I’d just been shot in the back. What was I gonna do, run a five-minute mile? “No problem.”
The cops from the first squad car, a man and a woman, came boiling out of the car with their guns drawn, just like in the movies. They began to shout at us, but Jesse shook his head and yelled, “Detective Jesse Cruz, Southwest Homicide. My badge is in my inside jacket pocket. I don’t want to move my hands from this wound.”
The uniformed officers exchanged a glance, and then the female cop holstered her gun while the male kept his trained on us. Jesse and I held perfectly still while she approached and reached into the pocket of Jesse’s leather jacket, pulling out his identification. She nodded at the male officer, and they both relaxed visibly. “She’s with me,” Jesse said, tilting his head my way. I waved limply.
The three of them began to chatter at each other in cop codes, which I made no effort to sort out. After a few minutes, the other cops went inside to check the rest of the house. The ambulance arrived and two female EMTs jumped out, beelining straight for Kirsten. One of them was older, maybe sixty, with gray hair cropped short. The one who’d been driving was younger and moved with more energy. She had a ponytail pulled through a baseball cap with the name of the ambulance service printed on it. I scooted back a few feet so they could work, and Jesse was finally able to lift his bloody hands off Kirsten’s side. I looked away. I could handle the sight of blood, but there was no point in giving myself this memory of Kirsten.
“She’s waking up,” the older EMT reported. She leaned forward with a little flashlight, checking Kirsten’s pupil dilation. “Ma’am, please try not to move. Do you know where you are?”
Kirsten blinked against the light. “Yes.”
There was a wave of bustling activity, and Jesse helped the two EMTs get Kirsten onto one of those backboard thingies, and then a gurney. I managed to get to my feet while they were folding the wheels and getting her in the ambulance, although it probably didn’t look very graceful. By the time Kirsten was settled in the ambulance, she was out again. “Her too,” Jesse ordered, pointing at me. “She needs to go along and get checked out.”
I don’t know why I was surprised. “Me? I’m fine. The vest caught it.”
“She got shot in the back,” Jesse explained to the younger EMT.
The woman with the ponytail went around to my back and unceremoniously lifted the sweater. “Hey,” I protested mildly. At least it was a woman.
“I’ve got a bullet here,” the ponytailed woman yelled to her colleague. To me, she said, “He’s right, Miss. You need to come with us. There could be internal bleeding or cracked ribs.”
One of the uniformed cops opened a downstairs window and stuck his head out. “We’ve got a few more injuries in here. You guys want to take a look now or call for another bus?”
The younger EMT raised her eyebrows at the older woman, who said, “She’ll be stable for a few minutes. Run and look quick so we can at least give them a heads-up.”
The young driver nodded briskly and jogged inside, letting a cop guide her around Kevin’s body. Poor Kevin. Even in death, he was just a backdrop.
“Come on, I’ll help you climb up,” Jesse said, taking my hand and steering me toward the back of the ambulance.
“We don’t have time for this,” I protested. He ignored me, and I pretty much had to allow him to pull me along. Digging my heels in would hurt too much.
“We’re making time,” he said, and I knew from his tone that further arguments would be pointless. Jesse helped me climb carefully into the rig. I scooted around the older EMT, who was working over Kirsten, and settled down in the seat across from the witch.
“You should get back in there,” I called to Jesse, who was still on the ground. “Dashiell will be here any second.” I gave him a meaningful look that I hoped said and you guys have to figure out what to tell everyone.
“I want to stay with you,” he said simply.
“I know, but—” Before I could finish that thought, I saw the younger EMT walking around the outside of the house leading a young woman with a long, ugly gash on her forearm. Runa. “Oh, fuck me,” I said out loud. I had forgotten all about her.
“What?” Jesse said. He turned around, following my gaze, and saw his girlfriend being led away from the witch party. The coward in me was glad I didn’t have to see his face just then. “Runa?” he said incredulously. “What are you doing here?” He must have taken in the camera that was still hanging around her neck. Even from twenty feet away I could see the cracked lens. “Was this, like, a gig, or something? What happened?”
Runa looked at me briefly, and back at Jesse. “I sort of got pushed, cut my arm on the edge of the fountain,” she explained, her voice weak. “And, um, I think we need to talk.”
I almost laughed. That was an understatement. Before either of them could speak, though, the younger EMT said, “It’s not that deep, but we should take her in for surface stitches.” She turned to address Runa. “Miss, the next ambulance is going to take you to the hospital. Please wait here with the detective until it arrives.”
“Oh, hey, she looks way more hurt than I am,” I protested, starting to stand up from my stretcher. It hurt, but the pain was already less than it had been a few minutes earlier. “And this is her cousin,” I added, pointing at Kirsten. “I can drive myself to the ER.” Jesse glared. “Or wait for the next ambulance,” I said contritely, before he could yell.
The EMTs exchanged another look, and then the older woman shrugged. “Fine by me.”
Runa came over to the ambulance, and I stood up to climb down. Before I could move to the edge, though, Kirsten’s hand waved weakly. “Scarlett?”
“Kirsten!” I took her hand. It was very cool.