“Hey, you!” shouted one firefighter, a short, wiry man wearing a protective jacket, trousers and helmet. His face was stern and set, eyes drilling through the clear shield of his visor. He held a halligan tool in one hand, his self-contained breathing apparatus strapped to his back. “Anyone inside?” he asked, pointing toward Shannon’s house.
“I don’t know.” He thought of the man running from the fire. Where the hell had he gone?
“I don’t think so, but I’ve got a woman hurt in the stable. She needs medical attention—now!”
The firefighter pointed out the paramedics emerging from the ambulance.
Travis flagged them down as firefighters dragged hoses closer to the blaze and great streams of water began pouring over the burning shed and surrounding buildings. The angry fire spat, sizzled and hissed as if enraged by the onslaught of gallons of water.
“There’s a woman, the one who owns this place, Shannon Flannery, and she’s unconscious,” Travis explained as the EMTs pulled their equipment cases from the ambulance. “Head wound. Facial cuts. Maybe internal injuries.”
“What about you?” the female EMT asked, already following Travis as he ran toward the stable. She was short and slim, her partner, a stocky man jogging beside her, was only a few inches taller.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it,” she said, frowning, and he glanced down at his jacket, shirt and jeans, all of which were colored by splotches of blood—Shannon’s blood.
“It’s not mine,” he said as he reached the door. “Down this corridor. The lights aren’t working.”
“No problem.” The man turned on a huge flashlight that illuminated the concrete path bisecting the building. All along the corridor were bloody footprints.
“Don’t step in those!” the male EMT ordered, but it was too late. Travis saw that the footprints had already been smeared by his own boots as he’d run through the dark seeking help. Knowing whatever evidence had been in those tracks was probably lost, he sidestepped the footprints to the spot near the far door where Shannon lay inert, the tall man in attendance.
He didn’t move away from Shannon even when the EMTs closed in.
“Stand back, sir,” the woman ordered. “Sir!”
The second EMT was already opening his case.
Reluctantly the man eased away from Shannon and the stern, small woman wearing protective gear took control. “God,” she said in a whisper. “This is Shannon Flannery?”
“Yes,” both men answered and Travis cringed at the sight of Shannon’s battered face. He’d seen his share of wounds in his day, watched his share of fights but Shannon’s contusions, the cuts and bruising on her face, the blood everywhere, caused his gut to clench.
The female EMT looked up. “Either of you related to her? Husband?”
“No,” Travis said and the other man shook his head.
“Do you know if anyone else is injured?” she asked, kneeling next to Shannon as her partner reached into his medical case and yanked on a pair of latex gloves.
“I don’t know,” Travis answered. “I haven’t seen anyone else.”
“Anyone else live here?” She pulled on her gloves and was already examining Shannon, checking her breathing and pulse.
“I do, but I wasn’t home. Just got back,” the tall man answered.
Nate Santana, Travis realized, and another unwanted and uncalled for sense of jealousy sang through his blood. He’d known about Santana, of course, had read about him in some of the articles on Shannon. Supposedly the guy was some kind of horse trainer, a “horse whisperer,” if you could believe what the Internet said about him.
But nowhere in any of the articles he’d read had Santana and Shannon Flannery been romantically linked. A little tidbit the press hadn’t reported. Now, Travis guessed, by the look of concern on his face, the way he’d touched her and talked to her, Santana was more than Shannon Flannery’s partner. He probably lived with her and was her lover.
Tense, Travis hazarded a glance at the tall man with the black hair and eyes as dark as obsidian. Deep grooves were evident around the corners of his mouth and crow’s-feet fanned out from his eyes.
“Does anyone else live on the premises besides you and Ms. Flannery?” the male paramedic asked.
“No.”
Just outside the open door, firefighters tackled the blaz
e, yelling at each other, working together, a kind of fascinating ordered chaos as they battled the blaze. More water was pumped onto the fire. Smoke and steam rose to the night sky.