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But in my last mortal moment, my rage was focused. I was determined to put Morales down, right now.
She said, “I’ve got her, lover. No worries.”
She was talking to her dead psycho boyfriend.
I went for my gun, but before I could get it out of the holster, there was a shot. Mackie yelped. Her hat blew off and she grabbed her right shoulder. But she still held on to her gun.
Who fired that shot?
Then I saw something that made no sense. Cindy was running up 12th Street directly toward us.
She held a gun with one hand straight out in front of her.
Mackie turned, took aim at Cindy, and fired.
I had one chance only, and I took it. My first shot went into Morales’s back. She spun to face me and I fired again, center mass. She jerked, staggered back, and sat down hard. She lifted her gun hand, and aimed.
I fired again, got her right between the eyes.
Morales flopped back flat on the sidewalk, as if someone had cut her puppet strings. Her skirts fanned out. Her gun clattered to the sidewalk. Her hat blew into the gutter.
Julie bawled. I had the awful thought, maybe she’s been bawling since I sent her stroller off the sidewalk.
I screamed, “Cindy, I’m coming.”
I checked to see that Julie wasn’t hurt, then went to my dear, sweet friend. Cindy was sitting on the sidewalk with her back up against a parked car. Blood was soaking through her pale-blue sweater.
She looked up and said to me, “I’m hit, Lindsay.” She sighed. “Damn it. She shot me.”
CHAPTER 108
MY DEAR HUSBAND had heard the gunshots. He had called 911 and then run downstairs. After I told him that I was okay, he took the baby inside, saying he’d be right back.
I sat next to Cindy on the sidewalk. She was pale, and the blood was still spreading across her sweater from what looked like a shoulder wound. I pressed a diaper against the bloodiest place and held it there, hoping she wasn’t bleeding out, that she wouldn’t go into shock.
The waiting was awful.
She looked so damned frail. I wanted to hug her, to hold on to her so that she didn’t slip away. I could hardly stop myself from jumping up and running out into the street to look for the ambulance.
Cindy tried to tell me what the hell she thought she was doing with a gun. But I truly didn’t care.
“You don’t have to explain, Cindy. The bullet you took—that thing was meant for me. If you hadn’t—look. You probably saved my damned life. So, thank you. Thank you very much.”
“Protect my exclusive, okay?”
“Your what? Oh. Of course. Interview me all you want, Cin. I’m exclusively yours. Until the end of time.”
She gave me a wan smile. “That’ll be great.”
I squeezed her hand, and two and a half minutes after Joe’s call, black-and-whites screamed into the street.
Doors slammed. Cops advanced.
I unclipped my badge and held it up. I identified myself to a uniformed cop from where I sat at Cindy’s side.
“Boxer. It’s Nardone. Bob Nardone. You okay?”
Sergeant Nardone asked what had happened, and I kept it simple.
