Another gunshot, a sharp, loud staccato. Was it Lucy, had she hit Comafield?
She was shutting down. Was she dying? She heard Coop shout, heard Lucy say something, then she heard more gunfire.
She smelled Dillon, and she smiled as she felt him kneel next to her, pulling her up against him, his hands on the pulse at her throat. “It’ll be all right; it’s over now, sweetheart; hang in there. The ambulance is on the way.” He said it over and over, and she tried to smile up at him, tried to tell him she loved him, but the world was swimming away from her. “Dillon,” she whispered, and then she was out.
Savich felt her pulse again. He lifted her away from the mess, and rose. He saw Lucy bent over Billy, pressing her hands down hard against the bullet wound in his shoulder. Ollie and Dane were seeing to the wounded civilians, and Ruth and Jack were still herding people back into the bar, trying to get everyone to calm down.
He couldn’t believe it. What a debacle.
Bruce Comafield had two bullets in him. He saw Coop go down on his knees and apply pressure to his belly wound.
And Kirsten? Savich knew in his gut Kirsten was long gone.
He lightly shook Sherlock, but she didn’t stir. He was so afraid he was ready to run to the nearest hospital himself. He saw people were beginning to come out of the bar again to see what was going on, but he didn’t care enough to tell them to back off.
He heard Mrs. Spicer say with satisfaction, “You got the little pisser. And now look, he’s shot. What happened to the girl, to Bundy’s daughter?”
Savich began to rock Sherlock. Where were the ambulances? He called out, “Mrs. Spicer, would you join Mr. Spicer and give everyone a free beer? That’d be nice, don’t you think?”
Gator seemed to think about that. “Well, maybe you’re right. I mean, Billy’s my friend for a hundred years now, and he deserves one. Are you okay, buddy?”
Billy the Cop called out, “Yeah, Gator, give me a beer. That’d be good.” And then he moaned real loud.
“Don’t you dare die on me, Billy, you got that? Hey, I’ll get you two beers. As for those stampeding yahoos, I’d like to take my bat to them.” Still grumbling, Mr. Spicer walked back into his bar, his bat tucked under his arm.
Savich heard Billy the Cop say to Lucy, “Do you know, Agent, you have no idea how pissed off my guys in the BPD are going to be at you and your buddies. It might be best if you left right now, before they get here.”
Ollie came down over Savich. “How is she?”
“Unconscious. At least she wasn’t shot, but I’m worried she’s overdosed. Where are the ambulances?”
Ollie dropped down on his haunches. “They’ll get here soon. There’s no sign of Kirsten. What do you want me to do, Savich?”
“Help Coop with Comafield. He’s our only lead to Kirsten. I don’t want him dying on us.”
Coop looked over at Lucy when she said to Billy, “You’re doing great, Billy. I gotta say, though, you’ve really got sucky luck. I mean, here you are out for a night of fun, and a maniac guns you down. Sorry about that.”
“Ain’t that the truth. Anyone dead?”
“No, thank heavens, just a couple of walking wounded.”
“So why were all you FBI here?”
“I’ll tell you something, Billy. The woman who got away?”
“Yeah?”
“She’s Ted Bundy’s daughter.”
Billy cursed a blue streak, surprise mixing with pain. “We all knew she was out there, but not here, not in Baltimore. That was really her? Right here, at my neighborhood bar? I can’t believe I missed that.”
People being people, they began to slip out of the bar again once everything quieted down. They blocked the street, milling around when the ambulance sirens sounded in the distance, the cop sirens blending in. People who drove by slowed down to see what was going on, and others were hanging out of neighboring windows, asking what was happening. Even when the ambulances pulled close, few of them seemed to want to get out of the way.
It was a zoo until Ollie cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Every one of you step back inside or I’m making arrests!”
Finally most people moved aside so the EMTs could get through.
Savich heard Coop call out, “Here first!” and saw Coop was pressing both palms hard on Comafield’s belly.
Savich shouted, “How bad, Coop?”
“It’s going to be close, Savich. He’s shot in the abdomen, and there was blood and intestinal juice coming out. I can’t control the bleeding; it’s going to take an operation to do that. The other bullet went in and out of his arm, no big deal. Still, he’s going to be luckier than most of God’s creatures if he makes it. What about Sherlock?”