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“Garrick!” Anya cried.
Josie’s pistol was in her hands. She panned the room as behind her, Noah and Mettner fell into room-clearing formation. Her mind took in the details of the room like snapshots. Two recliners, one with a crumpled afghan on its seat. Standing lamp. Small round coffee table. Mug knocked on its side. Liquid staining the wood. The smell of whiskey. A bottle of Crown Royal but no cap. A hardback book on the round area rug beneath the table. A library edition with cellophane over its cover. Hardwood floors. Fireplace, smoldering. A darkened doorway to the left. Garrick, half-on and half-off the area rug.
No weapon, but plenty of blood.
Anya tore at Garrick’s shirt, a light blue button-down now stained with blood.
Noah, the last one in, yelled, “Clear.”
Anya probed at Garrick’s chest and torso. The man’s face was deathly pale and contorted with pain. One of his arms flailed up toward Anya but she brushed it aside. Leaning in closer to his chest, Anya muttered, “My God. Josie, help me. I need help.”
Josie turned to Mettner and Noah. “I’ll stay here. Clear the rest of the house.”
It wasn’t how they normally did things. Procedure dictated that they secure the premises before rendering aid, even if someone was dying, but Anya wasn’t leaving Garrick’s side. If nothing else, someone had to stay and protect her. Noah and Mettner came to the same conclusion within seconds.
Noah said, “Call 911.”
Josie nodded and watched them head deeper into the house. She looked at the front door, standing ajar, then down at Anya and Garrick Wolfe. Anya took off her coat and used one of its sleeves to wipe away the blood covering his chest. Josie took out her phone and dialed 911, her gaze swinging back and forth from the front door to Garrick and Anya. As she rattled off details to the dispatcher, with Anya’s help, she saw Anya clearing the blood around an inch-long wound on Garrick’s right side. Blood bubbled out of it. The sound it made sent an instant wave of nausea through Josie’s body. His torso labored as if a fifty-pound weight were on top of it.
Josie hung up. Anya pressed one hand over the wound. Again, one of Garrick’s hands flailed upward. His blue eyes searched around the room, wild and afraid. His lips moved, forming words, but no sounds came. Anya said, “He’s got a sucking chest wound. I need to seal this. What do you have? Do you guys have a kit in the car?”
Josie couldn’t stop staring at his face. He was trying to tell them something. Somewhere else in the house, shouts of “Clear!” continued.
“Josie,” Anya said in a loud, firm voice. “I need to seal this. Do you have a kit in the car? With a chest seal?”
Keeping her pistol at the ready, Josie ran outside to the car. She and Noah always kept a first aid kit in their personal vehicle. If you’d been on the job long enough, it was something you did. Her assumption was that Mettner also kept one. There was nothing in the glove compartment. Lifting the hatch at the back of his SUV, she found a mess of hunting equipment. She started yanking it out and tossing it into the driveway, searching for a first aid kit when she heard Anya’s voice call out, high and forceful.
“Josie. I need help now!”
Josie abandoned the SUV and ran back into the house. Anya’s upper body was angled awkwardly across Garrick’s chest, her right elbow holding pressure on the wound while her hands worked to rip the cellophane off the library book. When she saw Josie, she said, “Put pressure on this wound while I figure something out.”
Josie dropped down, Garrick’s blood immediately soaking through the knees of her jeans. Anya took her elbow away and Josie placed a palm over the wound. Anya tore a square of cellophane off the book cover. Tossing the hardback aside, she looked around the room. “I need tape, dammit.”
From another direction inside the house, Josie heard Noah call out, “Clear!”
Anya leapt up and ran over to the lamp. She disappeared behind the recliner. A second later, Josie heard rustling and tearing. The light in the room flickered as the lamp teetered. Josie chanced a glance down at Garrick’s face, alarmed at how rapidly he was losing what little color he had left. “Anya!”
Anya returned, dropping to her knees. Clutched in her hand were strips of black. “What is that?” asked Josie.
“Electrical tape. It was around the cord to the lamp.” Anya set it aside and picked up the cellophane, pulling it taut. “We have to wait till he exhales, and then I’m going to put this over the wound. I need you to hold it in place while I tape it.”
Josie’s heart stuttered. When she felt Garrick’s chest fall again, she lifted her hand and Anya placed the cellophane over the wound. Josie held it firm while Anya taped it on three sides. Garrick raised his hand again, hitting Josie’s shoulder. His lips pressed together and then opened, trying to say something.
Anya smoothed his thinning white hair away from his forehead, leaving a streak of red. “It’s okay, Garrick. The ambulance is almost here.”
“Muh—” he gasped.
Josie couldn’t shake the feeling that he was trying to tell them something. She leaned down, putting her face directly over his. “Don’t try to talk,” she told him. “Mouth it.” Silently, she mouthed:like this.
Recognition flickered in his eyes. It took a few tries before Josie figured out what he was saying. At least, she thought she did.
Anya said, “I have no idea what he’s trying to say.”
“He’s saying, ‘my son.’”
Anya sat back on her heels, shaking her head. “He doesn’t have a—” Abruptly, she went silent. Josie looked up at her, but she wasn’t focused on either of them anymore. Her gaze was frozen to the doorway where Mathias Tobin now stood.
THIRTY-SIX
