Free Emergency Response by Susan Sleeman Page A

label ate at him, he’d continue to keep Evan a secret.
    Noah put an arm around her shoulders and whisked her past the officers guarding the door and up to the second floor. At his cubicle, he helped her into a chair by his desk.
    â€œLet me look at your knee.” He squatted in front of her before she could argue.
    â€œIt’s just a scratch.”
    He caught a good look at her torn khakis soaked with blood. “That’s a lot of blood for just a scratch.”
    She shooed him out of the way and put her finger in the hole. She widened the opening and probed. Her no-nonsense approach to an injury that had to be stinging made Noah squeamish.
    â€œSuperficial cut,” she announced. “I’m sure you have a first-aid kit, right?”
    Noah nodded. “Otherwise, how are you? Any other injuries?”
    â€œA few bumps, but I’m okay—thanks to you.”
    He studied her. “You’d tell me if you were hurt, right? I mean it’s not one of those things you want to keep hidden.”
    She frowned at him.
    â€œI’m sorry. I don’t mean to keep harping on that.”
    â€œThen why do you?”
    Yeah, why did he? Maybe because he wanted to get to know her better. But how did he get to know a woman who wouldn’t talk about the very things that made her who she was?
    It wasn’t easy.
    â€œSo you don’t need medical attention, then?”
    â€œNothing I can’t handle with that first-aid kit.”
    â€œRight... I’ll go see if there’s any news on the shooter and have a clerk bring the first-aid kit to you.”
    â€œSounds good,” she said, her attention back on her knee.
    He crossed the bullpen and asked a clerk to get the kit. He then stopped at Detective Bill Richter’s desk, littered with candy wrappers, file folders and empty drink cups. Bill wore a rumpled shirt and creased pants. His shoes were scuffed and his hair too long. In a word, Bill was a mess to look at, but he was also a top-notch detective.
    â€œWhat’s the status on the shooter?” Noah cleared a corner of the desk and perched on it.
    â€œUniforms parked near the building pursued the car.” Bill paused and scratched his chin. “Unfortunately, they lost them in the traffic.”
    â€œSeriously?” The word exploded from Noah’s mouth, drawing the attention of his fellow officers. He lowered his voice. “We have how many uniforms out front and they can’t tail a couple of gangsters?”
    Bill eyed him.
    â€œOkay, fine,” Noah said. “It could happen to any of us. I’m just frustrated. Anyone get the plate?”
    â€œWeren’t any plates. Car was a late ’90s Honda Accord. Too common to trace. Two males in the vehicle. Both Latino.”
    â€œI can’t seem to catch a break,” Noah muttered.
    â€œSuppose you tell me what this is about and maybe I can help.”
    Noah filled him in on Darcie’s attack the previous day.
    â€œWhat about suspects?” Bill asked.
    Noah listed them. “Actually, would you mind running a background check on Darcie and her ex for me?”
    One of Bill’s bushy eyebrows went up in a rainbow-sized arc. “Some reason you can’t do that yourself?”
    â€œHere’s the thing.” Noah bent closer as he tried to figure out how to tell Bill that he had thing for Darcie without coming right out and telling him he had thing for her. “I’ve known Darcie for quite a while. Her marriage didn’t end well. I’m not sure I can be impartial when it comes to Tom.”
    Bill gave him an appraising look that every good detective could muster at a moment’s notice. Noah didn’t waver under the intense scrutiny.
    â€œYou’ll owe me,” he finally said.
    Noah stifled a relieved sigh. “That I will.”
    â€œAnd you know I’ll collect on it?”
    â€œThat I do.”
    â€œThen give me their particulars, and