the gag from Keir’s mouth.
“Waistband,” Keir rasped out. Teague found it
and cut the rope binding Keir’s wrists.
Then he went over to Hoyt, who was leaning
against a tree trunk, his phone pressed to his ear. Teague saw the
shoulder of Hoyt’s dark blue jacket turn even darker and knew that
it was blood and he’d been hit.
Teague grabbed Hoyt when he began to fall,
easing him down to lean against the tree, the phone still clasped
tightly against his ear while he managed to tell whoever was on the
other end of the line that they needed an ambulance…”or three. Plus
some officers. Track me with that damned GPS. We’re in the park.
Close to the river.” That was all he managed to say before he
passed out.
Teague grabbed the phone and gave the man on
the other end a few more details and a somewhat better set of
directions for how to find them. At the same time he pulled the
right side of Hoyt’s jacket and shirt back as far as possible to
see how badly he’d been shot.
“Use this,” Keir said, coming up beside them.
He held out a cut off sweatshirt sleeve. Using his knife, he sliced
through Hoyt’s shirt so they could see the wound.
Teague pressed it to Hoyt’s shoulder,
glancing at Will as he did. The man was curled in a fetal position,
his arms lashed behind his back, blood soaking into the ground.
“Guess I was the only one who didn’t get
shot,” Keir commented. “How bad is yours?”
“Flesh wound,” Teague replied tersely. “Where
are the damned medics? Hoyt’s bleeding badly. If the bullet hit a
vein…”
“Calm down. They’ll get here. We’re not
exactly in the middle of Main Street.”
They heard sirens off in the distance. Keir
got up immediately, heading out of the clearing. “I’ll bring them
back,” he called over his shoulder.
It seemed like forever, although Teague knew
logically it was only minutes, before Keir returned, closely
followed by EMTs, police officers, and the police chief.
* * * *
Chapter 9
Once Teague and Keir were released from the
ER at the county hospital—mid-morning after the battle with Will
Endicott—they were escorted back into town, to the police
department.
“How is Hoyt doing?” were the first words out
of Teague’s mouth when he walked through the door to Chief Davis’s
office. He had tried to find out before he left the hospital but
was told that HIPAA wouldn’t allow the hospital to tell him more
than that Hoyt was alive. He’d figured that would be the case, but
gave it a try nonetheless.
“He’ll be in intensive care for the next
twenty-four hours,” the chief replied. “Since I have his power of
attorney in case of emergencies, the doctors were able to give me
the details. The bullet, thank God, missed the subclavian artery.
If it hadn’t, he might well have bled out before the EMTs even got
to him. It nicked the—” the chief glanced at a notepad on his desk.
“The brachial plexus—which the doc told me is a bundle of nerves
that control arm function—and fractured his clavicle. He made it
through surgery and the doctor is fairly certain that he’ll regain
the full function of his arm.”
Teague blew out a long breath of relief
before asking, “What about Will Endicott?”
“To start with, that’s not his real name but
I’ll get to that in a moment. The bullet went in, shattering two
lower ribs. From there it bounced around, hitting his spleen and a
kidney. He’s undergone preliminary surgery but it will take another
round, they say, before all the damage is repaired. We won’t be
able to interview him for several days.”
“But he will live?”
“Barring complications, which are possible of
course.”
Teague nodded. “Who is he in actuality?”
Again the chief consulted his notes. “I
received the results on his fingerprints twenty minutes ago from
IAFIS. According to them, he is Bradley William Irwin, male
Caucasian, age thirty-two, born in Bent Township, which is in the
northwest corner of the
“Waistband,” Keir rasped out. Teague found it
and cut the rope binding Keir’s wrists.
Then he went over to Hoyt, who was leaning
against a tree trunk, his phone pressed to his ear. Teague saw the
shoulder of Hoyt’s dark blue jacket turn even darker and knew that
it was blood and he’d been hit.
Teague grabbed Hoyt when he began to fall,
easing him down to lean against the tree, the phone still clasped
tightly against his ear while he managed to tell whoever was on the
other end of the line that they needed an ambulance…”or three. Plus
some officers. Track me with that damned GPS. We’re in the park.
Close to the river.” That was all he managed to say before he
passed out.
Teague grabbed the phone and gave the man on
the other end a few more details and a somewhat better set of
directions for how to find them. At the same time he pulled the
right side of Hoyt’s jacket and shirt back as far as possible to
see how badly he’d been shot.
“Use this,” Keir said, coming up beside them.
He held out a cut off sweatshirt sleeve. Using his knife, he sliced
through Hoyt’s shirt so they could see the wound.
Teague pressed it to Hoyt’s shoulder,
glancing at Will as he did. The man was curled in a fetal position,
his arms lashed behind his back, blood soaking into the ground.
“Guess I was the only one who didn’t get
shot,” Keir commented. “How bad is yours?”
“Flesh wound,” Teague replied tersely. “Where
are the damned medics? Hoyt’s bleeding badly. If the bullet hit a
vein…”
“Calm down. They’ll get here. We’re not
exactly in the middle of Main Street.”
They heard sirens off in the distance. Keir
got up immediately, heading out of the clearing. “I’ll bring them
back,” he called over his shoulder.
It seemed like forever, although Teague knew
logically it was only minutes, before Keir returned, closely
followed by EMTs, police officers, and the police chief.
* * * *
Chapter 9
Once Teague and Keir were released from the
ER at the county hospital—mid-morning after the battle with Will
Endicott—they were escorted back into town, to the police
department.
“How is Hoyt doing?” were the first words out
of Teague’s mouth when he walked through the door to Chief Davis’s
office. He had tried to find out before he left the hospital but
was told that HIPAA wouldn’t allow the hospital to tell him more
than that Hoyt was alive. He’d figured that would be the case, but
gave it a try nonetheless.
“He’ll be in intensive care for the next
twenty-four hours,” the chief replied. “Since I have his power of
attorney in case of emergencies, the doctors were able to give me
the details. The bullet, thank God, missed the subclavian artery.
If it hadn’t, he might well have bled out before the EMTs even got
to him. It nicked the—” the chief glanced at a notepad on his desk.
“The brachial plexus—which the doc told me is a bundle of nerves
that control arm function—and fractured his clavicle. He made it
through surgery and the doctor is fairly certain that he’ll regain
the full function of his arm.”
Teague blew out a long breath of relief
before asking, “What about Will Endicott?”
“To start with, that’s not his real name but
I’ll get to that in a moment. The bullet went in, shattering two
lower ribs. From there it bounced around, hitting his spleen and a
kidney. He’s undergone preliminary surgery but it will take another
round, they say, before all the damage is repaired. We won’t be
able to interview him for several days.”
“But he will live?”
“Barring complications, which are possible of
course.”
Teague nodded. “Who is he in actuality?”
Again the chief consulted his notes. “I
received the results on his fingerprints twenty minutes ago from
IAFIS. According to them, he is Bradley William Irwin, male
Caucasian, age thirty-two, born in Bent Township, which is in the
northwest corner of the
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