The Silence (Columbia River #2)(13)

He finally levered out the blade and slit open Ray’s khakis.

Most bullet entry holes in flesh were surprisingly simple in appearance, not the gaping mass of destruction one expected. The exit wound was often a different story.

“What the—” The wound on Ray’s thigh was nearly two inches in diameter and flowed freely with blood but didn’t pulsate. It missed the artery. Slightly relieved, Mason rolled him again to look at the back of his leg and saw a small opening.

“How in the hell did you get shot in the front and the back?”

Two shooters.

“He spun toward me after the first shot, trying to protect us,” the woman said. The diaper she held against Ray’s chest was fully soaked with blood. “He was shot in the front first.” Tears streamed down her face, but her voice and hands were steady. Her son sat on the ground, his back against a wheel, a blank look on his face. He was silent as his wide blue eyes met Mason’s.

He’s scared speechless.

“Got another diaper?” Mason asked.

She jerked her head toward the open diaper bag. “Yes. And there’s a blanket too.”

More shots sounded.

Mason dug both out of the bag as more shouts of “Officer down!” came from different directions. It’s not just Ray.

They were in the middle of a massacre. And his best friend might not make it out.

He handed another diaper to the woman, and she tossed the first aside. It made an audible splat. Mason tucked a fuzzy blue blanket around Ray’s torso. It was way too small, but he had to do something. Ray’s teeth chattered.

Keep him from going into shock.

A clock started to tick in his head. Time was running out.

Mason shoved another diaper against Ray’s leg and shouted for help.

Ice encased his lungs as a thought hit him.

There’s no bomb.

His heartbeat pounded in his head.

It was a ploy to draw out cops.





7

Mason couldn’t take the mass of people filling the hospital waiting room. Feeling claustrophobic and overwhelmed, he slipped out of the room and escaped down the hall to an alcove with a window. He leaned his forehead against the glass, barely registering the manicured grounds several stories below.

He has to live.

Ray had been unconscious by the time they flew him to Oregon Health & Science University Hospital. He was currently in surgery, and Mason had no updates.

Ray was lucky. Three officers had died, and four others were in critical condition.

No one had found the shooter. Shooters?

Yet.

Mason wouldn’t rest until the shooter had been found. He’d sworn to Ray as he bled in the parking lot that he’d get the person responsible. Ray hadn’t answered but had tightened his grip on Mason’s hand.

I’ve never been so scared in my life.

The shooting had stopped as abruptly as it started. Sirens had wailed for the next twenty minutes as officers combed the area for the shooter. Mason—and nearly everyone else—believed that the shots had come from the top of the cliff. A thick group of trees lined the cliff for almost three blocks. Perfect cover.

Nearly every officer from the local precincts had been down below, helping with the evacuation and perimeter for the bomb threat. Sitting ducks. Waiting to be picked off.

The theory had raced through the media, but the police’s public information officers wouldn’t speculate—not on camera.

Mason had seen his thoughts reflected in every officer’s eyes.

They wanted to kill us.

Rapid footsteps echoed down the hall.

Ava.

He knew her sound. Spinning around, he saw her reach for the door handle of the waiting room.

“Ava,” he choked out, unable to say anything but her name.

She locked eyes with him. Even from fifty feet away he felt her concern and fear. She darted toward him and was in his arms. He pressed his lips against her forehead and inhaled, her familiar scent as calming as the smell of the ocean. He closed his eyes and felt his tension fade.

“Is he okay? Will he be okay?” she asked, her voice cracking. “What have you heard?”

“He’s in surgery. I’ve heard nothing.”

“How can this be happening?” Ava pressed against him, her hands sliding up his back.

His entire body flinched as he gasped.

She jerked back, her eyes wide. “What happened?”

“Sore back,” he forced out. “Strained it somehow.”

“Bullshit.” She stepped behind him and lifted his shirt. “What the hell . . .” She spun him around to face her, her eyes searching his face. “My God. Your vest stopped a bullet,” she whispered. “Your back looks like someone hit it with a sledgehammer.”

“I’d worn the vest for ten seconds. That damn bastard Ray was helping someone instead of putting his on.” He sniffed, his eyes watering again.

Ava ran quivering hands up and down his arms and then across his chest. “You’re all right?” Her voice shook. “No one told me you’d been . . .”

“I haven’t mentioned it.”

“Mason! You might have broken ribs.”

“Others needed help first. Ribs can wait. They really don’t do anything for them anyway.”