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He crawled over to where Xavier was still doing chest compressions. “Call 911,” Gabe called over his shoulder.
“Oh no,” Molly said as she and Burke rushed over to join them.
“What the—?” Cardozo started to ask. “Fuck. Get an ambulance for Mrs. Nelson.”
“Can you do mouth-to-mouth?” Gabe asked Xavier, hearing one of the cops calling it in on his radio. “I wasn’t trained for that, but I can do the compressions.”
Which he’d already done once that evening.
“I can,” Xavier said, putting the older woman’s head into position, and Gabe remembered that the young man had worked as a lifeguard to put himself through college.
Molly began to count off and the three of them coordinated the CPR. Gabe lost track of time, barely aware of the older man who’d dropped to his knees beside them, wringing his hands as he watched.
“Lorraine,” he called pitifully. “Lorraine, baby, don’t leave me.”
Her husband, Gabe realized, but couldn’t remember the man’s name. He only remembered that this was the man who was trying to make Ducote a senator.
Burke gently urged the husband out of the way. “Let them work, Mr. Nelson.”
Finally, one of the cops crouched next to Gabe and put a hand on his shoulder. “You can stop. EMTs are here.”
Gabe looked up to see two paramedics park bicycles on the street corner and rush up with their equipment. Exhausted, he fell back on his ass, unable to stand. He shuffled back a few feet, careful not to come too close to Ducote’s body.
Or to Officer McCauley’s. That loss would sink in soon. The man had died protecting them.
Gabe looked around, stunned and feeling... surreal. The crowd that had been pushing and screaming now gathered behind crime scene tape. When had the cops strung that?
Every single person had their phone out, or so it seemed. And he was too tired to even care.
He watched, detached, as one of the paramedics gave Mrs. Nelson an oxygen mask and, to his extreme relief, her chest was finally rising and falling on its own.
Gabe’s gaze sought out the one person who mattered. Molly collapsed beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Hey there,” she murmured. “You okay?”
“I have no idea,” he said truthfully.
“I know what you mean. I wonder if anyone would mind if we stay here for the next week.”
“I didn’t want to sleep on Burke’s grass. I really don’t want to sleep here.”
“Then I guess we need to get out of here.” Lifting her head, she first stared at McCauley’s body, then, swallowing hard, turned and pointed to where Xavier stood, talking to one of the paramedics. “Xavier did good.”
“He did,” Gabe said, pride surfacing from his shock. “Just tuned out all of the drama to save that woman’s life.”
“You didn’t do so bad yourself, throwing yourself over Ducote’s legs like that. I didn’t think I could hold him down much longer. You’re a hero. You sure you don’t want to be a PI?”
Gabe shuddered. “No. I’ll leave the heroics to you from now on.”
She smiled up at him. “You can be my hero.”
Suddenly he could breathe again. “I will make you chocolate cake every damn day.”
“Oh no. I’ll go into a sugar coma. Once a week is fine.”
A shadow fell across them and they turned to look over their shoulders. André stood there, hunched over like he was hurting. “You guys okay?” he asked.
“We’re... here,” Gabe answered. “I heard you got shot.”
André shot a baleful glare toward Ducote’s body. “Sonofabitch shot me twice. Hurts like a bitch. I think I’ve got a busted rib. Maybe two.” Then he sighed, his next words tinged with guilt. “I think that’s why he aimed higher at McCauley, to avoid his vest.” His throat worked and he cleared his throat. “I’ve worked beside McCauley for years. He was a good man. A good cop.” His broad shoulders sagged. “I’m going to have to tell his wife.”
