Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
“At the apartment,” I said, voice low. “He was,” I paused. My stomach rolled.
Nita’s eyes narrowed. “He was what?”
I wasn’t sure I should share this part, but this was Nita and Char didn’t keep secrets from her sister. She needed to know how bad the situation was. I met her gaze and forced myself to say it. “He was on top of her. Trying to take her clothes off.”
Nita’s face twisted, rage and horror battling for dominance. “Oh my God.”
My hands clenched into fists. “He charged Lamonte. There was a struggle. I was doing CPR. Then, I’m not sure what happened my back was to them. My focus was Char.” My throat closed around the next words. “He got Lamonte’s weapon.”
Nita inhaled sharply, eyes flooding. “No.”
“He fired,” I said, voice rough. “Hit Lamonte in the neck.”
Nita sagged like her bones had turned to water. I caught her elbow before she fell. She pressed her forehead into my shoulder for one second, a brief collapse, and I stood there stiffly, letting her use me because it was the only thing I could offer her.
When she pulled back, her face was wet with tears. “Did you, did you get him?”
“I fired twice as he ran,” I stated. “I don’t know if I hit him. Everything happened fast. I had to get back to compressions on Char.”
Nita’s jaw set. “They’ll find him.”
They had to. Because the alternative, him out there, breathing, moving through the city while Char lay in ICU fighting for life, was something I couldn’t let my mind touch.
A nurse approached again, this one older, eyes tired but kind. She looked between us. “Officer Verdone?”
I straightened. “Yes.”
“We have an update,” she said. “The ICU patient is stable. Still unconscious, but stable, getting stronger every minute so we are pretty confident whatever was in her system is leaving it. We’re waiting on the tox screen to identify what it was and better adjust treatment. And the surgeon for Officer Lamonte is asking for you.”
My pulse spiked. “Where?”
“Trauma surgery waiting area,” she said. “Down the hall, left at the elevators.”
I started to move, then stopped when Nita’s fingers latched onto my sleeve. Her eyes pleaded.
“I’ll come back, go to the ICU waiting room. I’ll go there when I finish with the doc.” I ordered. “I promise.”
Nita nodded, but she didn’t look convinced the universe still understood what promises meant.
The trauma surgery waiting area was quieter, dimmer, as if someone had decided the families of the dying deserved softer lighting. There were two other uniforms there—guys from our precinct. Their faces were tight, eyes tracking me like they were looking for answers I didn’t have.
“Verdone,” one of them said, standing. “Captain is here.”
My stomach dropped. Supervisor presence wasn’t unusual after an officer-involved shooting. Protocol. Procedure. But the word still hit like an accusation.
“I don’t care,” I said. “Where’s the surgeon?”
“Take a seat, he’ll be right back. He sent a nurse to get you.”
A door opened and a man in scrubs stepped out, surgical cap still on, mask hanging around his neck. His eyes were bloodshot with exhaustion.
“Dante Verdone?” he asked to verify my identity.
I stood up, knees cracking. “Yes.”
“I’m Dr. Patel,” he said. “I’m the trauma surgeon on Officer Lamonte’s case.”
“How is he?” I asked, and my voice sounded like someone else’s.
Dr. Patel exhaled slowly. “He’s alive. He lost a lot of blood. The bullet lodged close to the carotid artery. We were able to remove it without catastrophic damage. He’s not out of the woods yet, but the surgery went better than expected.”
My entire body went weak with relief so sudden it made me dizzy. I gripped the back of a chair. “He’s alive.”
“Yes,” the doctor said, holding my gaze. “But he’s gonna have a tough recovery. There’s swelling. There’s a risk of complications—stroke, airway compromise, infection. We have him intubated and sedated. He’ll be moved to ICU shortly.”
“Can I see him?”
“Briefly,” Dr. Patel said. “Only for a moment. He’s in critical care, but you can go to his recovery room.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”
The doctor hesitated, then added, “He’s a very lucky man.”
Luck. I didn’t feel lucky. I doubt Lamonte felt lucky right now even though yes, it’s a miracle he’s alive. I felt like the universe had spun a chamber and fired, and we were all just waiting to see who it hit next.
One of the guys from the precinct cleared his throat. “Verdone, you need to talk to the Captain.”
“Later,” I snapped, then immediately regretted the edge in my voice. These were my people. They were scared too.
But I couldn’t do politics right now. I couldn’t do procedure.
I could only do what was necessary to survive the next five minutes and then the next.
Chapter 7
Loco
Lamonte looked too small in the hospital bed. Not physically—he was still built like a tank—but the tubes, the machines, the way his chest rose and fell with mechanical rhythm. It robbed him of his stubborn, loud presence. Turned him into something fragile. This man, this Marine, this cop, he was not fragile.