Safe Harbour

Bob shouted as loud as he could, and Millie heard him first. He signaled to her, and she called out to Jeff. They had seen Ophélie on the ground in Bob's arms by then, and came back at a dead run. Jeff had his cell phone in his hand, and was already calling 911. They were back with Bob and Ophélie within seconds. Bob looked like he was in shock, and she was unconscious, but he had found a pulse, and she was still breathing, but barely.

“Shit,” Jeff said, as he got on his knees next to her and Millie ran to the mouth of the alley to wave the paramedics in when they got there. “Is she gonna make it?”

“Doesn't look good,” Bob said through clenched teeth. He was pissed at Jeff. The alley had been a bad decision. It was the first dumb one they'd made in a long time. And he was even more pissed at himself for letting her do it, and not following her more closely. But without guns, there was almost nothing they could do to protect each other in situations like this. They had talked about bulletproof vests at one point, but decided they didn't need them. And until then they hadn't. “She's a widow with a kid,” Bob said to Jeff as they watched her.

“I know, man…I know… where the fuck are they?”

“Coming, I hear them,” Bob said, watching her, and keeping his fingers on the pulse in her neck. It was getting weaker, and it had only been minutes, but it felt like lifetimes. But they could hear the sirens coming, and a second later, Jeff saw Millie waving, as the paramedics came running.

They loaded her onto the gurney quickly, as one of them ran a line into her arm while they were still moving. “How many shots were there?” one of them asked Jeff as he ran beside them. Bob ran to get into his van, so he could follow the ambulance to General. They had the best trauma unit in town. And he could hear himself praying as he started the van and turned it around.

“Three shots,” Jeff told them, as they put the gurney in the ambulance as fast as possible, and both paramedics jumped in. They took off as one of them closed the door. And Jeff ran back to his van. Millie was already behind the wheel. Both vans followed the ambulance at full speed. It was the first incident like it that had happened to them, but it was no consolation now.

“Think she'll make it?” Millie asked, weaving in and out of traffic, her eyes on the road, and her foot lead on the gas.

Jeff took a breath and shook his head. He hated to say it but he didn't, and neither did she. “No, I don't,” he said honestly. “She took three bullets at close range. Unless the guy was firing a peashooter, she's dead. No one can survive that. Not a woman at least.”

“I did,” she said grimly. It had blown her off the force and put her on disability, and it took a hell of a long time, but she'd lived. Her male partner who was shot at the same time, hadn't. Sometimes it was just the luck of the draw in situations like this.

They were at the hospital in seven minutes, and all three of them got out of the two vans, and followed the gurney inside. They had cut off her clothes by then, and she was lying half naked, exposed, and with so much blood on her you couldn't see what was happening. And within seconds, she disappeared into the trauma unit, unconscious, with an oxygen mask on her face. Her three co-workers sat silently, not knowing who to call, or if they should. It seemed sinful to call a kid, and they figured there was a baby-sitter. At least someone had to know.

“What do you think, guys?” Jeff asked. He was in charge, but it was a tough call.

“My kids would want to know,” Bob said quietly. They all looked sick, and Jeff turned to him again before he walked to a pay phone in the hall.

“How old is her kid?”

“Twelve. Her name is Pip.”

“Do you want me to call the baby-sitter or talk to her?” Millie offered. It might be less scary if a woman called. But how much more scary could it be than telling her that her mom had been shot twice in the chest and once in the stomach. Jeff shook his head and headed for the phone, as the others waited, leaning against the wall near the trauma unit door. At least no one had come out yet to tell them she had died. But Bob felt sure it wouldn't be long before they did.

The phone rang in the bungalow at Safe Harbour just after two A.M. Matt had been asleep for nearly two hours, but he woke suddenly. Now that he had kids again, he never turned off the phone, and worried if anyone called him at an unusual hour. He wondered if it was Robert, or Vanessa in Auckland. He hoped it wasn't Sally.

“Hello?” he said sleepily, after he had groped for the phone.

“Matt.” It was Pip, and in the single word he could hear that her voice was shaking.

“Is something wrong?” But he knew it before she said it, as a wave of terror filled him.

“It's my mom. She's been shot. She's in the hospital. Can you come?”

“Right now,” he said, throwing back the covers, and stepping onto the floor, still holding the phone. “What happened?”