ditch.
No debris littered the grass—no glass, no plastic, no metal.
His gaze jerked to the trees in front of the car. No impact mark on the bark.
Troy Lee hissed in a breath right behind him. “No skid marks.”
Instincts fired to life, and Emmett spun, stabbing a hand toward their units and the emergency vehicles. “Get back. Get down.”
The round hit between his shoulder blades with the force of a ball-peen hammer and pitched him forward. The rifle report cracked, audible over the fire and Troy Lee’s shouts to take cover.
Instinct screamed that if he fell, he was dead. Somehow he stayed on his feet. He zigzagged, trying to close the distance to Troy Lee’s Charger, nearer than his and Walker’s unit.
The same hammer-like blow nailed him right below the ribs. Another report. His own breathing loud in his ears, he scrambled behind the Charger’s hood. He put his back to the wheel. His chest heaved. Pain pulsed in his back. He didn’t feel anything wet trickling down his spine, so maybe the vest had held.
A third snap. The temporary safety provided by the wheel gave him an opportunity to assess the scene. Bennett rested against the rear wheel in a similar posture. Emmett couldn’t see behind the ambulance, but he assumed Troy Lee and the others also employed vehicle wheels as shields. At the highway turnoff, fire trucks stopped, red lights sparking in the bright fall sunlight. They didn’t approach but remained at a standstill.
His auditory processing finally returned, although his heartbeat seemed too loud and he could feel it thudding in his throat. The fire roared and his pulse pounded in his ears, but he could hear Troy Lee, not shouting but voice raised, rattling off information. He fumbled his handheld to the department’s encrypted tactical channel. A fourth gunshot, followed closely by a fifth, rang out.
“He’s above us.” Bennett gestured toward the top of the car.
“Yeah.” It made sense—the highest point in the county lay in the hills up the road. The bastard could see them as well as any backup responding from Highway 112. Sure enough, the radio exploded with Troy Lee’s rapid voice.
“Shooter appears to be west of us, within a quarter of a mile.”
Emmett pulled in a deep breath and regretted it as pain seized his lungs and surrounding muscles.Fuck. He wasn’t going to sit with his back to the threat. He and Bennett had the best vantage point, with the ambulance blocking Walker’s view. In the tightest movement he could manage, Emmett rolled to a forward-facing crouch, still covered by the wheel well. His shoes scraping on asphalt seemed preternaturally loud. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Bennett making the same move.
The gunshots had come from the west. He peered over the trunk. Damn, he wished he had a mirror. He swept a quick glance across rolling hills, cows gathered by a stream bisecting a field, the cell tower rising over the pasture, and the road undulating beyond them. Maybe there—a distant tree line between the pastures and a small residential area. He squinted, watching the trees. Binoculars would be a dream right now.
A flash glimmered for a second among the darkness of the trees. The light bar exploded above them, showering down shards of glass and plastic. Emmett ducked and met Bennett’s tense gaze, then lifted his radio mike. “He’s in the tree line along Rodney Hatcher’s land, about a hundred yards west of the cell tower. I don’t know how anybody’s going to get to him without him knowing.”
Now, all they could do was wait.
* * * * *
“How am I supposed to word this?” Heavy brows drawn together into a frown, Investigator Cook settled onto the spare rolling stool behind the counter and frowned at his phone. “Complainant alleges physical attack by demonic entity. Physical exam reveals no injuries. Possible untreated mental illness. No arrest.”
Scratching notes on the chart, Savannah half-listened to him. Tick Calvert was in exam two with Layla, taking the statement from a home-invasion victim. Savannah figured Cook had the easy one.
She finished annotating the chart with directions and set it aside. “We’ll put her on a seventy-two-hour hold, but transfer her to Phoebe once they confirm they have room on their psych floor. They’re better equipped than we are for this type of case.”
Maybe sooner or later, an ambulance would free up for that too. The day had been insane. She was sure neither ambulance team had quit running all day. They were still waiting for word on possible injuries from a reported vehicle accident in the north end of the county.
Exam two’s door opened and closed harder than it should, the thud reverberating through the common area. Savannah opened her mouth to correct Calvert, but the words died at the tense urgency on his face.
