As I stared up at him, it became harder to breathe.
The room faded around me, and the pain in my chest became a distant ache.
My vision blurred, and then everything went dark.
22
AGENT DAY
The momentmy eyes connected with Fallon’s, I knew something was wrong. I moved toward him, and when he elbowed the guy, my gaze dropped to the weapon in the man’s hand.
“Gun!” I screamed to Bernard as I pulled mine.
Before I could move closer to Fallon, his attacker fired.
Chaos ensued behind me as I squeezed the trigger, a single shot ripping through the air. The round found its mark, slamming into the stranger’s back as he rushed for the side exit to escape. Bernard closed in on the assailant, and I bolted to Fallon’s side.
“Stay with me, Fallon,” I begged.
Blood saturated his pristine white tuxedo shirt. His eyes closed, and my heart raced.Fuck.I tore open his shirt, the buttons clattering across the wood floor, exposing the bullet wound to his chest.
“Talk to me,” Vance said in my earpiece.
I lifted my arm and spoke into the concealed mic in the sleeve of my jacket. “Windstorm’s been shot. Call 9-1-1 and report it to Tanner.”
Reaching into the breast pocket of my jacket, I pulled out a chest seal and ripped it open with my teeth. My combat medic training kicked into gear, knowing in mere minutes, Fallon could bleed out and any air entering his bloodstream could be fatal.
I couldn’t let that happen.
I applied the transparent seal over the oozing wound. It wouldn’t stop the bleeding entirely, but it might save his life. Did the bullet sever an artery, puncture a lung, disrupt a vital organ, or simply pass through? I rolled Fallon onto his side, moving his shirt so I could check his back. I found no exit wound.
Shit!
Bernard was securing the immediate area, and I glanced over to see the attacker was down and not moving. Were there others nearby? Who was that guy, and why did he shoot Fallon? As far as we knew, everything with Finnegan had been taken care of, and that had been the only issue we’d been aware of. The gunman didn’t look like the guy from Atlantic City, but could he be part of Hughes’ crew? Maybe it was another person Finnegan owed money to? Or was it a new threat entirely?
Every passing second weighed heavily on me as I stared down at Fallon. His breathing had slowed tremendously, but a pulse still throbbed faintly beneath my fingertips on his neck. I felt utterly powerless. Even with all my training, there was nothing more I could do except wait for help to arrive.
“Where the fuck is the ambulance?” I barked into my comm.
“I hear them. They’re close,” Vance responded.
“Hang on, Fallon,” I implored. His life hung in the balance, and the weight of that responsibility pressed down like a vise. If he died, I wouldn’t forgive myself.
And what about Rhett? He was one of my best friends. What would he do when he found out something happened to his boyfriend? Any minute, Tanner would send out a message to all agents, and Rhett would want answers.
Answers I prayed wouldn’t be his worst nightmare.
Fuck.
Before I could beat myself up more, I heard the sirens. They were getting closer with each second.
“Help is here, Fallon.” I didn’t know what else to do except talk to him.
Moments later, the paramedics burst into the room like a whirlwind of urgency, their equipment clattering as they rushed toward Fallon. Bernard and Vance exchanged anxious glances with me, and the three of us stepped back to let the experts work.
“What happened?” one of them asked.
I took a step forward and spoke. “GSW to the chest. No exit wound that I could see. Pulse is faint.”
