towards the exit. Her nerves were closer to the surface than usual. Probably the anxiety over her ex and the financial pressure, as well as that of batting zero for five now on the killer. She hadn’t been sleeping well, was on edge from a combination of sleep deprivation and caffeine jitters.
Silver sighed when she saw the familiar outline of her car.
From behind her, a man’s hoarse voice screamed, “Hey! HEY! LOOK OUT!”
Silver spun around and registered a man barreling towards her, the unmistakable outline of a pistol pointing at her head. She instinctively hurled her briefcase at her attacker and dropped to the ground. Everything began to happen in slow motion. Hank stood petrified at the far end of the garage after bellowing his warning as she tucked and rolled and simultaneously grappled for her service weapon. The window of the sedan next to her exploded in a shower of glass inches from where her head had been a moment earlier. As she watched the careening briefcase bounce harmlessly off her attacker’s shoulder, her fingers found her Glock’s grip. She pulled the gun loose just as her assailant’s eyes narrowed in preparation for another shot, then rolled through the broken safety glass, raised her pistol in front of her, and squeezed off three rounds.
An orange bloom of flame erupted from his gun and a burning pain shot across her left buttock, but she continued rapid firing and was rewarded as the shooter’s chest erupted with smoking red wounds. He tried one more shot as he stumbled forward and crumpled, but the slug went wide. A burbled groan sounded from him when he hit the concrete, his gun clattering beside him onto the floor of the garage.
Silver held her position on the ground, weapon trained on the man’s form, and watched as his body heaved, struggling for breath, and then shuddered and lay still. Her ears were ringing from her Glock’s detonations in the confined space. She shook her head to clear it and wiped sweat from her eyes with the back of her hand. It took a few moments for her to stop shaking from the adrenaline, even as she fought to maintain calm and kept her gun pointed at her would-be killer.
After what seemed like an hour, Hank hesitantly approached. She heard her voice, sounding distant and eerily foreign.
“Stay back. Do not approach. Hank. Stay back. Stay where you are!”
Her eyes instinctively roamed over the other vehicles, searching for any additional threat. It appeared that it was just Hank in the immediate vicinity. She rose unsteadily to her feet, gun clenched in front of her with both hands as she’d been taught, muzzle still locked on the inert attacker. Hank had frozen twenty yards from the carnage, eyes glued to the spectacle.
She took several cautious steps towards the body, and after detecting no danger, closed the distance, kicking the assailant’s pistol five feet further from his outstretched hand. He wasn’t moving, so she sidled behind him, and she saw three exit wounds in his back. A small voice in her head noted that it was a nice grouping considering the circumstances — rolling through glass while trying for an erratically moving target with no real time to aim.
The pain from where she’d been hit flared into her consciousness. She lowered her pistol, changing from a two-handed grip to single so she could probe her injury. Her left hand came away shining with bright red blood, which she wiped on her jacket before reaching for her phone. She thumbed the speed dial and got Seth on the third ring.
“Seth. I’m in the garage by the office. Shots fired. I’ve been hit. I got the shooter — he’s down, but I need backup and an ambulance.” Silver was surprised how calm her voice sounded, still as if from a distance due to the gunfire-induced tinnitus.
“How badly are you hurt?” Seth asked.
“I’ll live. But get me some backup and an EMT. I’m bleeding and don’t know how long I’ll be conscious…”
“Done. I’ll call right back. Keep the line open once you answer.” Seth hung up.
She registered the wail of distant sirens competing with the ringing in her ears.
A wave of dizziness washed over her, and then her knees gave out, and she slumped against a nearby car, Glock still pointed at the man’s bulk, her hand clutching the telephone as she sank to the floor. She laid the handset on the ground, pulled out her badge and slipped the nylon cord that dangled from it over her head, smearing blood on her face in the process.
When the first squad cars arrived, followed by a group of FBI at a run from the building, they found her still alert, weapon steadily pointed at the shooter’s corpse, sitting in a small puddle of her own blood and looking like she’d fought her way through hell.
It took three tries to get her to lower her weapon.
She blacked out a few seconds later.
Chapter 11
The bouncing movement that woke Silver made her wonder if she was being tossed in the air by a group holding a blanket. She squinted open her eyes to find a concerned male face staring down at her. There was a mask over her nose and mouth. She raised her hand, and the man gently pushed it back to her side.
“You’re on your way to the hospital. In an ambulance. Don’t take the mask off until someone does it for you.” He winked. “Insurance rules.”
Silver shook her head. “But I feel better. I don’t need help breathing. I got shot in the ass, not the throat.”
“You lost a lot of blood and have been through a very difficult ordeal. Just play along, and it won’t be my problem in another five minutes. We’re almost there.” He gave her a friendly look. “You don’t want me to get fired, do you?”
“What a con artist. I know it’s harder to fire you than it is a congressman. Who are you kidding?”
The ambulance swung right, and they bounced a few more times before pulling up outside the emergency room entrance.
“Weeeee’re Heeeeeere,” the paramedic announced as he ceremoniously swung the rear doors open.
Silver was on a gurney with a small oxygen tank mounted on one side and an IV bag on the other. Quite a fanfare for a grazed butt, she thought, but the fight had gone out of her. The gurney was hauled from the back of the ambulance, and then she was being rolled through the doors to the emergency room, where she was clearly a high-priority patient. Within seconds she was in the rear of the ward with a curtain pulled around her, and a concerned, tired-looking doctor who looked like he was all of twenty-seven took her vitals as they shifted her to a hospital bed outside of one of the staging rooms that led to the operating rooms.
The doctor narrowed his bloodshot eyes. “Gunshot. She’s an FBI agent. Let’s keep the line going and get a look at the wound,” he barked at the two nurses on either side.
“I got hit in the butt. It’s not the end of the world. Hurts, though…”
“I’ll bet it does. Let’s get these pants cut off, and we’ll give you something for the pain.”
“Do you have to cut them? Really? Can’t I just take them off?”
“Lady, you’ve been shot. Don’t worry about the outfit, okay? Just let me peek at what we have and assess the damage.”
Silver acceded and shifted over onto her side. “Can you take the mask off me?”
The doctor nodded at one of the nurses, and she removed it.
“That’s better. Thank you.”
Another pair of hands efficiently cut away her pants and panties, while a third pulled off her jacket and put it into a plastic bag. Soon, she was in a gown, her modesty a non-issue to the medical staff who saw naked women and gunshot wounds on a regular basis.
“You’ve been lucky,” the doctor said. “It looks like the bullet creased the top of your buttock but missed the lion’s share of the muscle. Still, you lost a lot of blood.”
“I told you it was no big deal.”
“I didn’t say that. You’ve been shot. What I need to do is clean the wound and stitch you up. I’ll put you out, and within no time you’ll be running marathons.”
“No. Just use a local. I have work I need to do today.”
“It’s your call, but I’d go for the general if I were you.”
