Then Devon was there, skidding to his knees beside her, his face drained of all color. "Emery, talk to me. Are you hit?"
"No. He—" She looked at the man who'd tackled her, who'd taken a bullet meant for her. "He saved me."
"Miguel." Devon gripped the man's shoulder. "Hang on. Ambulance is coming."
"I'm okay, boss." Miguel's smile was tight with pain. "Just my leg."
The sound of sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer. Emery's hands were shaking—no, her entire body was shaking. Someone had shot at her.Actuallyshot at her. And this stranger, this vineyard worker she'd never even spoken to, had seen it happening and thrown himself into the line of fire.
"Can you move?" Devon asked, his hands running over her arms, her shoulders, and her legs. "Are you hurt anywhere?"
"I'm fine. I'm not hurt." But her voice didn't sound right, too high and thin. "Miguel's the one who's bleeding."
The ambulance tore up the vineyard road, followed by Sandy's patrol car. EMTs swarmed Miguel, assessing his wound, applying pressure, and loading him onto a gurney with efficient speed.
Sandy appeared at Emery's side. "I need you to tell me exactly what happened."
Emery's teeth chattered despite the warm afternoon. "I was walking. Miguel ran at me. Then gunshots. Two of them. He got hit covering me."
"Did you see the shooter?" Sandy asked.
"No. I didn't see anything until Miguel knocked me down."
"Witnesses say someone was on the production building roof. They jumped down and ran toward the access road,” Sandysaid into her radio, calling for backup, for additional units to search the property.
"Ms. Tate, I need to check you out." One of the EMTs—a young woman with kind eyes—knelt beside her. "Make sure you're not injured."
"I'm fine. Miguel's the one who needs help."
"They're already loading him. He's stable—bullet went through the fleshy part of his thigh, missed the femoral artery. He's going to be okay." The EMT started checking Emery's vitals anyway. "But you were in a hit-and-run two days ago. You're coming to the hospital to be examined."
"That's not necessary?—"
"It absolutely is," Devon said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You're getting checked out."
"Devon, I'm fine?—"
"Someone just shot at you.” His hands trembled as he helped her stand. "You're going to the hospital if I have to carry you there myself."
Sandy barked out orders, coordinating search teams. Workers clustered in groups, some still staring at the production building roof, others gathered around where Emery and Miguel had fallen. Her scattered authentication records lay in the dirt, a deputy was already collecting them with carefully gloved hands.
"This is an active crime scene, and we’ll need to lock down the production building," Sandy announced to the gathered workers. "I need everyone to remain on the property. We'll be taking statements from each of you."
More patrol cars arrived, along with a second ambulance, and deputies spread out to search the buildings and the property. The ambulance doors stood open, Miguel already loaded inside, an IV in his arm and an EMT wrapping his leg wound with practiced efficiency.
"I'm riding with her," Devon told the EMTs, his tone making it clear this wasn't negotiable.
The female EMT nodded. "Fine. But we need to leave now."
Devon helped Emery into the ambulance, his hands gentle despite the urgency. She was still shaking, adrenaline and shock making her limbs feel disconnected from her body.
The ambulance doors closed, siren wailing to life as they pulled away from the vineyard. Through the back windows, Emery could see the production building growing smaller, police swarming the grounds, workers being directed into groups for questioning.
Someone had tried to kill her.
Not scare her, not intimidate her.
Kill her.
