Page 27 of NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority

Kylie lowered herself back into her chair as she listened, her body shaking. “Where is he now? Thank you, Detective Edlund. I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“What’s going on?” I said as soon as she hung up.

She was trembling, fighting tears. “It’s Shane. He’s been shot. He’s in surgery at Lincoln Hospital.”

CHAPTER 19

“I’m driving,”I said as we sprinted to the car.

Kylie didn’t argue. She tossed me the keys.

I got behind the wheel, and Kylie reached for the lights and sirens, which is justified only when a cop is racing to respond to an incident in progress. This was definitely not that.

“Fuck the rules,” she said, flipping them on. “Boyfriend emergency.”

“What do you know?” I asked, making a hard left onto White Street.

“Not a hell of a lot. Even though I told the guy I was a cop, you know the drill, Zach. He’s not going to give up anything to me on the phone. All I know is, Shane was at the Hunts Point Market picking out vegetables. Somebody walked up to him and shot him. He took a bullet to the chest.”

“Just him? Nobody else was shot?”

“No. Shane was the target.”

“And the shooter?”

“Fled the scene. Got away,” she said. “But we’ll get him. We will absolutely track the fucker down and bring him in.”

No, we wouldn’t. Somebody would, but it wouldn’t be us. Kylie knew that, but she’s always been quick to break the rules when they get in her way.

Thirty minutes later, we rolled up to the busiest emergency room in the city. Lincoln Hospital in the Bronx. Two detectives were waiting for us.

“Steve Edlund from theFour-One. I spoke to you on the phone. This is my partner, Dave McDaniel.”

“How is he?” Kylie asked.

“He was conscious and alert when they brought him in,” Edlund said. “Unlocked his phone for us; told us to call you. And you know these docs here at Lincoln. Give ’em a gunshot, and they’ll give you a miracle.”

It was a bit of an overstatement, but it was just the kind of pep talk Kylie needed to give Edlund what he was looking for—her undivided attention.

She let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks,” she said. “Whatever I can do to help. What went down?”

“Mr. Talbot was at the produce market at Hunts Point,” Edlund said. “I’m sure you know the place—over a million square feet, and it’s crawling with people at that ungodly hour of the morning. Greengrocers, restaurateurs, buyers from the big chain stores.”

“Did any of those people see the shooting?” Kylie asked.

“The 911 caller said it came out of nowhere. The shooter just walked up to Mr. Talbot, shot himpoint-blank, and took off,” Edlund said.

“We have a dozen uniforms there now, trying to round up witnesses before they disappear,” McDaniel said. “We came directly here to see if we could get a statement from the vic—sorry, Mr. Talbot.”

“What’d he say?” Kylie asked.

“He couldn’t really speak. He managed to get out ‘Never saw him before in my life.’”

“That and ‘Call Kylie,’” Edlund said. “What can you tell us?”

“Shane moved up here from Houston and opened a restaurant in the West Village,” Kylie said. “A mutual friend thought we’d hit it off, and she was right. It’s been pretty intense, so I may not know a lot about him, but I’ll tell you everything I can.”

“What do you know about his personal life?”