“Really?”
“Uh-huh. You?”
“I’m good.”
Sullivan wanted to go to her, grab her, shake her, and then hold her so close that he’d feel her heartbeat next to his own. He couldn’t do that, though, and hoped she understood. He walked over to where Jay was sitting on the ground, rocking back against the side door as he cradled his arm. Ramsey’s Walther was lying beside him. Sullivan kicked it out of the way and then secured his Sig.
Buddy called out from the street side, and when Sullivan gave him the all clear, he came at a jog between the house and the garage. He took in the situation in a single sweep. He saw blood seeping between Jay’s clenched fingers, Ramsey on her hands and knees on the deck, Sullivan standing motionless and virtually without expression, and some big ass cat coming toward them in stealth mode in spite of the fact that he was twice as high as the grass he was trying to hide in.
“I’ll call for the EMTs,” Buddy said. “Ramsey? You need a bus?”
“No, Buddy. Jay didn’t hurt me.”
“Not for lack of trying,” Sullivan said under his breath.
“What’s that?” asked Buddy as he yanked on his radio. “What’d you say?”
Pointing to Jay, Sullivan repeated himself and then added, “He was aiming at Ramsey, not at me.”
“Jeez,” Buddy said. “You sure you’re okay, Ramsey?”
She had just pulled herself to a stand when she heard Sullivan say that Jay had shot at her. She remembered thinking that he might have, but having it confirmed made her legs wobbly. “I’m sure,” she told Buddy and grabbed the deck rail to make certain she stayed upright.
Buddy called in for an ambulance, looked to Ramsey for the address and recited it back. He made a report to the chief, offering to take Ramsey’s statement right away, but Bailey needed someone to follow Jay to the hospital and that couldn’t be Sullivan. By the same token, neither could Sullivan take Ramsey’s statement. There would be at least the perception of a conflict.
Listening to this, Ramsey volunteered to drive to the station and Bailey accepted her offer. He ordered both of his cops to go to the ER, and further ordered Buddy to take Sullivan’s gun.
“He already gave it to me,” Buddy said into the radio. He finished up the call and clipped the radio back to his shirt. He turned his attention back to Ramsey. “What do you need to do to get going?”
“Put on my jacket and lock up.”
“Then do that.”
“What about Jay’s arm? I have some gauze bandages somewhere.”
“Nah.” He looked down at Jay who was still clutching his arm and sucking in air between his teeth. “Can’t be more than a flesh wound. The EMTs will be here by the time you put your hands on the bandages.”
Ramsey looked to Sullivan for confirmation. When he nodded, she started for the door. He called her and she stopped.
“Probably a good idea for you to take your permit papers with you.”
“They’re in the glovebox.”
“You’re okay to drive?”
“For God’s sake,” said Buddy. “Do you think I can’t see what’s going on here? Don’t just stand there. Go on up there and kiss her.” His gaze swiveled to Ramsey. “Or you come down and kiss him. It’s an agony watching you two pussyfoot around the thing.”
In the future they would wonder why it took Buddy’s prompting to get them to move where they both wanted to go and why they subsequently were able to ignore his pointed throat clearing when their kiss went on…and on…and on.
It was actually Jay who was the catalyst for their separation when he asked Buddy, “Is that Dudley?”
43
Ramsey satin the interview room at the station giving her statement to Officer Butz. She’d observed upon entering that the space had significantly fewer amenities than the room she used for a similar purpose at the Ridge. He smiled politely and offered her a water. She took him up on it. He was gone less than a minute and then it was all business.
After Butz had information regarding the nature of the relationship between Ramsey and her intruder, he asked for a chronological account of events beginning with tripping the security alarm. She went through it once, then again with Butz peppering her with questions, and finally a third time when she was asked to write her statement and sign it. It wasn’t until she slid the notepad across the table that Butz stopped the tape recorder and the red light on the camera mounted near the ceiling went dark.
Ramsey leaned back in her chair and regarded Butz expectantly. “Is that it?”
