“Will, admit it: I was traumatized, and you thought I was mentally ill. Even when they decided to give me a promotion, it was to shut me up and send me on my way. And if I didn’t, some psychiatrist was going to label me schizophrenic. So please, let’s not pretend anything has changed between us.”
“Fine, come with me, and I'll give you the evidence and be gone,” he groused.
“Where are you parked?” She looked around.
“I’m in the visitors parking. It’s where you work. I’d think it was safe to walk out to the parking lot.”
“There are other things going on here that have nothing to do with you. For your safety, I'm bringing Kip and part of my detail with us.”
“Yeah, I guess it has to do with your boss. I saw that mess on TV and his interview. They should retire him,” Cook said unapologetically.
“Troy Bremen has more competence in his pinky finger than you willeverhave.” Her face flushed red with anger.
Kip coughed. She knew it was a warning to stay focused.
“Ah, I get it now. He must do wonders for you with that finger,” Will scoffed.
Gwen resisted the desire to slap him. It wouldn’t be right for a first deputy to make a scene. She called for any available 3-Romeo or Oscar Team operator, then nodded in appreciation when Gavin Anderson and four other operators arrived. She saw Kip sign a warning to them.
“Ms. North, what do you need, ma’am?”
“Damn it, Gwenny, you have your own Marine Recon team,” Will chuckled.
Gwen stood to explain this situation to Gavin. Kip’s eyes never left Will. Together, the group headed to the parking lot.
Will Cook had parked in a spot far from the building. Gwen slowed her pace as doubt niggled at her. He popped the trunk, pointed, and leaned in to pick up the white security envelope.
Gavin yelled, “Drone.”
Will shoved Gwen into the trunk. Her stomach dropped at the sound of multiple gun shots, one penetrating the trunk as she rolled into a ball.
* * *
Trask’s phoneflashed and alarmed. As he pulled it from his waist and read the message, his expression filled with disbelief.
“What?” Troy demanded. “DO NOT THINK IT.”
“We have a shooting in the visitor parking lot. No details yet. Three distress calls,” Trask continued reading. “Gavin Anderson, Kip and Gwen.”
Troy ripped the call bell from the plug. He knew it would set off an emergency call.
Tim and two nurses flew in the doors. “What’s wrong?”
“Pull this catheter, the IV and the monitor, and get me my clothing. I’ve got a shooting in the parking lot. My DCO is involved.” Troy’s arms crossed across his chest.
“Troy, there has to be—” Tim cut off his sentence. “Alright. Trask and I are glued to your sides. Lie flat.” He grabbed a pair of gloves and removed the foley. Meanwhile, Trask pulled the IV, and a nurse removed his monitor.
“Clothing,” Troy demanded.
Trask took off for Troy’s office as Troy looked down at his phone. There were no reports. “Damn it.” He dialed Communications. “This is Sierra Delta 2; put my phone back on full alert.”
Ian, dressed in a tactical uniform, joined him. Trask flew in the door after him. In his hand he held a suit and a tactical uniform, both with the appropriate shoes and undergarments.
“Boss?” Troy climbed from bed, his body swaying.
Trask went to help steady him, but Ian held his hand up. Troy inhaled and forced his shoulders back, reaching for the tactical uniform. “Boss, sit-rep.” His entire manner and tone morphed with surety.
“We have two 3-Sierra Team and two 3-Oscar Team members critical. Anderson is stable with a shot in the right shoulder and knee. Camera footage shows Will Cook shoved Gwen into the trunk of his car. Another man shot Kip and shoved him into the back seat of the vehicle. The car is unmarked, no plates. They stopped two clicks north and dumped Gwen and Kip’s phones. No camera footage. We will pull anything we can from their phones. Martin ordered Tech to pull ATM, traffic and any other camera footage. SDPD is here, and a BOLO is out for Gwen, Kip and Cook,” Ian reported.
