Page 28 of Lone Wolf

“Third floor,” he shouted. “Unarmed. Woman down. Roll EMS!”

In response, two sets of footsteps pounded up the stairs.

Jayla rattled on the island and he forced her still—“Sorry, I have to just”—his eyes watering, blinking away her blood. He tried to wipe the crimson wash from the slit for visibility. As she sucked for air, the hole closed again and he parted it with his fingers, readied the metal straw.

Shouting from the kitchen doorway: “LAPD! Hands hands. Show me your hands.”

Burly cop, pistol raised, aimed directly at Evan’s chest. Behind him, another patrolman shouldered to the jamb, service weapon drawn as well, shiny nameplate reading JEONG.

Evan hesitated, the straw hovering above Jayla’s throat. “I can’t.”

Jeong now: “Back off her!”

“I’m the one who called 911,” Evan said.

Burly cop: “Back the fuck off and step away.”

They were bulked up in full patrol gear—5.11 Taclite gloves, Blackhawk flex-cap knee pads, military-grade tactical belt laden with pouches. Flushed faces, adrenaline revving, fingers inside the trigger guards. The standard-issue Smith & Wesson M&P 2.0s in 9 mm had a 5.5 pound trigger pull.

Not a comforting fact at the moment.

Evan looked up at them and put a full measure of calm into his voice. “If I don’t get this straw into her windpipe, she’ll die.”

“Hands now! Hands!”

A rising heat from Jayla’s gaze. A purple splotch of petechial hemorrhage in her right eye, her lips bluing, her gaze going glassy.

“I’m going to do this,” Evan said. “Please don’t shoot me.”

He leaned over, widened the incision once more, and slid the straw in. Though he clamped it at the base to firm it, it still bobbed grotesquely, giving off a whistle.

“Okay,” he told her. “Breathe slow. Breathe slow. You have enough air now. You just have to catch up to it.”

His hand was drenched red and his sweat-dampened shirt clung to him. He kept his eyes on Jayla’s, holding her forehead gently with one hand and the straw in place with his other. Mimicking deep steady inhalations and exhalations until her breathing matched his. Life creeped back into her cheeks, her face.

The cops remained frozen in the doorway.

“Come here,” Evan said to the burly one. “Take this.”

The burly guy lumbered forward, holstering his pistol. But instead of moving to Evan’s side, he grabbed his arm to cuff him, yanking him back. Jayla sputtered and folded upward, the straw clattering to the floor.

Evan stomped the cop’s boot, elbowed him in the gut, slammed him into the refrigerator. The cop coughed and came upright, drawing once more and aiming at Evan’s chest. Evan stepped off line, knocked the pistol aside with a left-hand kenpo parry, and poked him in the eyes with his right hand. He finished the spin, slamming his back into the cop, banging them both into the refrigerator as he peeled the gun free. Clenching the gun around the barrel, he drew his arm back, ready to smash it into the cop’s face.

He barked, “I’m UC, Robbery-Homicide. Help me help her.”

The cop staggered and sank to the floor. Evan grabbed the straw off the floor, steadied Jayla once more, and reinserted it. The cop strained to grab Evan’s leg, tugging him away from the butcher block. Evan kept the straw steady and kicked his foot free.

Jeong hadn’t moved from the doorway. He was aiming at Evan but Jayla was between them and his partner was in the kill zone and he stared at the tableau with confusion, trying to piece together what the hell was going on.

Behind Evan on the tile the burly cop coughed and groaned, reaching for Evan again. “There’s no time for this,” Evan said. Holding the straw in place with one hand, Evan placed the gun on the butcher block, crouched, and yanked him to his feet. “Hold here,” Evan told him. “And here. Steady.”

The big guy was breathing hard, nostrils flaring. He had a choice between his service weapon and the metal straw. He chose the straw, firming it in place. As Evan drew back, Jayla’s eyes darted about, panicked.

“I have to go,” he told her. “You’re safe now. They have you.” She tried to shake her head but he said, “Don’t move. You’re okay.”

Jeong had lowered his weapon but not holstered it. “Show me badge and creds. I have to frisk you.”

Evan wiped his bloody hand on his cargo pants as he breezed past Jeong onto the catwalk. “Is EMS dispatched?”