Page 4 of Forged By Fire

Whitman stopped compressions long enough to check the man’s pulse and shook his head. “Nothing.”

Another EMT gave a definitive nod. “Preparing the defibrillator.”

Leslie watched the medical personnel work. She cupped her elbows and held her arms as close to her chest as her gear would allow. Her jaw was clenched, and her gaze never left her partner.

Clint’s heart went out to her. He’d known her for a few years now, but only professionally. They’d crossed paths many times when it came to different cases or emergency situations. He’d been tempted—more than once—to see if she’d be interested in going to dinner with him. But the timing never seemed right.

Now, he wanted to offer his support. Let her know that he was praying for her partner. For her, too. Goodness knew it had to have been horrible to witnesswhat she had.

But someone from her company stood on each side of her, almost shoulder to shoulder. She probably had all the support she needed.

Instead, he sent up another silent prayer.

Please, God, guide the hands of Curtis and the EMTs. Give them the wisdom to know what to do. Help us catch the shooter.

The EMT shocked Bracken twice before one of them gave a satisfied nod. “I’ve got a pulse.” They continued to assist with his breathing as they rolled him toward the ambulance.

Leslie whirled to face one of the lieutenants, her hazel eyes wide and filled with emotion.

“Go.” Lieutenant Holden tilted his head toward the ambulance. “The rest of us will be there as soon as we can.”

She barely took the time to nod before she was jogging to catch up with them and got into the ambulance, disappearing when the doors closed behind her.

Clint needed to get her statement. See if she could tell him anything at all about the shooter. As far as he was concerned, with Bracken heading into surgery, she was their only witness.

They still hadn’t seen the shooter exit the building. Assuming the guy was still inside, Clint didn’t like the idea of Leslie sitting at the hospital alone. He called in and spoke with Police Chief Arnold Dolman and was relieved when he received permission to head over to the hospital to speak with Leslie. After all, if she had any description at all, it would help them spot the killer if he ditched the gear and tried to walk out in plain clothes.

At the hospital, Clint entered through the main door and was immediately hit with the scent of antiseptic, some kind of pasta being served in the cafeteria down the hall,and many voices as people got directions or checked in for a procedure.

He found Leslie in the waiting area of the emergency room. She’d shed the rest of her gear, which she’d piled on the floor and a nearby chair, and was standing in a pair of black pants and a dark green, short sleeved shirt. Her rich brown hair fell like a waterfall past her shoulders.

Hope lifted her features the moment she spotted him. “Please tell me you guys caught the shooter.”

“Not yet.”

The moment the words left his lips, the hope on her face gave way to worry.

“We will.” He spoke with confidence, hoping that it would help put her at ease. “How’s your partner doing?”

Leslie glanced at the information desk. “They’re getting X-rays so they can see exactly what they’re dealing with before taking him into surgery.” She swallowed as tears flooded her eyes. She blinked them away furiously as though allowing them to fall might show some kind of weakness.

“Were they able to give you any kind of prognosis yet?”

“No. Just that he’s in critical condition and they’re going to do everything they can.” She shrugged. “His wife, Becca, is on her way. She was visiting her parents in Dallas. I think they’re driving her in. Danny and Becca… They’re expecting their first baby in February.”

“I’m sorry, Leslie.” A firefighter, just like a police officer, knew the risks of the job. It was understood that there was a chance they could be injured or killed in the line of duty. Still, of all the dangers Danny Bracken could’ve faced today, getting shot never should’ve been one of them.

“It’s all so senseless. I don’t understand why it happened at all.”

Clint touched her elbow and gently led her to a corner of the waiting room where they could sit and talk and not be overheard. “Can you tell me exactly what happened? Any detail, no matter how small, may help us figure out who the shooter is.”

Her gaze darted to the nurses’ station as though she were afraid she might miss an update. The nurse sitting there looked up at the same time and gave her a subtle nod. Only then did Leslie relax against the back of her chair a little.

She scrubbed her hands over her face. “Everything happened so fast. None of it makes any sense.”

The poor woman looked exhausted. No doubt the adrenaline that’d carried her this far was beginning to ebb.

Clint had plenty of experience speaking with witnesses and helping them focus their thoughts by asking specific questions. He might know Leslie, but that didn’t make his approach any different.

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