Page 55 of Property of Whiskey

Bullet lays her across the rear bench with one blanket folded under her and another pulled over her legs. He checks the blood soaking through her side.

“Need pressure.”

I reach inside for the first-aid kit.

Twila follows a step.

I turn toward her. “Stay.”

“Did you just tell me to stay like a dog?”

“Was trying not to say sit.”

“You’re gonna need dental work when these cuffs come off.”

“There’s Twister.”

“Fuck you.”

Under different circumstances I’d have an answer for that. Not with Kaylee bleeding three feet away. I climb halfway into the van instead.

“Kaylee.”

Her eyes are glassy.

“Stay with me.”

Bullet presses gauze against her side. Blood stains through. Not pumping. Thank fuck.

Still too much.

“We need somebody,” he says quietly.

“Not county.”

“I know.”

Twila hears him from outside the doors. “What does that mean?”

I look back. “Means we ain’t calling your department.”

“You don’t have that choice.”

“Yeah. We do.”

“You have a missing woman in your custody.”

“And now I got a deputy too.”

The words leave my mouth before the smarter half of my brain can tackle them.

Bullet’s head turns slowly.

Twila stops moving.

For about two seconds, nobody says shit.

Then Bullet looks at me.