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Amata jumped at the insane shout behind her. Turning her head to see over her shoulder, her eyes widened at Marjoy standing with her legs apart and the gun shaking in her hands. What happened next could’ve been a scene she’d written for a movie.
In slow motion, the woman’s finger tensed, then pushed the trigger. A deadly boom echoed, and a bright flash came from the barrel of the gun as the metallic bullet aimed at her back shot out with a flash.
Claude’s muffled shout of “No!” accompanied his twisting her out of harm’s way and jumping in front of her.
The bullet struck him in the chest, causing his eyes and mouth to gape open as his arms thrust out in a final, shocking display of surprise and pain. His head jerked from the force.
“Claude!” Amata screamed.
His glazed eyes caught hers for a brief second before he fell to the floor and landed on his back, arms and legs splayed.
A rush of armored SWAT personnel poured into the room. Two grabbed Marjoy, taking the gun out of her hand as she yelled and kicked in a frenzy.
One policewoman knelt by Claude and spoke into her shoulder communicator, demanding an ambulance.
A gentle but firm hand grabbed her around the upper arm and pulled her aside. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
Amata tried to jerk away, but the young policeman wouldn’t let go. “Are you Amata Lamont?” he asked.
“Yes! Claude! I’ve got to help him.” She was frantic to rush to his side. “Please let me go.” She grabbed his fingers to pull them off.
“Sergeant, you can let her go. I’ll take care of her from here.” A no-nonsense, middle-aged, African-American male entered the room dressed in battle gear bearing the SWAT logo like the others. “Go out and secure the perimeter. Make sure there aren’t any others we should know about.”
The sergeant tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Yes, Captain.”
Amata blinked up at him. It was hard to understand what was going on. But one thing was clear: Claude was hurt. And it was all her fault. She rushed and dropped to her knees at his side.
“Is he okay?” She held her breath.
The young policewoman crouched next to him was stiff. “He’s alive.” Her answer was terse as she applied pressure.
Body and mind numb, Amata watched the warm pool of her love’s blood inching her way, slowly expanding under his still form.
Chapter Three
The chaos made Amata’s head spin.
Two EMTs came in and gently pushed her aside as they got to work on Claude.
Whatever medical jargon they spoke to each other went over her head as she held her hands together, fearfully watching them trying to save his life.
“Will he be okay?” she asked again, her question hoarse and raspy.
The EMTs didn’t answer, but a female policewoman put a hand on Amata’s shoulder. “Hopefully, they got here in time. I assure you, these guys are the best. Come on, let’s go outside so the detectives can ask you some questions.”
With quick precision, the EMTs had the wound in Claude’s chest dressed. They hooked him up to an IV before loading him onto a gurney.
“No. I’ve got to go with him.” She shrugged out of the policewoman’s hold and followed the gurney out.
Marjoy’s furious yells of obscenities were suddenly silenced, leaving a deafening void.
Amata didn’t bother to look back to see why. The only thing she saw was Claude’s still form being wheeled away.
“But, ma’am, we’re going to need your statement…”
“That’s okay, officer.” This from a young man in his thirties clad in a rumpled tan suit and crooked red tie. A lock of sandy hair fell into his bright-hazel eyes. His scruffy jaw had patches of ginger that covered a pointed chin.
Next to him was a fit African-American male around the same age. But the suit he wore didn’t dare have a crease in it. His dark eyes bore into hers as his full lips pressed tight.
