Page 68 of High-Priority Asset

Rounds were still being sprayed on full automatic, punching into the walls, shredding paintings. He and Isabel skirted behind the desk, beating the deadly fusillade by a blink of an eye. Bullets pounded into the solid wood, thuds reverberating through his body.

“Keep your head down,” Dutch said to Isabel and drew his weapon.

Flipping off his safety, he peered over the top of the desk and pulled the trigger, returning fire. Every shot he squeezed off was controlled and well aimed.

A hot slug slammed into the shooter, throwing him back into the vehicle.

The driver accelerated and the van hurtled forward with its tires squealing.

“Stay here.” Dutch raced to the front, out onto the sidewalk, and watched the vehicle speed away. He scanned for any other threats.

No secondary shooters on foot. Only terrified passersby.

He ran back inside and checked on Brenda. She lay on her back, rolling left and right. A red blotch on her abdomen seeped wider, dripping blood on the hardwood. Another bullet got her in the shoulder just under her collarbone. She was alive, but not for much longer if she didn’t get medical attention.

“Isabel, grab a towel, a piece of cloth, anything you can find.”

Glass crunched as she scurried to her feet. Seconds later she came to him, carrying a silk scarf. She screamed, a bloodcurdling cry that he’d never forget.

“Oh, God!” A choking sob left Isabel. “Brenda!”

Dutch snatched the scarf from her, tore it and pressed the pieces to Brenda’s wounds. “Put your hands here,” he said to Isabel. “Apply pressure. Don’t worry about hurting her. We’ve got to slow the bleeding.”

Isabel dropped to her knees with no care about the broken glass that bit into her skin and replaced his hands with her own. Dutch took out his cell phone and dialed 911.

Before he’d finished with the emergency dispatch operator, the sound of approaching sirens split the air. Someone else must’ve already called them. Help was on the way.

Brenda was still conscious, which was a good sign. Her blood wasn’t a dark red like her liver had been punctured, but the bullet might’ve hit her stomach. It was a nasty wound.

The ambulance and police arrived at virtually the same time. EMTs rushed inside while the police cordoned off the area, driving onlookers back from the scene.

Dutch holstered his weapon and flashed his badge to the cops. After the EMTs loaded Brenda on a stretcher, he helped Isabel climb into the back of the ambulance to ride along.

“I’ll give a statement and meet you at the hospital,” Dutch said. He’d call Draper and have him or Allison head over to keep Isabel safe until Dutch could get there.

Isabel swallowed hard and horror was stamped on her face. She brushed her hair back with a bloody hand, nodding that she’d heard him, but her glassy eyes were focused on her best friend.

“Brenda? Brenda!” Isabel took her hand, but her friend didn’t answer.

Fear speared him as Brenda’s head lolled to the side. She wasn’t conscious.

“Why won’t she wake up?” Isabel asked, her gaze bouncing from an EMT to Dutch.

His fear spread. If Brenda didn’t make it, the loss would crush Isabel.

The EMT put an oxygen mask on Brenda. “We’ve got to get her to the hospital now.” He closed the rear doors and the ambulance pulled away.

Life wasn’t cutting Isabel any slack. It had been one horrible thing after another. No matter how strong a person was, everyone had a limit. A breaking point.

Dutch didn’t think Isabel could take much more before she reached hers.

Even though she was justifiably ticked off at him, he hoped she’d let him be there for her to help her get through all this. She needed someone to lean on now more than ever.

He whipped out his phone and dialed Draper, updating him quickly so Isabel would be protected at the hospital.

“Sir,” a police officer said, approaching him with two others, as Dutch hung up, “we’re going to need to know exactly what happened here.”

The cops didn’t give Dutch a chance to catch his breath before they launched in with their questions.