He chuckles. “Can’t do that, Love! He whips out a sub nose and shoots before I have time to react. The bullet slams into me, knocking me on my ass, snatching the air from my lungs. My chest feels like a baseball bat slammed into it. I heard a splash seconds after he shot me. I rip open my shirt and see the round didn’t go through the vest. Forcing myself to my feet, I lumber over to the river’s edge while trying to catch my breath. I aim my gun at the water, scanning for any sign of a swimmer. Fuck it. I may get lucky and kill his ass. I unload my Sig into the water till the slide locks back. Ejecting the mag, I slap a fresh one in and rack the slide. I slip it back into my holster.
Fucking great, he did a Houdini on me.
I don’t know what happened back there. Either he was quicker than me or I went to sleep at the wheel. I hear Frank’s voice behind me. “Devi! You alright?” He pushes my shirt aside and looks at my vest. “Jesus Christ, I thought we were gonna have to call in the pipers for your funeral.”
That makes two of us. I’ve been shot before, and even though I wear a vest, it still gives me a shock.
“I’m fine, just got the wind knocked out of me.” I wince. “And maybe some cracked ribs. Come on, let’s see if we can zero in on this guy again. David Drake is the moonlight killer as far as I’m concerned. He tried to kill the priest to shut him up but missed. He fired at me, and I fired back it then escalated into a pursuit where we exchanged shots, and after all that bit of fun, he shot me and went for a swim. But something weird is going on, sir.”
“Talk to me.”
I wince in pain. “He wasn’t trying to kill me; he was suppressing me, keeping me behind cover. He would stop shooting when bystanders would get in his line of fire.”
He leans in, placing his hands on his hips. “That doesn’t make any sense, Lobos.”
“I know it doesn’t. Something is not right with this case.” I turn to one of the uniforms, wincing in pain. “Officer, I want you to get Marine Patrol Units on the water and find this asshole.” Pain shoots through my chest as I try to breathe. “The priest lied to us about the description. He has black hair, blue eyes, and tan skin, and he’s about 5’8. A track runner’s body.”
“Devi, you need to go to the Hospital?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Bullshit! You’re going to the hospital and getting checked out. Then you’re going to take the rest of the day off to rest. I’ll put out an APB on David Drake as the Moonlight Killer and bring in the priest for further questioning.”
I groan as I dig in my pockets for my cigs and lighter. I open the pack, and I’m out. “Fuck! I’m out of smokes.”
“Here, ya go.” He hands me a smoke.
“I thought your wife made you quit.”
He scowls. “You keep your damn yap shut.”
I take the smoke and light up. “I need to question the priest some more and take the gun to the lab.” A cloud of smoke flows from my mouth.
He stands in front of me. “No! You hospital now. Forensics will collect the piece, and I will bring in the priest.”
“Fine. Keep me posted.”
“I always do, Devi.”
Chapter 9
I hate hospitals. They all have the same sickening sterile odor that twists my stomach in knots. I’ve been waiting for the doctor to come back with my X-ray results for the past 20 minutes.
I can’t believe I let that piece of shit get the drop on me like that. He’d better enjoy that little victory because it won’t happen again.
The curtain pulls back, and it’s my Doctor and Greg. He shoots a flirty grin at me. “Okay, I’m back, Officer Lobos. You’re lucky judging from your X-ray scans; there are no broken ribs, but there are some that are bruised. However, those will heal on their own. Provided you take it easy.”
“No can do, Sokol. I got to catch this guy.”
He glances at me up and down in frustration. “Devora, I’m going to be blunt here. You look like hell. Your blood pressure is high. How much are you drinking and smoking these days?”
“I lost count.”
“I see. Have you considered counseling?”
“I don’t need it. I have my own coping mechanisms.”
“Yes… you do. Look, Devora. They can help you with whatever you’re dealing with; maybe it’s all the stuff you’ve endured on the job or images of grisly crime scenes.” He hands me a business card. “Just please call this number; she is a friend. Doctor Burch is a therapist who helps soldiers and cops that are dealing with PTSD.”
“Well, thanks, but no thanks. If I need a therapist every time I see something horrible, I don’t need to be a cop,” I say, wadding up the card and tossing it in the trash behind him. “Are we done here?”
He exhales in aggravation and rips off my prescription from his notepad. “Yes, we are done. Stop by the pharmacy on the way out. Please consider getting help. You don’t look well.”
“Shit, ibuprofen? I guess it’ll do.”
His eyes narrow. “Yes, it will do. I am not enabling your drug abuse.”
“Yeah, you’re right between the weed, booze and smokes, and Xanax; I don’t need another expense.”
He shakes his head. “Officer, take care, please. If not for yourself, maybe for those who care about you.” his eyes gesture to Greg.
Greg must’ve been bragging about me, I see.
“I’ll give it my best
