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It happened fast, but for an instant she stood in the mini-mart, the lights too bright, a gun rising toward her, ready to fire.
This time, she fired first. As she did, the woman leaped onto her back, screaming. The man took a staggering step forward, eyes filled with the pain she knew too well. The gun rising to aim at her chest.
Sloan fired again, then twisted her body to send the woman dropping to the floor.
Screaming still, Clara crawled toward the man lying bloody and still. Sam, she called him in a voice that sounded to Sloan’s ringing ears far, far away.
Training had her stepping on the gun he’d dropped.
Footsteps raced from behind, and she spun again, only to lower her gun with a shaking hand as Nash rushed in, the dog on his heels.
“Sloan! Jesus Christ. Are you hurt? Are you hurt?”
His hands flew over her even as she shook her head.
“I need—I need you to call nine-one-one. Have them contact O’Hara. I need you to…”
“I’ve got it. I’ve got it.”
“A handkerchief, a bandanna.”
Snapping at Tic to sit, Nash yanked one out along with his phone. She took it, wrapped the gun, put it inside the closet, though she wondered if Clara even remembered it.
She still knelt on the floor, still calling for Sam, as she did chest compressions with blood-soaked hands.
“Don’t leave me! Sam, Sam! I thought I would pay the price, not you. Not you. Don’t go!”
But he was gone, Sloan could see it. Pain didn’t live in his eyes now. Nothing did.
When a wave of heat washed over her, she reached down into her gut to steady herself.
Do the job, she ordered herself. Do the next step, then the one after that.
She got her restraints, dragged Clara back far enough to secure her hands behind her back.
Clara’s teeth snapped as she twisted her head, tried to bite. “Keep your hands off me, witch! He needs help.”
“He’s beyond help. You’re a nurse, you can see that. Is Terry alive? Where is Terry Brown?”
“Burn in hell, go back to hell and burn.”
As Tic whined, Nash laid a hand on his head to keep him still.
“They’re coming, Sloan. What can I do?”
“In the van. Find the registration, find an address, call that in. They need to find Terry. Wait. Keep her off me.”
She steeled herself again, and went to the body.
“Don’t you touch him with your evil hands.” As Tic leaped and growled, Clara struggled against Nash, then just sank down. She keened like an animal while Sloan pulled out Sam’s wallet.
“I’ve got it.” She rose, stepped back, and called O’Hara.
“I’m ten minutes out, ambulance is two.”
“I have an address. You need to send the locals for Terry. He could still be alive.” In the distance, she heard sirens. “I—the male suspect, Samuel Dunley, is down. Is dead. I shot him. I shot him. He’s dead.”
“You take it easy. Hold it steady. The female?”