Page 21 of Tough Justice

Chapter Seven

Tori picked up the radio then put it back in the cupholder. She’d been impressed with the professional way Deck had handled the large crowd during the training. She’d also appreciated his efforts to ease her anxiety. He’d been kind to her, and she hadn’t deserved it. Not after being such a pissy bee-otch to him at the hospital.

The warrant team had been inside for several minutes now. She’d watched in total awe as they’d “hit the house,” smashing through the front door as if it were no thicker than a piece of cardboard then rushing inside. Despite all the initial movie-like action, the radio Deck had given her remained eerily silent.

How long does it take to execute a high-risk drug warrant? She had no idea and couldn’t begin to speculate. One thing for certain was Deck’s dedication to his job. Back in the parking lot, she sensed that part of his passion for shutting down the opioid network stemmed from something personal. It had been on the tip of her tongue to ask him about it when they’d been interrupted. It was just as well that she hadn’t. His personal life was none of her business.

Tori dug her fingers between the body armor vest and her rib cage. Talk about uncomfortable. She felt sorry for all the cops who had to wear one of these things every day.

She let out an impatient breath. Being here—at a federal search warrant—was so far outside her box, it was ridiculous. She slumped lower in the seat and crossed her arms, or rather tried crossing her arms. The darned vest made it impossible.

Tori sat up in time to see Thor hurtling through the air at a man running along the side of the house. The dog took the man to the ground, latching onto his wrist. Even with the SUV’s windows closed and the engine still running, she heard the man’s screams.

Deck charged out the front door—correction, where the front door used to be—and bolted to where Thor hunched on the grass, his tail in the air and his head low where he still gripped the man’s wrist.

She leaned forward, trying to get a better view of the action. Deck drew his gun and aimed it at the man’s head, clearly being careful to keep the muzzle’s line of fire away from his dog. Two other agents raced over to assist Deck. Tori cracked the passenger window, straining to hear what Deck was shouting.

A blue minivan sped past and screeched to a stop in the middle of the road. A man bolted from the driver’s seat then hurled open the passenger door. The two agents on the lawn charged the man, weapons out, shouting at him to get on the ground.

Ignoring the agents’ commands, he lifted a small child about five years old from the minivan’s rear seat, cradling the limp body and yelling for help. The child’s head lolled back at an awkward angle. Even from this distance, Tori could see the girl’s red skin and the hives breaking out.

Completely against Deck’s orders, she grabbed her medical bag from the floor at her feet and shoved open the door. She ran to where the man had set the girl down on the sidewalk.

“Help her! Somebody, please help her!” the man shouted as agents grabbed his arms and flung him to the ground. Seconds later, he was cuffed and lying face down on his belly.

Deck grabbed a radio from his belt, and she could just make out him calling for an ambulance.

The girl’s lips and face were swollen, and her chest rose rapidly with shallow, wheezing breaths. Tori opened the girl’s mouth. Her tongue was enlarged, and her lower lip seemed bigger than it had been ten seconds ago. Whatever the issue was, the girl was in anaphylactic shock.

Tori dug into her bag, pulling out a hard-sided leather case. She unzipped it, grabbed an EpiPen, and stuck it in the girl’s thigh, pushing the plunger.

Deck crouched at her side. “Can I help?”

“No.” She dug into her bag again, pulled out a stethoscope, then placed the tips in her ears and the diaphragm on the child’s chest. Between the man’s incessant crying and all the agents shouting back and forth, she couldn’t hear a thing.

“Quiet! I can’t hear anything!” she yelled, and everyone within earshot clammed up. Tori picked up a weak, rapid heartbeat. The child’s wheezing had already lessened.

“Hand me the blood pressure cuff in my bag.” When Deck handed it to her, she wrapped it around the girl’s upper arm and pumped up the bulb. “Bring that man over here.” She indicated the handcuffed prisoner. “I need to talk to him.”

The agents guarding the man hesitated until Deck ordered, “Do it!”

“Is she allergic to anything?” She looked up at the man whose arms were gripped firmly by an agent on either side of him.

“Not that I know of,” he said as tears streamed down his face. “Please, help her. I just picked her up at her mother’s and she couldn’t breathe.”

She looked at him over the girl’s body and was moved by the genuine concern in his eyes. A moment later, the girl’s eyelids fluttered, and her breathing began shifting back to normal. “What’s her name?” she asked the father.

“Amy. It’s Amy.”

“Amy.” Tori tapped the girl’s cheeks. “Can you hear me?”

“Y-yes. I feel funny. My lips feel fat.” With her swollen lips and tongue, the words had come out somewhat garbled and slurred.

“You’re going to be fine.” A siren wailed in the distance, quickly becoming louder. To Deck, she said, “Let’s get her up so she can breathe easier.”

Deck lifted the girl upright, cradling her against his chest. “Hey, there,” he said, softly and with such tenderness that Tori felt a twinge of…something. “Feeling better?”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded.