Missing and Endangered (Joanna Brady #19)(14)

The intercom setup was at the far end of the counter. As Wanda Hayes hurried off down the corridor, the other woman did as she was told. “Ms. Ruiz,” she said into the microphone. “Please report to the office.”

Inside the office designated as Wanda Hayes’s private domain, Joanna had a choice to make. She could either sit in the chair behind the desk and take command of the situation or she could be a caring human being and use one of the two visitor chairs. She chose the latter. When an anxious and breathless Amy Ruiz hurried through the doorway a few minutes later, she came to a sudden halt the moment she spotted Joanna’s uniform.

“Oh, no,” she whispered, “not Armando!”

For a moment Joanna Brady was unable to utter a word. All she could do was nod.

Her face white with shock, Amy staggered to the other chair and dropped heavily into it. “Is he . . . ?”

“No,” Joanna managed at last. “He’s not dead, but he’s been grievously wounded—shot while attempting to deliver a no-contact order. He’s being airlifted to Banner in Tucson, where he’ll probably need to undergo surgery. If you’re not comfortable driving there on your own, I’ll be glad to take you myself, or else I can have one of my deputies drive you there.”

Unfortunately, Joanna knew exactly how this felt—the disorienting shock of having your life turned upside down, of losing that which you held most dear. From the stricken look on Amy’s face to the lack of comprehension in her eyes, Joanna wasn’t sure how many of her words had actually penetrated.

“No,” Amy said at last, as if shaking herself awake. “I should probably drive myself. That way I’ll have a vehicle to use.”

“What about your kids?” Joanna asked. “It’s probably for the best if they don’t go with you at this point. Do you have someone who can pick them up from school and look after them?”

Amy stared at Joanna numbly for several long seconds before she finally nodded. “My folks,” she said. “I’ll call Mom. She’ll pick them up and take them home to their place. But what happened, Sheriff Brady? Tell me.”

“As I said, Armando was sent out early this morning to deliver a no-contact order to a man living in Whetstone. We still don’t have all the details. Officers and EMTs from Huachuca City were the first to arrive on the scene, and they’re the ones who requested an air ambulance. One of my own deputies is still on his way, although he may have arrived by now. From what I’ve been told, the man named in the protection order emerged from the residence with a weapon in hand and began shooting. Armando was hit but still managed to return fire.”

“What about the other man?” Amy asked. “What happened to him?”

There was no way to sugarcoat this. “He’s deceased,” Joanna replied simply. “He was declared dead at the scene.”

“You mean Armando killed him?” Amy demanded in disbelief. “Armando shot someone, and he’s dead?”

Joanna nodded.

“Oh, my God!” Amy wailed. “My Armando a killer? He could never do such a thing! He’ll never be able to live with somebody’s death on his conscience!”

The only problem with that statement had to do with the fact that in order for Armando to have his conscience bother him, he would need to survive. That was Joanna’s immediate thought, but she said nothing to that effect.

“We understand that at the time the shooter presented a clear and present danger to any number of people. Had Armando not returned fire, other innocent people might well have perished. Your husband is an excellent officer,” Joanna added. “There’ll need to be a thorough investigation, of course, but I have no doubt it will end with his being exonerated. In the meantime, though, you shouldn’t worry about any of that. You need to get to the hospital. He’s probably already there, and you should be, too.”

“What if he dies?” Amy barely whispered her darkest fear. “How will I be able to go on if he’s not here?”

“You’ll go on because you have to,” Joanna said softly. “You’ll do it because you have kids, and that means you don’t have a choice.”

“How can you even say such a thing?” Amy demanded. “You have no right.”

“I do have a right,” Joanna countered softly, “because I’ve been there, too. My husband, Andy, was also once a deputy. He was gunned down on his way home from work.”

Amy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, no,” she said. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry. Did he make it?”

Joanna reached out, took one of Amy’s trembling hands, and held it close. “No, he didn’t,” she answered finally, “but I did, and so will you.”





Chapter 4





When Joanna returned to the school’s parking lot, she found two Interceptors parked side by side. One was a year older than hers and came with Sierra Vista markings. Frank Montoya, in full uniform, stood leaning against the front bumper of that one.

“Are you driving Amy to the hospital or am I?” he wanted to know.

“She said she wanted to drive herself.”

Frank shook his head. “That is so not happening,” he declared. “Amy’s bound to be upset, which means she’s in no condition to drive. Besides, she’ll probably need to make dozens of phone calls along the way. As for you? You need to be at the crime scene. I’ll take her, and if anyone has nerve enough to ask how come,” he added with a grin, “we’ll call it mutual aid.”