Page 4 of Cry Wolf

Footsteps thundered into the house, and people swarmed the room.

“Dania! What happened?” Lydia, a rail-thin paramedic she knew from work, pushed in between Dania and Matthew, taking over.

Dania’s arms felt like jelly, she was exhausted, and she couldn’t find words to answer her question.

Another paramedic, a male she didn’t know, set down equipment on the other side.

“Ma’am.” A voice came from behind. Turning, Dania found the stocky-built and stern-faced Sheriff Kennard. At his side stood a deputy who gave her a sympathetic nod. His name tag read Deputy Allen Sharp.

Why were the police even here? And then she remembered. Whenever 911 received a call about a shooting outside the city limits, the sheriff’s office was automatically notified.

Sheriff Kennard pulled a plastic glove over his hand and picked up her SIG Sauer by the tip of the handle. “Is this your gun?”

Why was he asking her that when her husband, the man she loved more than life itself, could be dying? She glanced at Lydia fighting to save Matthew. She had to save him. Dania blinked several times, fighting back tears.

The sheriff cleared his throat.

She had to answer him. Reluctantly, she nodded. “Yes, it is mine. The intruder must have gotten it out.” She pointed to the gun case so the sheriff could see that it stood open.

She checked on Matthew again. Lydia used the manual resuscitator, bagging him, while her companion did compressions. Dania wanted to do something to help, not stand there talking to the police as if her world wasn’t imploding at her feet.

Deputy Sharp stepped in front of her, blocking her view. “Ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you. I understand that you’re worried about your husband—we all are—but you need to tell us what happened while it’s still fresh in your mind.”

Did he really understand? Did he know what a wonderful man her husband was? That he took on extra pro bono cases to help people who couldn’t afford legal counsel? Or that every summer he coached a Little League baseball team because he wanted to help kids? The deputy couldn’t possibly understand what a great man Matthew was or that her heart was tearing to shreds as her sweetheart lay bleeding on the floor.

Deputy Sharp stepped closer to her. He dipped his head and said softly, “I know this has to be the worst day of your life. It’s our job to help you through it. The sooner you answer our questions, the sooner you can be with your husband.”

His sympathy touched her. Dania rubbed her hands together and took a deep breath. “When I got home from work, I found a man wearing a ski mask”—fresh tears came to her eyes as the moment replayed in her mind—“standing over Matthew. He grabbed me and threw me down. Then he stole a file off the desk and ran out.”

“Where do you work?” Sheriff Kennard asked.

“Bear Claw Hospital. I’m an ER nurse.”

“Do you have a lock on your gun case?” Deputy Sharp looked at the case’s open door.

“Yes, but we target practiced a little before I left last night. Matthew must have forgotten to lock it.”

The deputy nodded as if that made sense.

The sheriff’s face held no expression. He said to his deputy, “Why don’t you grab a GSR kit from the car.”

She knew exactly what that was. They were going to check her for gunshot residue. A chill chased down her spine. They suspected that she’d shot her own husband. She’d washed her hands many times at work. So even though she and Matthew had target practiced last night, she shouldn’t have any on her. But the jeans and shirt she’d put in the hamper when she’d changed to go to work would still have it.

And I touched the gun a moment ago.“Look, I’ll test positive. I moved the weapon to roll Matthew over so I could start CPR.”

On his way to do what his boss had asked, Deputy Sharp stopped in front of her. “Don’t worry. We’re just gathering facts. Going by the book.” He left.

Dania turned to the sheriff, who had been watching her every move. “I didn’t shoot my husband. If I had, would I have called 911?”

Dania’s gaze went back to Matthew. The paramedics feverishly worked on him, but he wasn’t responding.Come on, Matthew, wake up.

“Did you notice anything unusual about the man you said attacked you?” Kennard waited, the pad and pen in hand.

His words betrayed him. He didn’t believe her. She had to make him. Racking her tattered brain, she fought to put together cohesive thoughts. “His ring finger and pinkie were missing on one hand. His right, I think.” Again, her gaze sought Matthew. He hadn’t moved.

The sheriff made some notes. “That’s good. Anything else?”

She closed her eyes, wishing this man and his questions would go away. She looked at Kennard. “He smelled of cigarettes. And was tall, solid.”

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