Chapter 1 #2
Another burst echoes, louder this time, followed by screeching tires and distant shouting voices.
It stops pretty quickly but not before it sets my nerves on end…
and wakes poor Pip. I peek over the counter and look into the living room at the ball of orange still curled up on the back of the couch.
He gives me a confused ear twitch and climbs down off the back of the couch onto the middle cushion like he’s seeking shelter from the windows and the noise outside the way I’d just done behind the kitchen counter.
I stand there frozen, waiting for something, anything, to happen. I respond to this shit; I don’t live in it.
Wait, that’s right. I respond to this kind of thing, and there could be injured people outside.
I creep slowly to the windows, making my way to the one closest to the bathroom, knowing that’s the only one not facing the fire escape and will give me the clearest view of the street below.
Looking down onto the street, I see someone leaning against that vehicle that I’d eyed up earlier while sitting in front of the office building.
The driver’s side door is open with a man in slacks and a button-up shirt tucked into the shielding angle the open door creates.
He’s holding onto his upper arm and there’s clearly blood coming from a wound. Even four stories up I can see that.
Panning down the street, there’s two men lying on the ground with another man, with red hair, standing over them pointing a gun at them with one hand and holding a radio to his mouth with the other. They’re both face down, hands clasped behind their heads, but most importantly, seemingly uninjured.
Ok, definitely giving cop vibes. But the guy by the car has me worried.
I race into my bathroom, grabbing my med kit from the cabinet under the sink.
It started as a first aid kit, but I kept expanding it over the years.
Occasionally I’d respond to a call where I realize that the patient could have been helped by a more extensive first aid kit in the home.
So, I kept adding to mine, simply as another “just in case” measure.
Throwing the bag over my shoulder, I head for the door, slipping on some tennis shoes and grabbing my keys on the way out the door.
Skipping the elevator to run down the stairs instead, I make it to the ground floor and out the front door of my building in under thirty seconds. My eyes pan the street to make sure that the scene is still the same as what I saw upstairs.
Once I’m assured that nothing else has developed, I make my way to the bleeding man.
He’s tall, easily over six feet, with dark brown hair and a scruffy beard over a chiseled jaw.
But the shadows between the overhead streetlights make his hair look almost black.
And he’s wearing a police badge on his belt like they do in the movies.
Geez, why’s that so hot? Especially on him.
“What are you doing? Get back inside!” he scolds me, nodding his head towards my apartment.
“Have you called in the shooting yet?” I say, plopping my bag down beside him.
“Yes.” His brows pinch together. I watch the restraint slowly drip off him when I grab gauze out of my bag. He moves his hand away willingly, allowing me space to pack his wound. “Back up and EMS are on their way. ‘Officer down’ always gets ‘em moving fast.”
“I know. I’m city EMS,” I let out on a breath.
“When it’s you guys, we drive like we’re trying to get there yesterday.
” My eyes are fixed on his arm. The wound is a skim and doesn’t look like it went too deep.
Just enough to cause bleeding but hopefully not deep enough to damage any muscular structures because… damn.
Despite that, blood soaks through his shirt, slick and dark under my hands as I press down hard over the wound.
He hisses, jaw clenching.
“Yeah, I know,” I mutter. “It’s gonna suck. But I don’t have very good pain meds in my kit.”
His wound is my priority, sure, but around that are his fucking muscles. This man’s never skipped arm day, that’s for sure. He will be while this heals though.
“Pressure’s gonna stay here,” I say, more to myself than him as I adjust my grip, using the heel of my hand to bear down. “You move and you’ll make it worse. So don’t.”
He lets out a short, breathless laugh that turns into a grimace. “Bossy.”
“Bleeding,” I counter. “Focus.”
For a second, our eyes meet. His are dark brown and alert, taking me in with a level of awareness that doesn’t quite match someone who’s just been shot. Adrenaline, I remind myself. And he’s not some crackhead after a deal went south.
“It doesn’t look too bad, skimmed your arm but it’s not too deep.
I’m gonna need to cut away part of your shirt sleeve to get better access to it though.
Responding EMS will need full access to stitch this.
” I’m already pulling out a pair of scissors from my bag before he can even respond.
I start cutting the sleeve above his wound, working with one hand while keeping pressure on his wound with the other.
“Can’t you do that yourself?” he chides, nudging my bag with his foot. “Looks like you’ve got a whole ambulance in there.”
Oh, so he’s a smartass. Great.
“Don’t be silly.” I stick the scissors back in the side pocket. “I can’t fit a Reeves stretcher in there. Although lights and a siren on top would be a good addition.”
The corner of his mouth crooks up for just a moment, silently telling me I got to him. “I don’t think I need to tell you that’s illegal.”
“Well, I am emergency services.” I cast a knowing glance at him, noting his deep brown eyes. “And it’s not a vehicle either.”
He huffs something akin to a laugh, unknowingly making my insides twist.
“Who did this?” I ask, keeping my voice steady as I reach blindly into my kit for more gauze.
“Complicated,” he says dismissively.
“Try me.”
His gaze flicks past me, scanning the street like he’s expecting someone to come barreling back at any second.
“Cops were already here,” he mutters, “tracking someone.”
My stomach tightens. “The someone who just opened fire on police?”
His jaw clenches as multiple squad cars with lights and sirens going turn onto the street two blocks down. I’d been so wrapped up in thinking about his arm that I hadn’t heard them coming, very unlike me. Normally I’m way more attuned to the sound of sirens since I hear them all day.
We both turn and watch them stop near the other officer, who I’m now noticing is ridiculously beefy, and are assisting him in taking into custody the two men, who were still laying on the ground.
By the time they’re done, the man rushes over to us just as a rig pulls up from the other direction. Jett and Alice jump out, Alice smiling at the sight of me while Jett perks a confused brow.
I’ve worked with them for years. Despite mostly working different shifts, Alice has become a close friend. Jett is… well, he’s a bit grumpy.
“What are you doing here, Liv?” Alice glides up to me, her perky blonde ponytail swaying as she moves.
“And how’s are patient?” Jett hops out of the back of the rig with a pack slung over his shoulder while pushing his shaggy black hair out of his face.
While I brief them on the situation, I pick up bits of the conversation going on between the two officers, my patient and, by the sounds of it, his partner and fellow detective.
Jett gets the injured detective into the back of the rig, opting to do care on scene. Fair call, I would have done the same thing if I were responding to a call like this.
With him.
He shrugs off Jett’s attempts at more advanced care at first but gives in when Alice pulls out a syringe for a local anesthetic.
Ok, tough guy but knows when to cave. Smart.
I’m pretending to re-pack my bag, even though all I’m doing is bagging up the dirty gauze to deposit it in the biowaste bin in the back of the rig after Jett and Alice wrap up their care.
Two black shoes step up beside me. I follow the legs up, seeing another badge on a belt and then the red-haired officer that the patient had been speaking with.
“I think that was the quickest I’ve ever seen EMS show up,” he beams down at me with one of the most gorgeous smiles I’ve ever seen. And by the way he flashes it at me, he knows how nice his smile is.
“Oh, yeah. Jett’s a good driver, even when going code three to a scene,” I brush it off. Pretty sure I’m blushing.
“Oh, I meant you darlin’. What are the odds of having a shootout in front of a building housing a paramedic?”
Ah, fair point. “Just a great timed coincidence.” Since he’s so charming, might as well fish for information. “What happened anyway?”
That charming smile is gone so quickly that it might as well have been a figment of my imagination.
“We’re investigating something in the neighborhood.
It’s- well,” he swallows hard. “You’re too pretty to be in this neighborhood.
Ever think about moving? I heard rent prices are dropping over by the zoo. ”
I know my neighborhood isn’t the best, but moving is a bit extreme. “Well, I’m only three blocks away from my station. The walk to work is a major selling point.”
“Walking?” he grimaces.
“Is it really that bad? I mean, I carry a can of mace is that helps.”
He lets out a sharp, sudden laugh, throwing his head back.
I think that’s a bad sign.
“It’s better than nothing, I guess.” He concedes, exchanging a glance with the detective in the back of the rig whose stitches are done, bandaged, and is now getting fitted with a sling. I don’t know what they’re silently communicating about, but it doesn’t look good.
“But seriously, maybe consider a firearm, a car, something. This neighborhood isn’t what it used to be, this whole side of town isn’t,” he sighs deeply. “The world isn’t.”
“What’s that supposed to-”
“Thorny!” The red-haired man grins as his injured partner climbs down from the back of the rig surprisingly allowing Jett to give him a hand down.
“Mace,” the dark-haired man obliges reluctantly.
“I was just chatting with your new friend. This is Detective Alex Thornton. I’m Mason Reed. Also a detective,” he adds with a wink. “And I didn’t get your name.”
“Olivia. Well, Liv. Liv Carter. I’m stationed at the corner of Emerson and 86th.”
Mason’s eyebrows lift a tad. “You weren’t kidding about living close to work.”
I lift and drop my shoulders lightly. “Saves me a ton by not having a car.”
Alex fiddles with his sling, seemingly displeased with either the sling or the conversation. Or both. Or the fact that he got shot…
Mason watches Alex mess with the strap for a moment until I break the silence. “So, what happened here anyway?”
Both of their attentions snap back to me, then to each other for a moment, then right back to me.
“You should carry,” Alex says almost begrudgingly. “While walking and while in the ambulance, just in case.”
Aside from the fact that I can’t have a gun in the back of an ambulance, at least I carry something.
“She carries mace around,” Mason tells him with a cheeky grin.
Ah, his nickname: Mace. I get why he laughed now.
“Better than nothing,” Alex grumbles, unknowingly echoing his partner earlier.
“How long you down for, man?” Mason playfully smacks Alex’s good arm.
“I’m fine,” Alex immediately refutes.
Saw that coming. I know his type; he’s a tough guy. You can’t expect them to accept all the steps of their care without giving them just enough worry that they’ll be stuck recuperating even longer just to get them to oblige at least a little to initial care.
“Just be careful not to rip your stitches or healing will take even longer. I’m sure you don’t want that.”
His eyes meet mine with such intensity that my breathing stutters. “I’ll be careful,” he notes, his voice suddenly far more gravely than it had been. But his eyes stay on mine, burning into my mind so intensely that I don’t look away. I can’t look away.
I swallow hard, trying to sooth my suddenly dry mouth.
Mason breaks the spell. “No worries, Medic Liv. I’ll make sure he’s careful with it. You should get back inside, the sun’s down and it’s getting cold.”
Right, cold. And I’m… still in a t-shirt and sleep shorts. That explains why I’m shivering.
That’s what I’ll tell myself anyway.
“Well, good night to you both. Hope everything goes okay for you all out here.” I toss my bag over my shoulder and glance around the street.
Jett and Alice are closing up the rig, about to leave.
There are even more officers scattered around the block, taking pictures, and dealing with the two guys who had been on the ground when I came outside and who are now being lead to the back of a squad car.
“Good night, Liv. Sleep tight,” Mason waves, still smiling, while Alex just watches me walk away, still pinning me with that same look.
As I trudge back up the front steps of my building, my mind drifts back to before my evening went awry and I remember.
My food’s still in the microwave.