“Jesus Christ!” I heard Hank shout. “Lee, she’s here!”

I think I focused on what could have been Hank looming over me, but I still couldn’t see. Then I was hauled up and Lee was there. I could tell because I could smell faint traces of leather, spice and tobacco.

“Hold your arms back as far as you can, wrists wide and keep them steady,” Lee ordered.

I did as I was told and felt a strong hand wrap around my forearm and then a gunshot that made me jump but also made my arms fly out beside me.

Free at last.

Regardless of the pins and needles running up my arms, my hands went straight to my eyes and I swiped at the tears running freely from them.

“Don’t rub, you need to rinse the gas off your face. You okay?”

I nodded but said, “Tex.”

Lee’s blurry head looked to Hank. “You got her?”

“Yeah,” Hank answered.

Then Lee took off.

I staggered to where Tex was now sitting cross-legged in the grass, holding his shoulder. I still couldn’t see very well but I dropped to my knees beside him and wrapped my hands around his good upper arm and held on. I had no idea what I was doing but it would have taken a crow bar to pry me away.

There were sirens and the squad cars would slow but Hank was signaling them to continue down the road and they sped off.

Mr. Kumar showed up out of nowhere carrying paper towel and bottled water from his store. I let go of Tex long enough to pour water over my face and on my hands. When my vision cleared sufficiently, I could see that Tex was bleeding so I ripped open the paper towel and pressed a big wad of it against his shoulder.

I saw we were in Tex and Mr. Kumar’s neighborhood. If we’d made it the last half a block, we would have been at Kumar’s corner store. The shooters took me nearly right to Tex.

Was I lucky or what?

Was Tex unlucky or what?

I saw the flashing lights of a squad car that screeched to a diagonal halt in the road.

Brian Bond and Willie Moses angled out of the car and came jogging up to Tex and me.

“Holy shit, Indy. What the f**k?” Willie asked.

Willie was a friend, graduated High School the same year as Hank. Still in uniform, he preferred it that way. He wanted action, not a desk. And anyway, the uniform looked good on him, real good. He was tall, with perfect, smooth-as-satin, black skin, a beautiful white smile and a body made of pure muscle. He was a full scholarship wide receiver for the University of Colorado, he was good but not good enough for the NFL. Just like Hank, he graduated college and went right to the Academy. He taught me how to play poker, badly on purpose, and beat me every time we played. I’d met Brian a couple of times, but he was barely out of rookie status.

“Call an ambulance,” I said to Willie.

Brian answered, “It’s two minutes behind us.”

“Let’s get you up,” Willie grabbed my upper arm.

“No, no way. I’m not letting go until the ambulance gets here.” I was trying hard not to cry and pressing the now soaked-through-with-blood towel against Tex’s shoulder. The blood was coming fast and there was a lot of it. In normal circumstances this would make me gag and possibly vomit but I was fast acquiring new skills, including adrenalin-fueled nursemaid.

“Now you’re bein’ a girl,” Tex said. “Soon you’ll be slobberin’ on me. It’s just a shot to the shoulder. Shit, I’ve had worse than this.”

I looked at Tex. He was pale, his eyes were in a permanent wince and his voice betrayed the pain. I decided to communicate in a way he’d understand.

“Well, excuse me!” I shouted. “I’ve never seen anyone shot in the shoulder. I’ve never seen anyone shot at all! News flash, Tex. I am a girl and I’m not f**king letting go until the f**king ambulance gets here. Do you f**king hear me?”

Willie let me go and took a step back.

“All right, no need to get all PMS about it,” Tex relented, then his eyes focused beyond me and I looked over my shoulder.

Lee strolled toward us, one of his arms down, a gun held loosely in his hand. He was pushing Sandy forward with the other hand and Sandy’s arms were cuffed behind his back. Lee shoved him into the yard we were all occupying and Sandy went down, hard, to his knees.

“This one of them?” he asked Tex, not looking at me.

“Yep,” Tex answered.

“He shoot you?” Willie asked.

“Shot at me, and Indy. The other guy nailed me though.”

Brian and Willie were no longer listening. They only heard “and Indy” and then half the night air was sucked into their lungs and Brian and Willie’s eyes narrowed on Sandy.

Almost worse than shooting a cop was shooting at a cop’s daughter.

Sandy just bought a first class ticket up Shit Creek.

It was then, the ambulance came.

* * * * *

I made the ambulance crew allow me to ride in the back with Tex. I did this by having the hissy fit to end all hissy fits. Until they wheeled him away in the Emergency Room, I stuck by his side. Tex allowed this mainly because he’d witnessed the hissy fit and knew I was hanging on by a thread. There were times when you humored a woman, even if you were a crazy man unafraid of flying bullets, and this was one of those times.

Tex told me in the ambulance that Kumar lived a couple of houses away from the one I was taken to and saw them unload me. As was apparently practice in the ‘hood, Kumar went straight to Tex and Tex gave him my card and told him to call Ally and ask for Lee. That was how Hank and Lee got there so quickly.

Detective Jimmy Marker, who had long ago caught me underage drinking, bought the case and questioned me in the hospital waiting room. Jimmy was somber and trying not to look as pissed off as he actually was. When I was eight, Jimmy took me to a father-daughter day because Dad was on duty. We did the three-legged race together. I suspected he would have preferred to be escorting Sandy, wearing cuffs and ankle shackles, down a very long, steep flight of stairs.

The questioning took awhile because half of the Denver Police Department came through the waiting room to see if I was okay. I’d amassed a lot of buddies on the Force, half of them had babysat me and the other half had partied with me.

Then, of course, there was Kitty Sue and Ally’s hysterical arrival with Malcolm and Dad dogging their heels.

Kitty Sue wasn’t crying and carrying on, she was shouting and carrying on. Gram told me often enough growing up that in times of emotional strain, shouting was just as good a release as bawling. Both of them made you ugly but only one of them ended in red, puffy eyes and a blotchy face. Kitty Sue was the wife of a cop, she’d long since learned that teary hysterics would get her nowhere but yelling captured attention. Men as a whole didn’t know what to do with tears, but they’d do anything to make a woman stop yelling.