Page 80 of The Liar

I glanced down, and my jaw dropped. Splayed on the balcony below this one lay the prone and bloody form of Detective Hanson.

21

WEST

The instant Joanna cried out, I forgot that I wasn’t supposed to be inside Portia’s apartment. I shoved the door open, spotted her by the window, and raced to her side, grabbing her arm just as she lurched forward.

“Whoa!” I exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you find something?” Sewell asked, hurrying over from the bedroom.

“It’s Hanson,” she gasped. “He’s injured. On the fire escape. We have to help him.”

“Let me see.” I nudged her aside and looked out. From here, it was impossible to tell whether Hanson was conscious. “We need to proceed with caution. It’s possible he’s involved. He could be armed.”

Joanna hissed, and when I turned toward her, disbelief was etched into every line of her expression. “He’s injured.”

I glanced at Sewell, who was watching curiously, and lowered my voice. “We don’t know why he’s here. Perhaps he was injured while attempting to abduct Portia.”

She gritted her teeth together but gave a jerky nod. “You’re right.”

Sewell was speaking to someone behind us, but I tuned him out and focused on Joanna, who was preparing to—cautiously—run to Hanson’s rescue. My wife was an incredible woman. If we got through this, I really hoped she’d take me back.

“You’ve got this,” I murmured. “You go first but keep your weapon on hand. I’ll be right behind you.”

Sewell cleared his throat. “An ambulance is on its way, and I’ve requested backup as well. They should be here any minute. Perhaps West could wait outside and show them up?”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek. The last thing I wanted to do right now was leave Joanna, although I understood why he’d make the suggestion. It was logical for the person who supposedly wasn’t a law enforcement professional to run the errands.

“I’m staying with Jo,” I said firmly.

Sewell made a sound of frustration. “You shouldn’t even be here. Letting you remain with her in a dangerous situation is completely against protocol. I should escort you out and—”

“You try that,” I interrupted. “And see how it goes.”

Sewell glared, but considering his small frame—and my advanced combat training—he didn’t scare me.

“Lee, I’m going to have to report this,” he said.

“Do what you see fit.” Joanna slung her leg over the window and clambered out. She withdrew her gun from its holster, switched on her flashlight, and held the gun in firing position as she started down the stairs.

I climbed out after her and retrieved my own concealed weapon. Sewell swore behind me, muttering about liabilities and amateurs. I followed a few paces behind Joanna, making sure to keep a clear path between myself andHanson, in case he was only faking us out and attacked when she reached him.

He didn’t move, even as she knelt beside him. I glanced up at the window above. Sewell’s silhouette had vanished, so perhaps he’d gone out to meet the paramedics himself.

“He has a bullet wound through his left side,” Joanna said, taking off her jacket. She folded it and pressed it to the wound, which was slowly leaking blood.

I skimmed my hands up Hanson’s sides, feeling for any weapons. I removed his gun, which lay discarded on the metal beside his body, and then pocketed his Taser.

“Denny.” Joanna lowered her ear to his mouth when he didn’t respond. “He’s breathing.”

I squatted beside her and grabbed Hanson’s jaw. “Get your shit together, you grumpy old bastard. We need your help.”

His lips moved, but he didn’t make a sound.

“Come on,” I urged. “Wake up. Tell us what the hell you’re doing here, because I’ve got to say, it looks bad.”

His eyelashes fluttered but didn’t open. Still, it was evidence he was conscious, even if he was barely hanging on.

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