Murder Calls

"He-Heath," it wasn't a question. If anything, it was a demand, a demand to be heard, to listen. With sweaty hands, Heath pressed the phone harder against his ear. 'Fuck,' he wished Marley and Connor weren't with him. If they weren't then he'd be over to Brandy's in a heartbeat.

"Heath," she wheezed again. "Heath I've been shot." Something inside him froze, he could feel his grip tightening on the steering wheel and his neck prickling with a familiar sense of danger. His Brandy was hurt. "I need- I need help. Please."

Ignoring the fact that he had two teens in the back of his squad car and was probably committing about twenty violations; Heath pressed down on the gas hard.

"I'm on my way. Just stay on the line sweetheart." He ignored the alarmed shouts from the back as he did a vicious U-turn.