Emma sank back into her chair. Her shoulders slumped.
“I’ve put all these innocent people in grave danger,” she whispered.
The chief sat. “Listen, Emma, you didn’t do this.”
“I did. If I just hadn’t kept the bag from Jonathan and taken the charter, he might still be alive, Deputy Vanderwood wouldn’t be hurt, and Cap wouldn’t be here, in the hospital.”
“You can’t think like this. Sometimes bad stuff just happens to good people. That’s the reality of it.”
“Chief,” Jerry called out.
Chief Mertz stood, and Emma rose with him.
“They’re prepping Cap for surgery. His spleen is damaged. They think they can repair it, but they may end up removing it.”
Emma’s heart lurched into her throat.
“Is this a complicated procedure? What is the risk?” the chief asked.
“All surgery has a risk, but this procedure should go smoothly.”
“How long does the surgery take?” Emma asked.
Jerry looked at her. “Maybe a few hours. It depends on what the surgeon finds when he gets in there.”
“Tomie stays with him.”
“Understood,” Jerry replied and walked away.
Emma looked at the chief, needing any sort of reassurance that things would be okay. A hint of concern laced Chief Mertz’s gaze, but he stayed silent.
In the waiting room, Emma sat rigid in the hard chair with her hands clasped so tightly in her lap her fingers ached almost as much as her bruised feet. The air smelled of disinfectant and burned coffee.
Three steps away, the chief stood near the windows, phone pressed to his ear, posture straight, with a neutral expression.
Cap was in surgery.
The words emergency spleen surgery and internal bleeding replayed in her mind.
She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. When she reopened her eyes, she counted the white ceiling tiles, trying to distract herself from the guilt she felt for bringing this hardship upon Cap. She was her own worst enemy.
The chief turned, lowering his phone. “They caught him.”
“What?”
“The Colombian,” he said in a steady voice.
“How? Where?” One-word questions seemed to be all she could muster.
“A Brown County camera picked up the license plate and a sheriff’s deputy pursued at high speed. The Colombian lost control of his vehicle, and he crashed into a guardrail. He was pronounced dead at the scene.”
Relief hit her like a huge wave. Her chest loosened, and her lungs filled with renewed air.
“It’s over?”
“Yes.”
“Even without having found the drugs?” she asked.
