On the Line [Run Cold Book Two]

11: Sorry

Concerned by Becky's health and news of a shooter, cops held us on the stairs for a good twenty minutes. I explained what I could to the commanding officer, a burly man whose face seemed trapped between relief and misery every time he addressed Becky.

After a medic gave the all-clear to Becky  and the officer quietly stated that the medical examiner was needed for the body, I helped my friend make her way up the stairs (now aglow with artificial spotlights) and toward the nearest ambulance. Becky hadn't improved much since fainting, but she was alert and responsive, pulling an orange medical blanket around her shoulders as an EMT cradled her daughter a few steps ahead. Emma was doing okay, thankfully, but stress and dehydration left her in need of a little extra care.

A small crowd had gathered beyond the ring of seven cop cars, tape, and barricades; among it stood a Einar absent his suitcoat, arguing with some poor cop about his right to cross. Anger shortened his gestures to quick strikes at the air.

"I'll be back," I told Becky, rubbing the tarp-like blanket. "Einar's arrived."

She just kept walking, trailing after the EMT as if in a trance.

Making my way to the irate bodyguard, I fiddled with my clutch, more eager to tell my parents about finding Emma than I was to listen to Einar's inevitable lecture. My phone showed another missed call. Dad. I tried back but got no answer. It was late; he was probably asleep on the plane anyway. The good news would have to wait. 

"He's with me," I called to the cop, returning the phone to its home. "My guard."

The woman needed further proof, but flagging down the commander who'd interviewed me before was enough. She backed off and Einar stepped through, straightening the cuffs of his shirt. "Ma'am," he greeted me in the curt tone of someone who would've preferred to scream the word.

Dust covered his slacks, condensed around his knees. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair a slicked back mess. "I see you got out," I observed, and waved towards the officer in charge. "He took your gun, but I didn't use it. Neither did Becky. You'll have to retrieve it later."

Einar's shoulders pulled back in time to the emergence of a frown as he regarded the possessor of his weapon. "Has Rebecca answered her phone recently?"

The question caught me off-guard. "No? It's been on silent since we got to the ..."

"Restaurant?" He scowled, and I had the distinct impression he didn't want to know where we'd actually been.

"Yeah. The Restaurant," I agreed. "Why?"

"The young man's family arrived at your home and received notice from the hospital. Apparently he did not survive complications post surgery."

My hand flew to my mouth. "Have they been trying to reach her?"

"The hospital left a message. Before leaving for the hospital, his family requested you break the news if possible. You know her best and with her mother deceased-"

"Her mother's body hasn't been brought out yet. How do you know about that?"

"Body bag went down," he said without missing a beat. His fingers fell to his cuffs, brushing a speck of dirt.

We'd cleaned our floors in anticipation of my parents.

"Einar," I began, feeling snakes of anxiety twist in my stomach. Light spots on his knees, as if he'd brushed them off.  As if he'd been kneeling in thick dust. "I'm only going to ask once."

The hazel eyes he turned on mine were murky swamp water, and his voice low and rumbling, as if a gator were telling me of his night's hunt. "I did what I had to do, for you and the child."