Chapter 14
JENNA
Four hours since Jenna had last seen her.
Jenna looked down at her hands. She'd scrubbed them raw in the bathroom, but traces of Michelle's blood remained stubbornly embedded around her cuticles and beneath her fingernails.
Her clothes told the same story: the front of her blouse stiffening as dark stains dried, her pants spattered with evidence of how desperately she'd tried to stem the bleeding.
A nurse had offered hospital scrubs. Jenna had refused. She couldn't bring herself to change, as if doing so might sever the tenuous connection she felt to Michelle.
The emergency room's rhythmic beeps and distant voices had become white noise, occasionally punctuated by the more urgent sounds of new arrivals. Each time the doors swung open, Jenna's head snapped up, hoping for news. Each time, disappointment settled deeper into her bones.
The fluorescent light flickered, and suddenly Jenna was back on the cliffside path, watching Kendall emerge from the shadows, weapon raised.
The sharp crack splitting the night air. Michelle lunging forward, her body spinning with the impact. The look of surprise—almost confusion—on her face as she crumpled to the ground.
"Michelle!" Her own voice, raw with panic, as she dropped to her knees beside Michelle's fallen body.
Blood. So much blood, pumping in rhythmic surges from beneath her collarbone, soaking through her shirt with terrifying speed.
"Officer down! Medical, now!"
Her hands pressing against the wound, Michelle's skin already growing cold beneath her touch. The warm, slick sensation of blood pulsing between her fingers despite the pressure she applied.
Jenna blinked hard, forcing herself back to the present.
Her hands trembled, and she clasped them tightly together to still them.
She'd been a detective for five years, had seen her share of violence, but nothing had prepared her for watching Michelle fall.
For holding her hand as her pulse grew weaker.
For the way Michelle's eyes had locked onto hers in the helicopter, trying to communicate something vital before consciousness slipped away.
The doors at the far end of the waiting room swept open.
Two uniformed officers entered, scanning the space until they spotted Jenna.
She recognized Detective Zoe Alvarez and Officer Destiny Washington from department meetings, though she'd had little direct interaction with either during her short time in Phoenix Ridge.
"Walsh." Zoe approached, her typically confident stride tempered by the solemnity of the situation. "Any news?"
Jenna shook her head. "Still in surgery."
Destiny settled into the chair beside her, offering a paper cup of coffee that smelled marginally better than what the waiting room vending machine provided.
"Thought you could use this," she said, her voice gentle. "It's from the diner across the street."
Jenna accepted the cup, the warmth seeping into her cold fingers. "Thank you."
"The operation was a complete success," Zoe reported, taking the seat on Jenna's other side.
"Seventeen arrests, including Sienna Castillo and Isabella Garcia.
Substantial evidence seized: financial records, communications, and the drugs themselves.
Lieutenant Hodges said you got everything needed to connect them directly to all three victims."
The information should have brought satisfaction. Three women would get justice. A dangerous organization had been dismantled. Their operation had achieved every objective.
Jenna felt nothing but hollowness.
"Chief’s on her way," Destiny added quietly. "She was overseeing the evidence processing personally."
Jenna nodded, her throat too tight for words. The investigation would continue without her. Without Michelle. Protocol demanded statements, after-action reports, evidence chains to be maintained.
All of it seemed distant and unimportant compared to the surgery happening somewhere behind those swinging doors.
"How did it happen?" Zoe asked, professional curiosity mingling with genuine concern.
Jenna took a steadying breath. "Kendall Buchanan had circled behind our extraction route. Michelle spotted her before I did." She swallowed hard. "Kendall aimed at me. Michelle intercepted."
The weight of Michelle's body as Jenna caught her, lowering her to the ground. The desperate pressure of her hands against the wound, trying to hold Michelle's life inside her body.
"Stay with me," she'd commanded, her voice steadier than she felt. "Medic incoming. Just stay with me."
The horrible rattle in Michelle's breathing. The way her eyes had begun to lose focus, pupils dilating as her body responded to catastrophic blood loss.
The medical helicopter's arrival, wind whipping their hair as they loaded Michelle onto the stretcher. The medic's clinical report: "BP dropping. Forty over thirty and falling."
The lieutenant's voice: "Detective, we need your statement."
"To hell with protocol. I'm staying with her."
Jenna blinked rapidly, focusing on the industrial tile pattern beneath her feet. Zoe's hand settled briefly on her shoulder, a gesture of solidarity that nearly broke Jenna's composure.
The waiting room doors opened again, this time admitting Chief Diana Marten.
The chief's silver-streaked hair was pulled back in a practical knot that showed signs of a chaotic night, several strands escaping to frame her face.
Her uniform remained impeccable despite the early hour and obvious stress, as if maintaining this external order might somehow influence the chaos unfolding in the operating room.
Zoe and Destiny stood immediately. Jenna tried to follow suit, but Diana waved her back down.
"At ease," Diana said, her voice carrying quiet authority that made the instruction feel like permission rather than command. "Sit, Detective Walsh. You look ready to collapse."
Diana settled into the chair Zoe vacated. For several moments, she said nothing, her gaze fixed on the same wall clock Jenna had been watching.
"Julia Scott is securing your apartment," Diana said finally. "She's bringing you clean clothes."
Jenna's hand moved instinctively to her blood-stained blouse. "I'm fine."
Diana's expression softened fractionally. "You're not fine, Detective. None of us are. But we'll maintain operational function regardless."
The clinical phrasing might have seemed cold from someone else, but Jenna recognized it as Diana's way of expressing solidarity without compromising her command presence.
"The operation was a success, and those women will have justice," Diana continued.
Jenna nodded mechanically. "Justice" felt like such a small word for what those women deserved, for what Michelle had sacrificed to secure.
"Morgan Rivers is analyzing the surveillance recordings from your equipment," Diana added. "Isabella Garcia's direct involvement has been confirmed on multiple counts. International charges are being prepared."
The information washed over Jenna like distant waves. She understood its importance professionally, but emotionally, it barely registered.
"Has there been any update on her condition?" Diana asked, her voice dropping slightly.
"Nothing since they took her into surgery," Jenna replied, the words feeling strange in her dry throat. "The bullet caught her below the left collarbone. They said something about major vessel damage."
Diana's expression remained controlled, but her hands tightened almost imperceptibly in her lap. "Michelle's tough. Always has been."
Before Jenna could respond, the doors to the surgical area swung open.
A woman in blood-spattered scrubs approached, her ruby hijab visible under her surgical cap, exhaustion evident in the lines of her face.
The identification badge clipped to her pocket read "Dr. Samira Hassan, Emergency Medicine. "
Jenna stood immediately, Diana rising beside her with similar urgency.
"Are you here for Captain Reyes?" Dr. Hassan asked, her gaze moving between them.
"Yes," Diana responded. "I'm Chief Marten. This is Detective Walsh. Status update?"
Dr. Hassan's expression revealed nothing as she gestured toward a quieter corner of the waiting room. "She's still in surgery. Dr. Reynolds is our best trauma surgeon. She's doing everything possible."
"How bad?" Diana asked, her voice steady despite the gravity of the question.
"The bullet damaged the subclavian artery," Dr. Hassan explained. "She lost a significant amount of blood before reaching the hospital. We've transfused four units already."
Jenna felt the room tilt slightly. Four units meant Michelle had lost nearly half her blood volume.
"Prognosis?" Diana pressed.
Dr. Hassan's professional mask softened slightly. "Captain Reyes is fighting hard. The next few hours are critical. If she survives the surgery, she'll have additional hurdles, including potential nerve damage affecting her left arm function."
"When will we know more?" Jenna asked, her voice barely audible.
"Surgery will likely continue another two hours," Dr. Hassan replied. "I understand you were first on scene?"
Jenna nodded stiffly.
"Your immediate response and pressure application likely saved her life," Dr. Hassan said. "Without that intervention, she wouldn't have made it to the hospital."
The doctor's words were clearly meant as comfort, but they hit Jenna like physical blows. Michelle wouldn't have needed life-saving intervention if she hadn't intercepted the bullet meant for Jenna.
As Dr. Hassan returned to the surgical area, Diana turned to Jenna with newfound assessment in her gaze.
"You should go home," she said. "Get cleaned up. Rest. I'll call when there's news."
"I'm staying," Jenna replied, the words leaving no room for discussion.
Diana studied her for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across her features. Then she nodded once, a gesture that acknowledged both Jenna's determination and the deeper reason behind it.