Page 78 of A Deeper Darkness
She shook her head. “File doesn’t feel too thick. Gino is scared, though. You heard the end, right? He was the one who broke into Donovan’s house. He’s been working with Perry Fisher’s wife, Karen. He has her hidden away until he thinks things are safe.”
Fletcher asked, “So what’s in the folder?”
“Let’s see. He said I was the insurance policy, so it must be something inflammatory.” Sam flipped open the folder, pushed the overhead light above her right shoulder. The pages inside were blank, but something thin fell out into her lap. A CD in a clear sleeve.
“There’s a disc in here.” She flipped it to and fro. “No writing on it. We need to get to a computer and take a look, see what this is.”
“Hart’s laptop is in the trunk. Just hang on a second while I pull over.”
Fletcher steered the car to the curb, and Hart hopped out before the car had come to a complete stop.
Fletcher turned to Sam. “So whaddaya say we—”
Sam heard the strangest noise. A dull thunk. The car moved slightly.
“Did you hear that?” she said, just as Fletcher’s head swiveled and he screamed, “Get down!” His door flew open and he dived sideways from the car. She saw him land on the sidewalk, roll and start firing behind them, his weapon discharging again and again. She could hear him shouting, calling for Hart, and she huddled in the backseat, her heart beating a mile a minute, praying. There was a sudden burst of fire behind them, what sounded like an automatic weapon, and the car shook from the volley. She couldn’t be safe in here. And they couldn’t be safe out there.
Sam started to move, to where she didn’t know, and heard Fletcher shouting, “Radio, radio—Sam, get on the radio. We need backup!”
She slithered over the front seat and, lying flat against the leather, grabbed for the radio mounted on the dash.
“We need help!” she yelled. She didn’t know the codes, all the cop speak, so she went for logic instead. “Detectives Fletcher and Hart and Dr. Samantha Owens. We are on K Street, three blocks south of Lafayette Park, under fire— I repeat, we are taking fire. Someone is shooting at us, and the detectives are returning fire. Please send someone.”
Sam unkeyed the mike, heard a torrent of words and static. A woman’s voice said, “Repeat, repeat,” and Sam shouted all the information again, looking over her shoulder. The shooting had stopped, but that didn’t mean the danger was over. She saw Fletcher run to the passenger’s side of the car. He came to the passenger window and yelled, “Ambulance,” through the glass. He had blood on his shirt, she didn’t know from whom, him or Hart.Oh, my God. One of them had been shot.
Sadly, that call was one she knew how to make. She keyed the mike again. “Officer down. We need an ambulance sent to the shooting on K Street. I repeat, officer down.”
She dropped the radio and flew out of the car. Fletcher was at the back bumper, kneeling over Hart, who wasn’t moving.
The fear left her immediately. Finally, something she could do to help. Sam pushed Fletcher away from Hart’s body. “Let me see him. Where’s he hit?”
“I don’t know,” Fletcher yelled. “He has on a vest, so the blood’s coming from somewhere else.”
She dropped to her knees, pulled Fletcher away from his partner. Hart was canted to the side facing her, like he’d taken the shot upright, then slid down the car. There was blood everywhere.
“Fletch, take a breath. Get me your Maglite.” She started running her hands over Hart’s body, feeling for an entrance wound.
Fletcher grabbed his Mag from the front seat, then scrambled back around the car and shone the beam on his partner, waving it frantically up and down his body.
Sam pointed at Hart’s head, and spoke as calmly as she could. “Fletch. Slow. Start here, at the top.”
The wound was in the base of Hart’s throat, an inch above the notch where the bulletproof vest cradled his collarbones and an inch to the right. Sirens sounded, drawing closer. But there was so much blood… She didn’t think there was time. He wasn’t breathing, and his pulse faded out under her fingertips. His airway was constricted from the bullet’s explosion. She didn’t think it had severed his windpipe, just that the trauma was causing swelling and blood was filling the field.
Regardless, they had to get him started again.
Sam laid Hart down, tilted his head back and gave him three quick breaths, happy to see his chest rise from her blows. She started chest compressions. “Do you have a defibrillator in the car?”
“Yeah.” Fletcher was white as a ghost. He didn’t have to be asked twice, he ran to the trunk and grabbed the portable unit. Fletcher had calmed, his training taking over, and as Sam lifted her hands off his partner’s chest, he unstrapped Hart’s vest. It only took a moment, then they both ripped at his shirt. Fletcher handed Sam the unit and she got it going, attaching the leads while it charged. She bent and gave him three more quick breaths, then two long ones.
“It’s ready. Clear,” Fletcher said, and hit the button.
A shock wave of electricity coursed through Hart’s body, making his heart jump in time. Sam put her fingers on his carotid. There was a single pulse, then it stopped.
“Again,” she said, hitting the button herself this time. The unit whined as it charged and Sam felt the moments slipping away. Jesus, this was why she didn’t work on live people, she was afraid to lose them….Breathe, you dummy, breathe.
“Ready. Clear.”
Fletcher hit the button and Hart’s body rose, his back arched. When it settled, Sam sat with her eyes closed, willing his heart to start. It did. She felt the pulse skip under her fingers, and then the paramedics were there. She stepped back and let them work. They slapped a mask on him and hyperventilated his lungs. When they stopped Hart’s chest rose of its own accord.
