Free When a Heart Stops by Lynette Eason

echoed in her ear. “I know you want to check on him, but I can’t let you get in the way of a bullet.”
    â€œBut I might be able to help him!” She jerked on her wrist, but Dominic held tight.
    â€œOr he might already be dead and you could be next if you expose yourself.”
    She looked at Howard, the blood covering his chest. And saw no movement. She tried to see his face, but it was turned away from her.
    Dominic gripped her arm. “Stay put. I think I know where he was shooting from.”
    â€œThere he goes,” she said as she pointed. A flash of white blinked at her as something moved through the trees to her right. “Dominic, look.”
    He turned. “It’s him. Stay here, I’m going after him.”
    â€œBut—”
    He took off before she could voice her protest. Serena offered up a quick prayer for his safety, then moved toward Howard. If Dominic was chasing the shooter, surely she’d be safe enough to check Howard.
    Sirens reached her ears. Help was on the way.
    Even so, she couldn’t help feeling like she had a big red target on her back. She reached Howard and his eyes blinked, his chest gave a sudden heave as his mouth moved.
    Knowledge hit her. There was nothing she could do for him. Even if he were seconds away from a hospital, he would die. Grief slammed her. She whispered, “I’m sorry, Howard.”
    His mouth moved again. He was trying to tell her something. She leaned over. “What did you say?”
    â€œFile . . . Look . . .”
    And then he was gone. That vacant stare of death that Serena was so familiar with looked back at her. With a sob in her throat, she whispered again, “I’m so sorry.”
    And closed his eyes.

    Dominic followed the rustling trees. Soon the guy would have to come out into the open and he’d get a shot. “Freeze! FBI!”
    The figure kept moving. Dominic couldn’t get a good look at him but thought he had a ball cap and a white T-shirt on.
    Where was he headed? Had he had this all planned out? But how? It had to be a spur-of-the-moment thing.
    But why? Why now? Why Howard? Why today?
    The questions tumbled through his mind as he moved, ever watching. One comforting thought. If Dominic was chasing the shooter, the shooter wasn’t shooting anyone else. But if a neighbor was out in the yard, the fleeing person could take someone hostage.
    The shooter was almost to the tree line. He’d have to expose himself to continue running and there was nowhere else to go except straight ahead.
    â€œFBI! Stop! Now!” he called again.
    Dominic waited, his weapon ready.
    Then heard the roar of a motorcycle.

    Serena dropped her hand from Howard’s neck, unable to keep herself from checking his pulse one more time. But the man was dead and there wasn’t anything she could do to change that. Shoving back the tears that kept wanting to fall, she forced herself to focus.
    Shock and bone-deep sadness mingled with the fear as she crept back toward the car just as the first police vehicle pulled up. She kept her hands visible to the approaching law enforcement.
    The officer exited and drew his gun. “Show me some ID.”
    â€œIt’s in my purse in the car.”
    Keeping the gun trained on her, he pulled her purse from the front seat and dumped the contents onto the floorboard. He handed her the wallet and she flipped it open. “I’m a doctor, I was trying to help him.”
    The officer didn’t lower his weapon. He wouldn’t until he’d proven her story. He nodded at her hospital ID but said, “Stay down, ma’am, and keep your hands where I can see them.” She had no intention of lifting her head too high, although the precautionseemed silly in light of the fact that she’d just exposed herself by trying to help Howard. The officer’s badge read J. Tullis.
    â€œDominic Allen, an FBI agent, went after the person who