Page 53 of Gentle Persuasion

“Oh God, oh God.” Her legs began to shake. Morgan! He’ll know what to— “He’s at the golf course,” Debbie moaned softly to herself. Waiting was impossible. She knew where she had to be. She turned and ran.

“Buddy!”

The shock on his face matched the pain in her voice as the door banged against the wall. He leaped and grabbed her just before she dropped.

“Get me to South Coast Medical Hospital. I don’t know where it is and I have to—”

“Are you sick?” Panic etched his face. This was not in his usual list of things to do and venturing away from his list was frightening, especially since Buddy was a man who needed to always be in control of his schedule.

Her chin quivered. Tears blurred her vision, but her grip on his arms was strong, and so was her voice.

“There was a bulletin on television. An officer from Narcotics was hurt during a shoot-out! They wouldn’t give a name but it might have been—”

“I’ll get the keys,” Buddy announced. “You get in the car.”

Debbie nodded, calming a bit with the knowledge that they were doing something besides waiting.

Buddy drove as if someone had just announced a sale at his favorite computer store. He turned corners at high speed and ran yellow warning lights, almost daring the Fates to slow him down. Debbie stared in amazement at the look of purposeful intent on his face. It was a complete turnaround from the vague expression he usually wore, and for the first time, she saw the resemblance between him and his brother, Cole. His hand briefly touched her shoulder in a gesture of understanding, and then they roared through the next traffic light just before it turned red.

The hospital stood tall against the skyline, and her heart accelerated as they parked and began to run. When called upon, Robert Allen Brownfield had proved himself worthy.

They emerged from the elevator at a fast walk. A knot of people stood at the end of the hall. Someone was crying. Debbie began to shake all over again. Buddy slipped his hand beneath her elbow for support as they approached the group.

And then they walked into the waiting area and stopped. It was Tina Garza crying. Tears poured down her face as family and friends comforted her. Tina looked up and saw the pair who’d just entered the room. For just one moment, woman to woman, an understanding passed between them.

Buddy’s hand on her shoulder refocused her attention. “It’s Cole,” he said quietly. “Over there.”

Debbie took a deep shaky breath. “Thank God! Go tell Morgan he’s all right. I’m staying with him. When we need to come home, we’ll catch a cab.”

Buddy nodded and started to walk away, his own relief making his legs a bit wobbly.

“Buddy.” Debbie’s voice was quiet, but he heard and turned. She hugged him tightly. “Thank you, darling,” she said softly. “When it counts, you’re the best.”

He grinned and patted her awkwardly and, for one silver second, thought of trading in his computers for someone like her. But reality reared, and he quickly dumped the thought and walked away. The only relationship he wanted was with a floppy disk and a good trade magazine. And when he felt the need, he could always eat a chocolate bar.

Debbie turned. Her attention focused completely on the tall man sitting alone against the wall, staring down at the floor. The dark stains on his clothing made her shudder. She knew what happened had been bad. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, but she quickly ignored them. He didn’t need tears. He needed to be held.

Cole stared blankly at the thread of green marble running through the off-white floor tiles and wondered whose job it was to put in the color. It was an inane thought, but it kept him from thinking about the fact that his friend and partner was in surgery, fighting for his life while his wife sobbed quietly in the opposite corner of the room, waiting to see if today she became a widow.

The ache inside him was blooming. He could feel it spreading in a cold, frosty path throughout his body. If he gave it its head, it would encompass him. He couldn’t close his eyes. If he did, he kept seeing an instant replay of Rick going down, then of what had happened afterward. The two scenes flashed back and forth, caught forever in his memory in horrible perfection. He cursed quietly and buried his face in his hands.

“Cole.”

It was soft. But it was the most welcome sound he’d ever heard. He stood, afraid to talk. Ashamed, because if he did, he might cry. He’d never cried in front of a woman except his mother in his life.

And then she was in his arms. He pulled her off her feet and up against him as a swift surge of grief overwhelmed him. “Rick…he’s—”

“Sssh,” she said. Her hands cupped his face as she rained tiny kisses against his eyes and cheeks. “I know, Cole. I know. And I’m so sorry.”

He dropped them both into the chair, adjusted Debbie in his lap, and tried to ignore his overwhelming guilt at the fact that he was still alive.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned against his shoulder as her hands moved across his face and neck, assuring herself that he was still in one piece and breathing.

“It happened so fast.” The words came out of him in a swift bulky rage. “One minute Rick thought the situation was under control, and the next minute he was on the ground. The son of a bitch wouldn’t stop shooting at Rick. I shot—” Cole shuddered and hushed, instantly.

Debbie’s arms tightened around him. Suddenly she understood. Cole was not only dealing with the fact that his partner had been shot. He was trying to deal with the fact that he’d shot and, she suspected, killed the man who’d hurt Rick.

“It’s your job, Cole. It’s what you do.”

---