Page 11 of The Deadly Shallows

“Take her to the ER and then stay,” Noah said. “I need you to be point at the hospital.” Needed him to track everything happening there and to speak with the victims as they were able. It sounded cold to bother them at the hospital, but talking with them as soon after an incident as possible often provided the most accurate details.

“I’m going to apply a tourniquet to try to slow the bleeding,” Leo said, pulling Noah’s attention back to the paramedic. “I’ll get a better look and get it cleaned up in-flight,” Leo said, setting to work.

Rissi approached. “How you doing, boss?”

“Hanging in,” he said. Keep your focus on the case, not the injury. It’s a bullet wound. Not your first. “How many shooters did there end up being?”

“Six,” Rissi said, “including the two you shot out here.”

“I didn’t shoot the one who laid down his weapon,” Noah said.

Rissi’s eyes narrowed. “One surrendered?”

“Yeah. The one who’s on the Medevac with Brooke.” Copter blades whirred outside, along with the wailing of more arriving ambulances.

“If you didn’t shoot him, who did?” Caleb said. “I was with Austin and Molly once we cleared the hall.”

“Mason and I were in the rear stairwell and hallway. Finn and Logan were holding the rear,” Rissi said.

Noah frowned. “I have no idea. Did we miss a shooter?”

“No.” Mason shook his head. “The building was swept by us and then confirmed clear by Deacon and his team.”

“Time to go,” Leo said. And before Noah could blink, they were moving toward the doors.

“Rissi,” he called back.

“Yes?” She jogged to his side.

“You’re point here.” She and the rest of his team would do a fantastic job regardless of his presence, but frustration anchored deep inside at being sidelined.

“Yes, sir,” Rissi said, as Leo loaded him into the ambulance.

“I want regular updates,” he called before the rear doors shut.

“You got it!” she hollered a nanosecond before the sirens blared, and they pulled away from the chaos, though he anticipated just as much at the hospital about to be flooded with victims.

EIGHT

Zeke took a quick glance from the pilot seat back at Brooke working hard at the shooter’s side. “Five minutes out,” he said.

“Roger that.” Brooke relayed their ETA to Wilmington General, along with the kid’s critical status. Shock had surged through her when she’d removed his ski mask for treatment and saw how young he was.

She’d managed to slow the bleeding from the gunshot wound to his back, but listening to his lungs, she knew his right had collapsed, resulting in tension pneumothorax. She had no choice but to perform needle decompression to release the trapped air in the pleural space, or he’d likely die before reaching the hospital’s helipad. No wonder he’d been gurgling on-site.

The shooter lulled in and out of a hazy consciousness. So much death and destruction caused by one so young.

Had he been the one who shot Noah? There’d been two shooters in the lobby. Either could have been the one to pull the trigger on the man she loved. Her thoughts shifted back to Noah.

Please, Father, she started in prayer as wind rattled the bird. Please let Noah be okay. Please don’t let it be his femoral artery again. It had recently been sliced in the line of duty. If it was compromised again . . .

She cut off the thought and continued her fractured prayer. Please be with Molly. Tears burned her eyes. Please be with everyone harmed by today’s tragedy, whether physically injured or not.

Questions rumbled through her mind. Why the graduation? Why them?

She looked back at the shooter. He was staring at her, eyes filled with defiant fear.

Hovering above Wilmington General’s helipad, she spotted Dr. Kent and his jump team awaiting them.