Grace Under Fire (Buchanan-Renard 14)

Woodson went inside with her luggage and her bag and gave them to the bell captain while she explained that she had a room reserved and that she would check in after she went for a brisk walk.

The bell captain pulled up the reservation on his computer and confirmed that the rooms were already paid for and one was in her name. She asked him to put the suitcase she was taking to Scotland in storage. Since she and Kate were scheduled to leave early Monday morning, they would be staying at the Hamilton Sunday night so they wouldn’t have such a long drive from Nathan’s Bay to the airport. Assuring her that her bags would be taken care of, he handed her a card for room 1612.

“You should walk along the Freedom Trail,” he said, deciding for her. “It’s real scenic and chock-full of history.”

Might as well, she thought. Thanking him, she tucked the room card he’d given her in her back pocket and headed outside. She stopped on the sidewalk and was immediately asked by a valet if he might be of assistance.

“No, I’m going for a walk...”

“Freedom Trail, miss. Walk the Freedom Trail. Everyone does.”

Getting directions to the trail turned out to be quite a challenge. The valet was a rather violent hand-waver, and she had to keep dodging his arm while he pointed every which way. Because of his thick accent the only words she understood were “Washington Street.”

Just as soon as he paused to take a breath, she asked, “You want me to turn on Washington. Is that correct?” And before he could answer, she asked, “Which way on Washington?”

He pointed to the sky. She had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

Before she could leave, he launched into directions again, and she swore he wasn’t making any sense. It was as though he were suddenly speaking a foreign language she wasn’t familiar with, and he was talking so fast she didn’t have any idea where he was sending her. She didn’t want to ask him to slow down or start over because she didn’t think it would matter. She still wouldn’t understand him. She thanked him for his help and hurried down the drive while he continued to give directions.

Starting out in a pretty area with redbrick sidewalks and beautiful old buildings mixed in with modern apartments, she walked down one street after another. It felt good to be outside. She hated being cooped up on a plane. As she walked, she hummed a tune. Before long the music took over and she began to create a new song in her head. She wished she had her notebook with her so she could write it down. She knew she would remember the tune, but she wanted to record the lyrics so she wouldn’t forget them.

After a while the humidity started to get to her. Her T-shirt felt as though it was stuck to her skin. The air was thick. She looked up at the sky and dark clouds were hanging low. She imagined that, if she reached up on tiptoes, she could puncture one, and like a heavy water balloon, rain would pour out. She stopped and checked her watch. No wonder she was hot. She had been walking at a fast clip for over an hour. She was also good and lost. Looking around, she saw that she had wandered into an area that was being renovated. Some of the old apartment buildings had already been restored, and others were still under construction. Gone for the day, the crews had left behind scaffolding, piles of bricks, and other signs of their trades. When she scanned the buildings that had already been completed, she couldn’t help but appreciate the effort that had gone into restoring their original beauty. Instead of being torn down, they had been repaired and scrubbed and still retained their history and charm.

She kept walking, trying to get her bearings so she could return to the hotel. She thought she heard someone behind her and eagerly turned to ask directions, but there wasn’t anyone there. A couple of blocks farther, she walked past a soon-to-open coffee shop, according to the sign in the window. No one was inside. Where in God’s name was she? Admittedly, she hadn’t been paying attention to street signs. Her head had been in the clouds, as her mother would often say. Isabel was lost because she had gotten distracted. Lyrics had been flying through her mind, and it wasn’t until she had a melody locked in her brain that she noticed her surroundings.

At the corner she turned around and headed back. Once again she thought she heard someone behind her and turned to ask directions, but no one was there. Three blocks later she stopped and looked around. She didn’t recognize anything. Had she walked past this street?

Lightning lit up the sky and was quickly followed by a loud crack of thunder. She put her jacket on and was unzipping all four pockets looking for her cell phone so she could get accurate directions back to the hotel when she heard a loud pop, the sound very like a firecracker exploding. Then another pop and another and another. She looked to the sky, half expecting to see a dazzling fireworks display.

No... no. Those were gunshots, and they were coming from right around the corner.

It all happened so fast. There wasn’t even time to run. Isabel was the only one on the street now. She turned and saw several men and women looking out their windows from the apartment building across the street. She was still holding her breath when a man staggered around the corner. His shirt was covered in blood, and there was even more blood streaming down his right leg, soaking his pants. He had a gun in his hand and a badge clipped to his waist. Before she could react, he lurched forward, reaching out to her. He was trying to say something, but she couldn’t make out the words. His voice was a tortured whisper. He was mumbling the same word, over and over again. She was so shocked, she froze. Throwing himself into her arms, he clawed at her jacket. She wrapped her arms around his waist, stumbled back, then went down to her knees, trying desperately to protect him from crashing to the ground.

He was such a big man and so heavy. She tried to ease him to the pavement, but his weight pulled her forward. He hit his head before landing on his back. She landed full length on top of him. He still had a death grip on her jacket and was pushing his gun between them. Did he want her to hold on to it for him? He kept thrusting the gun at her until it was firmly in her hand.

The weapon was sticky with blood. She gripped it tightly with her finger on the trigger. She was lifting up when out of the corner of her eye she saw a man running toward her, coming fast. She didn’t see his gun until he fired at her. Two shots. The first bullet went wild, but the second bullet grazed her upper arm and burned like the blazes. She reacted without thinking.

She shot him between the eyes.

He fell backward and landed with a loud smack on the street. Still holding the gun with her arms out straight, her left hand balancing her right, she braced herself, waiting to see if there were any more shooters out there.

Keeping her attention on the corner, she carefully moved off the injured man and laid the gun next to her. When she dared to look down, she saw he wasn’t moving. She put her hand on his chest to find out if he was still breathing. Frantic, she spun in all directions looking for help, but the street was eerily quiet.

The wound on the man’s shoulder was seeping blood in an even trickle, but his pant leg was completely saturated now. Oh God, there was so much blood. She had to do something. The bullet must have nicked an artery. Blood was coming so fast it was pooling on the sidewalk and streaming across the curb into the street. She pressed the palm of her hand against the opening, one palm on top of the other, hoping she could stem the flow. She glanced up, and that’s when she saw a man standing at the corner a block away. He was big and had shocking red hair. She started to call out to him to come help her, but he suddenly disappeared. Had she imagined him? Oh God, she needed someone to help her.

Time stood still, and then suddenly chaos exploded around her in a blur. Everything was happening with lightning speed, and she didn’t have time to react. People were screaming; sirens were blaring, and men and women were rushing toward her. Police cars and an ambulance arrived at the same time. Three police cars blocked the street and the ambulance was right behind them. She didn’t know how many policemen there were, but it seemed as though a whole squadron was running at her. A very young officer had his gun drawn and was shouting at her. There was so much noise she couldn’t understand what he was saying. A wave of nausea hit her. The metallic smell of blood was making her sick. She closed her eyes, continued to press against the wound, and took deep gasping breaths to keep from throwing up.

Just as the paramedics reached the injured man, the young policeman holstered his gun and shouted something. Was he reading her her rights? There were so many people yelling she couldn’t really be sure.

One of the paramedics put his hand on top of Isabel’s. “Okay, good job,” he said. “You can let up now. We’ve got this.” As she pulled away, he looked her over. “Are you injured?”

She shook her head.

“You’re covered in blood.”

“It’s his blood.” The words echoed in her head as though they were coming from a deep tunnel.

“Do you know this man?”