Chapter 3
THREE
Sam rinsed her plate and added it to the station dishwasher, still thinking about the call from the school, even though she’d determined to solve that problem later. It was Greer’s turn to cook but her turn to clean up.
Despite her reservations, the chicken caprese sandwiches Greer had made were delicious. She had seriously questioned his sanity when he’d pulled out Greek yogurt and basil pesto and started to mix them. But it worked. So well.
She closed the dishwasher door. “I’m shocked to say this, but good job, Greer.”
“High protein and tasty.” He leaned against the counter. He’d said that since she wouldn’t let him help with cleanup, he’d at least hang around and keep her company.
The others had already filtered out of the kitchen to the dayroom, or wherever else they wanted to spend what downtime they might have.
Just as she was deciding what to do next, the alarm pealed throughout the station, followed by the mechanical voice announcing a medical call and an address.
“Let’s go.” She shut off the water, dried her hands on a towel, and ran to the engine. It was a medical call, so no need for turnout gear—though she tossed it in, just in case.
Murphy had the engine started, and Lieutenant Fischer was climbing in the front when she made it to the rig. Once she and Greer were in, Murphy pulled the truck out of the engine bay and onto the busy street. He flipped on lights and sirens, and they sailed past waiting traffic.
“Two patients with gunshot wounds. One of them a federal agent,” Lieutenant Fischer advised.
Sam watched through the window as the scenery changed. It was amazing how a couple of blocks could change the area from a nice neighborhood to a dilapidated, crime-infested area. Kind of like the stark contrast between her old life and her new life.
Murph pulled the engine up next to a copse of trees behind a rundown motel known to the station for drug overdoses.
Instead of the usual handful of civilians walking away, determined not to get involved, she spotted at least three unmarked police cars, blue lights flashing, and a couple Renegade squad cars.
She hopped down from the engine and grabbed the medical bag. One of the men standing in the parking lot wore a vest with US Marshal emblazoned on it.
The Marshals were here.
Of course, that explained the federal agent who’d been shot. Unease filled her gut. She had a job to do and a life to live. Working on the marshal in charge of her case could be risky. If her US Marshal handler, Ethan Butler, was hurt, she’d have to pretend she didn’t know him.
The broad-shouldered marshal marching toward her confirmed he wasn’t the one injured. Working on patients was hard enough, but knowing them made it tougher.
She didn’t know know Deputy Marshal Butler, but still, she didn’t want anything to happen to him. Not that she wanted anything to happen to someone else either…
She took a deep breath, casting the circling thoughts from her head. She needed to focus on the patient, whoever it might be.
“What do we have?” Lieutenant Fischer asked Deputy Marshal Butler.
“One of my guys has a GSW to his shoulder, and the fugitive has a GSW to the chest.” He didn’t even look at her.
“Greer, you take the marshal. Williams, you take the fugitive.”
“Yes, sir.” Greer peeled off from the group and headed in the direction Deputy Marshal Butler pointed.
Lieutenant Fischer had unknowingly made the best decision.
Just as they weren’t aware of her real name, none of her coworkers knew she was a licensed nurse.
Or Madison Johanson had been, at least. She had more training than Greer, even though they both had the same paramedic qualification.
But she couldn’t go beyond the bounds of what a paramedic could do without serious consequences.
Like losing her certification and license. She had to follow the rules.
She wasn’t a nurse anymore.
She wasn’t a lot of things.
She followed Butler to a man lying on the concrete in the supine position, cuffed hands beneath him. His shirt had already been cut away, and a woman wearing a US Marshals vest held some sort of cloth over the wound to apply pressure.
He appeared alert and oriented. How was that possible?
Sam dropped the medic bag, pulled gloves from her pocket, put them on, then knelt. She looked the man in the eye. “I’m Sam. I’m a paramedic, and I’m here to help you. What’s your name?”
“John,” the man said.
“Hello, John.” She turned her attention to the brunette female. “What do we have?”
She could clearly see the gunshot wound, but she needed to know if there had been any other trauma or possible injury.
“One shot to the chest. Entry wound only.”
Sam quickly looked the patient over and didn’t detect any obvious signs that suggested an open pneumothorax. If the lung had been punctured, they would have bigger problems than just blood loss.
“Keep pressure on the wound. I’m going to apply a chest seal.” She grabbed the packet and opened it. “Okay, let me see the wound.”
The marshal lifted the cloth and sat back.
A small entry wound with minimal bleeding. Where was all the blood? He’d taken a bullet to the chest, an area of the body full of major arteries and organs.
Just because he was fine now didn’t mean he’d remain that way.
The man sitting in front of her was a ticking time bomb.
She would need to watch for cardiac tamponade.
If John’s heart was being constricted by internal bleeding, he would require immediate intervention.
Something even Madison Johanson wasn’t qualified to do.
Using the gauze that was included in the packet, Sam wiped the man’s chest free of blood and then put it on the wound. “Hold this.”
The marshal held the gauze while Sam removed the protective film from the seal. She looked at the man. “When I count to three, I want you to exhale as much as you can and hold it. Can you do that for me?”
The man nodded his head.
“Okay, one. Two. Three.”
The man exhaled. Sam grabbed the gauze from the marshal and wiped the wound again, then applied the seal and pressed around the edges, making sure it adhered to the man’s skin.
She turned to him and smiled. “Good job. You can breathe normally. I’m going to roll you so I can check for an exit wound, and I’ll be placing a pulse ox on your finger.”
With the assistance of the marshal, she rolled the man and checked his back for wounds, then checked his oxygen levels.
More sirens sounded behind her. The ambulance was close.
“Okay, I’m going to check the rest of your vitals now.” She wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his right upper arm.
The paramedics arrived, and she gave them the rundown to transfer care, then grabbed all her stuff while Greer finished transferring care of his patient.
Several more police cars had arrived. A few officers milled about, but most had gathered by a truck. Deputy Marshal Butler was busy talking to the group.
She counted five people in US Marshals vests. Three men and two women. She could see a couple had blood on them. She grabbed a packet of cleanup wipes and a biohazard bag, then took them to the group.
“Excuse me.” All eyes turned to her. “I thought you might want to clean up.”
She opened the pack of wipes, then pulled a couple for the woman and handed them over. She turned to the man whose vest identified him as Roberts and offered him the wipes. He seemed to have the most blood on him.
“Thanks.” He accepted the wipes and started cleaning the blood from his hands. He was roughly half a foot taller than her. His chestnut-brown hair was tapered short with a soft wave on the top, and he sported a neatly trimmed beard.
A thrill of attraction spread through her body. He was definitely easy on the eyes.
Tearing her gaze from him, she offered the wipes to the others standing in the huddle, but they all declined.
She opened the biohazard bag and waited for the marshals to finish cleaning up.
They deposited the used wipes in the bag.
“Thank you,” Roberts said, holding her gaze a moment longer than necessary. Warmth spread through her chest.
Roberts hadn’t been around her GSW, so the blood on his hands must belong to the injured marshal. For someone who had been involved in this shooting and tending to a wounded colleague, he was steady and calm. A chill raced down her spine. This was a man you didn’t want to mess with.
She swallowed. “You’re welcome.” She sealed the bag and returned to the engine.
“Ready?” Murph said from the driver’s seat.
“Good to go.” She patted his seat.
Murph pulled the engine out and headed back to the station.
Sam looked at the watch on her left wrist. Fourteen hundred. Isabella would be out of school and back at the house in two hours. Good thing today was her first twelve-hour shift of the week. She’d be home tonight, and they could talk about the incident at school.
Once she got the truth out of Isabella, things could get back on track.
No way would Sam allow this to be the beginning of everything going downhill.
Liam stepped into his new office and dropped into his chair, one that was much nicer than he was used to. It was going to take a few days to get used to having his own office, but maybe this whole move wouldn’t be so bad.
His gaze settled on a basket wrapped in cellophane with a dark-blue ribbon tied at the top that had been sitting on his desk when he arrived. He hadn’t had a chance to see what it was. Now was as good a time as any.
A knock sounded on the wood frame behind him. Not even a moment to collect himself from the crazy first day so far.
“Roberts.” Supervisor Howard stepped in.
Liam spun his office chair and stood. “Yes, sir.”
“Tough start to the day.” He gestured to the empty seat next to Liam’s desk. “May I?”
Liam nodded and returned to his seat.
“Good job out there. Tell me what happened.” Supervisor Howard crossed his right ankle over his left knee.