your emergency?” a tinny voice echoed in her ringing ear.
Tina scrambled under the truck, counting pairs of feet moving through the lot toward the building. Four. Good. The rest were safe and together now.
“Ma’am? What’s your emergency?” the voice repeated.
The world snapped back into focus then, the tragedy becoming unbearably clear. “There’s a gunman at Mountain Medical Plaza.” The words fell clumsily off her tongue, a line memorized for a play. Impossible to be real. “One man is down. I don’t know.” She stared at Steven’s motionless form. “He’s not moving. I don’t know where he was hit. There’s so much blood.”
“Where’s the shooter now?”
“I’m not sure. He stopped, I think.” Tina willed her mind into focus. Her group needed her. Steven needed her.
“Are you somewhere safe now, ma’am? Is there somewhere you can find shelter until emergency responders arrive?”
Her office door seemed miles away, but two group members were already there, crouched against the wall, and two others were steps away. She could help them. Get them inside.
Screaming tires drew her attention across the lot. A faded red pickup truck roared recklessly in the distance and fishtailed onto the county road beyond, barreling away like the devil was chasing it.
Tina pulled in a long gulp of oxygen to clear her brain. “I think the shooter is gone now. There was only one shot. Maybe two minutes ago. And someone’s racing away in a pickup.” She forced herself from beneath the truck and onto her knees, crawling over the broken glass to Steven’s side. “A man’s been shot. He’s not moving.” She stared at his motionless chest. “Not breathing.” Tina pressed shaky fingers to his neck in search of a pulse that didn’t beat, then tried again. “No, no, no, no.” She set the phone on the ground at Steven’s side, pressed the speaker option, then laced her fingers against his chest and said a silent prayer. Tina filled his lungs and pumped his heart for him until her arms shook uncontrollably from terror, grief and effort. “He’s not breathing,” she cried. “His heart isn’t beating. CPR isn’t working.”
Behind her, the group bellowed for her to come to them. Above her, the thunder rolled.
Tina grabbed her phone and pushed onto her feet. In a torrent of desperation, she forced herself away from Steven. A round of ugly sobs pressed through her tightened lips as she hurried back to the group collecting outside her office once more. She wiped her hands on her shirt, smearing it with blood, then jammed her key into the lock and ushered the others inside. “One man is dead,” she reported to the woman on the phone. “The rest of us are...” Are what? Fine? None of them were fine. A man had just been murdered in front of their eyes. “No one else was physically injured.”
She wiped her eyes and nose, fighting the wave of panic determined to lay her in a useless ball. How many times had she called 911 as a kid? How many times had her drunken father taken his frustrations out on a mother too depressed to get out of bed? Broken limbs and noses. Cuts and bruises. Nothing like this. Never like this, and yet she’d felt exactly this way. Desperate. Afraid. And guilty. Always guilty. “I’m so sorry,” she wept. “So very sorry.”
The soft cry of an approaching ambulance registered in the distance, refueling her hope and drive. “I hear them now,” she told the dispatch operator. “Help is almost here.” She made the second announcement more loudly, aiming her words at the terrified group before her.
Tina slid her suit jacket from her shoulders. “You will survive this,” she told them, falling back on her training. “Understand?” They stared in variations of shock, anguish and despair. “You are survivors.” She forced the words from between clenched teeth, as much for her own benefit as theirs. “Help is almost here now. You’re going to be okay.”
Except Steven. Steven would never again be okay.
When she could find no more words, she carried her jacket through the raging storm and placed it over Steven. Fresh out of faux strength, Tina fell onto her bottom beside him, cell phone in hand, and bawled. What was wrong with this world?
* * *
CADE COUNTY SHERIFF West Garrett pressed a wide-brimmed hat over his head and levered himself out of the cruiser. A carousel of red-and-white lights illuminated the gruesome scene at a local counseling practice. Blood and glass covered the lot beside a newer model pickup truck. EMTs spoke with a cluster of people near one building.
A man lay motionless and partially covered by a tiny, bloodstained woman’s coat. This must have been the fatality Dispatch had announced. Presumably, the coat belonged to the woman curled up at the man’s side. Her arms were wrapped around her knees and her face was buried in the material of her ruined suit pants. Only the top of her blond head was visible, and it was shaking with each new sob she released.
West made his way, slowly, toward the woman.
The coroner dropped a black bag on the ground opposite the deceased.
“Ma’am?” West tugged the material of his pants and crouched beside her. “I’m Sheriff West Garrett. I’m afraid I need to ask you a few questions.”
The woman stilled. Her sobs ceased.
West rested his forearms on his thighs, allowing his hands to dangle between his knees. Rain dripped from the brim of his sheriff’s hat and the sleeves of his slicker. “Are you hurt, ma’am?”
She slowly raised her tearstained face, catching his gaze in hers. “No.”
“Tina.” His heart clenched and his gut fisted at the sight of her after all these years, her clothes smeared in blood.
“Hi, West,” she croaked. Her rain-soaked hair hung in clumps over her shaking shoulders.
The sound of his name on her tongue was a painful slap of nostalgia. “Hi.” West struggled to make her presence at the crime scene something other than ludicrous. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s my practice.”
West rubbed a rough hand over his mouth. He’d heard she worked at the medical center but had refused the details. This wasn’t the same girl who’d stolen his teenage heart and eventually destroyed it. That girl had left Cade County long ago. This was someone else. Someone he no longer knew. He pulled in a long breath and refocused on the job. He gave her a more critical exam. “Is any of this blood yours?”
“No.” Tina pushed onto her feet with a whimper and wrapped trembling arms around her middle. “I’m not hurt. I want to help.”
He stood, as well. “All right. You can start by telling me what happened.” He motioned to a section of the sidewalk covered with an awning. “Let’s step out of the storm.”
She complied, shuffling toward the building, peeling clumps of sopping hair off her cheeks and forehead. “We were leaving the building. It was just after eight, and there was a shadow on the roof.” She stopped short and swallowed several times.
“We?”
“I have a weekly support group for PTSD and emotional trauma survivors.” She rolled her shoulders forward and squelched a sob. “Steven saw the figure on the roof. He told us to get down. He tried to get to me.” She pressed
