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She gaped, speechless, then shook her head. “You’re exaggerating. The shooter probably isn’t from this area. I’m sure he chose the parade because it was a good target...” Her voice hitched, then trailed off at the grim realization of how that twisted mind had purposefully come to the Christmas parade because it would be the best place to kill a bunch of innocent people.
He didn’t have a chance to say anything more because more officers and medically trained first responders converged on the scene. He tried to call Rhy, but the call went through to voice mail. He left a quick message saying Elly was fine but that they were at the scene of the Christmas parade where a gunman had opened fire.
Elly continued to provide care to those who came to the ambulance, while other medical providers stepped up to help triage. The scene was still chaotic, yet he didn’t dare let Elly out of his sight. For one thing, he hadn’t been kidding about needing her to work with a sketch artist to create a composite of this perp.
But even more so, he wasn’t putting anything past this guy. The destruction surrounding them proved what he was capable of. She had bumped into the shooter, thought of him as evil because of the coldness in his eyes.
While wearing a name tag that announced she was a Finnegan.
The thing that bothered him the most was that the shooter didn’t fit the profile of the average active shooter. They were mostly young white men, angry at the world, bigots who purposefully took out people of color. Taking their anger out on those who couldn’t fight back.
The gunman he’d glimpsed from afar was older, maybe in his midthirties. And he hadn’t stuck around to become famous, like so many other active shooters had.
He’d slipped away.
His phone buzzed a few minutes later. He edged away from the crowd, still keeping his gaze on Elly as he answered Rhy’s call.
“You’re sure she’s not hurt?” Rhy demanded.
“I promise she’s not injured.” But Joe knew Elly was hurt, deep inside. She was always smiling, full of fun and laughter, but today would likely have changed that for her.
And not for the better.
It made his heart ache, knowing she had lost her happy innocence.
“What happened?” Rhy was on vacation for the next two weeks over the holiday, or he would have been at the Christmas parade too. He shivered at the idea of Devon being here with their new baby.
He quickly filled Rhy in on the scant details he knew. Finally, he said, “The worst part is that Elly saw this guy up close. Apparently, she bumped into him. And, Rhy, she was wearing her uniform, complete with her name tag.”
There was a long, tense silence on the other end of the line. Being on Rhy’s team for the past five years, he knew very well that Finnegans didn’t curse, but he could easily imagine Rhy wanting to. Maybe even saying the words in his head.
“Get her out of there, Kingsley. Bring her home.”
“I will, but I’d like her to work with a sketch artist first.” When Rhy didn’t say anything, he added, “I’m sorry, but the shooter is still out there. We need to find him.”
“Yes, we do. But do me a favor, stick to Elly like glue.”
“I will.” He was glad Rhy was on board with the plan he’d already intended to carry out anyway. “I’m taking her to the police station now.”
“Thanks, Joe.” Rhy’s tone was softer now. “I know I can trust you to take care of my baby sister.”
“You can.” He lifted his gaze up to the heavens above, vowing to make good on that promise.
No matter what.
CHAPTERTWO
One by one, ambulances carted off injured victims. Elly and Derek had ended up assisting with triaging injuries, performing care to those with less serious wounds, leaving the worst for the volunteer doctor and nurses who had responded to the event. It was something her sister Alanna would have done if she hadn’t been working. And Elly knew her sister would see many of these same victims once they were taken to Trinity Medical Center.
Nausea continued to swirl in her belly throughout the next hour. By now, it was more about the horrifying innocent lives that would be forever changed than it was about the blood. In some respects, she didn’t really see the blood anymore.
She would not have chosen an incident of this magnitude to conquer her aversion to blood. Never. This type of thing happened elsewhere.
Not in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
Although it had happened before. Not for the past ten years, but still. Logically, she understood no city was immune to domestic terrorism. But seeing the impact up close was the hardest thing she’d endured. Far worse than losing her parents eleven years ago.
Somehow, she managed to shove her personal feelings into a small box, working automatically as she cared for one victim and the next as if she were putting car parts together on an assembly line. Then suddenly there weren’t any more victims. She stood, glancing around in confusion. Both sides of the street were empty now, no bystanders in sight.
