Max finally clears the rise that leads down to the road. Three bodies are strewn across the drive. All still. All silent. Oh God, what had they done? Maybe Jake was right when he wanted to leave Tony behind.
As he closes the distance, Max gets a better look at the bodies lying still in the moonlight. The smell of cordite hangs in the air. The girl is easy to pick out with her slender limbs all akimbo. She’s tiny in comparison to the big figures sprawled on either side of her.
Secure the scene is his first thought when he reaches the bodies. Where’s the gun?
Oh shit, that’s Tony, he realizes when he looks down on the man lying face up. Tony’s face is drenched in blood that is flowing freely and pooling on the gravel beneath his head.
“There it is,” Max mutters when he spies a rifle butt sticking out from beneath the corpse that is face down—definitely a corpse, judging from a hole the size of a dinner plate that has been blown out of the back of the man’s T-shirt. It takes Max the better part of a minute to wrestle the gun out from beneath the deadweight pinning it to the ground. Big fucker, he thinks as he works the gun free and angrily flings it aside. He yanks out his cell phone to call Jake. No answer.
“Shit!” he howls at the indifferent moon before he calls 911 and unleashes a flurry of information.
“We’ve already received a call from that location. Units are on the way,” the emergency operator says.
“Jake,” Max mutters in relief. Maybe he’s still okay.
“Pardon?” the operator asks.
“My partner. Jake Plummer. He called you?”
“Someone called,” she replies. “An unidentified male. We’re not sure what’s going on, sir. What’s your name and interest in the situation?”
“Maxwell,” he replies impatiently. “Retired cop. My partner, Jake Plummer, called you. Is he still on the line?”
“No,” the operator replies after a beat. “We received a call about gunshots with an officer and others down. That’s all we got before the caller stopped speaking.”
Max sags down on his haunches and rests his forehead in his palms while his phone dangles between two fingers.
“Sir?”
Max blows out his frustration in a long exhalation and lifts the phone to his lips. “You’ve got the location here?”
“Yes,” the operator replies. “I need—”
“There are at least six victims out here,” Max interjects. “There may be more in the house. Send multiple units. The scene seems to be secure.”
“Sir!” the operator exclaims in frustration.
Max’s eyes are on the still body of the girl when he snaps back, “I’m checking on people here, madam. Some of the good guys are down, okay? Make sure you get some cops and ambulances out here right fuckin’ now.”
Max plunges the phone deep in his pocket as he pushes himself upright and reluctantly walks over to take a closer look at the girl. His first aid training warns him not to move her to take a closer look, but the sliver of face peeking out from under a hoodie confirms it’s Brittany Valenti. Her right hand is tucked beneath her. The fabric covering her upper arm is speckled with the type of shredded tearing that comes from buckshot. Max’s eyes stray to Tony while he softly asks the prostrate father, “What have you done to your girl?”
Chapter Thirty-One
I come to in an ambulance, groggy and disoriented as hell. Once my head begins to clear, I rip a pile of gauze off my face and reach for the paramedic who is perched beside me.
“My daughter?”
I startle the poor woman, who recovers quickly. “The girl who was with you?”
“Yes,” I reply hoarsely.
She rests a hand on mine, meets my gaze, and smiles reassuringly. “She’s fine. Bump on the head, a little buckshot in the arm. Nothing serious.”
I let out a deep sigh of relief. “When can I see her?”
“At the hospital. Her ambulance is right behind us.”
I start to sit up to look out the back window and am overcome by dizziness and nausea. The paramedic reaches for me and pushes me back down. “Whoa, Daddy. You fared a lot worse than she did.”
“She’s okay?” I ask when the world stops spinning.
She nods.
“She’s been through hell.”
“I heard a little. Poor girl.”
“What did they do to her?”
She shrugs. “Can’t say, but I can tell you that she’s one tough little gal. Whatever she’s been through hasn’t broken her spirit.”
“Does she know about Bobby?”
The paramedic gives me a blank look. “Was Bobby one of the people who got shot out there?”
“No. Her boyfriend. They killed him.”
The paramedic’s eyes widen. “I didn’t hear anything along those lines, but we were kinda busy with you.”
I retreat into dark thoughts about what Brittany has been through. Then the blackness closes in again. When I resurface, I’m being wheeled through an emergency room entrance.
“Dad!” Brittany cries out from behind us. “Wait!”
The stretcher slows before Brittany’s tear-streaked face appears above me. She looks terrified.
“Hey,” I manage to croak.
“Oh my God, Dad! What have they done to you?”
“I’m fine,” I tell her.
Her eyes cut to my paramedic friend, who nods. “He’ll be okay. It looks worse than it is.”
A manic little laugh of relief escapes Brittany as she throws her arms around me.
The paramedic gently tugs her away after a few seconds. “You might want to hold off on the hugs for a bit, honey. He’s probably a little tender.”
I try to wave the paramedic aside, but she shoves my arm back to my side and starts wheeling me away. Brittany jogs along beside us. Once we reach the counter, my paramedic tugs her away.
“He needs to see the doctor now, sweetheart. So do you.”
Brittany breaks away long enough to lean in and plant a kiss on my cheek. “Hurry up in there, okay?”
I manage a smile and nod.
I check out of the hospital after a few hours in the emergency room. Brittany is with me as we emerge into the
