Protecting You (A McCord Family Novel Book 1) (2 page)

"I know that. I got the call myself. On Twelfth Street, right?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Any update on the woman yet? Did she make it to the hospital?" Ava nodded a greeting at the officer standing outside the building.

"She died on the way. It's now a homicide. Are you there yet?"

"Just walking up to her apartment door now. See you soon, Jimmy," Ava said as she nodded at the other officer standing by the woman's apartment door.

"Okay, I'm about five-ten minutes out. See you soon, Ava," Jimmy said, then hung up.

Ava put her phone away, set down her crime scene kit, and put on a pair of gloves. She turned toward the front door and hollered, "You didn't touch anything other than where you had to help the victim, correct, Officer Sampson?"

Officer Sampson stuck his head into the doorway. "Yes, Ms. Rainer. Nothing else was touched. She was in the bedroom when we arrived. We secured the scene."

Ava smiled in appreciation and turned back around. She was critical of all her crime scenes. A few officers and detectives despised her because of her demanding ways. She had a certain way she operated and well—you had better do it correctly. There was no excuse for disturbing evidence, not securing a crime scene well enough, or even letting in wandering citizens enthralled by a dead body. It was inexcusable in her eyes and she let them know. They never made a mistake again.

The living room was a mess. The couch sat overturned on its back, a few cushions slashed open. The glass coffee table was shattered, pieces of glass blanketing the floor. Her eyes followed the trail of glass that had traveled into the kitchen. Dishes were strewn about the counter, more glass peppering the ground below, making it difficult to walk without stepping on a few pieces. There were also a few scattered drops of blood in the living room and kitchen area.

She grabbed her kit and made her way to the bedroom, pausing at the bathroom to the right. It appeared untouched, but she would fully examine that later as well. She continued down the short hallway, the small living space only a one-bedroom apartment. What did the twenty-three year old woman do? Greenwich Village wasn't cheap to live in—even a one-bedroom apartment.

Walking through the open bedroom door, the massive bloodstain on the bed said plenty. The majority centered in the middle with a small amount pooling to the floor. She glimpsed around the room, taking note of the bedroom door that stood half hanging on its hinges. The woman clearly had the door locked briefly before the suspect tore it down. A few bottles of perfume and jewelry lay scattered on the ground, most likely having sat atop the dresser next to the door.

The closet doors were tightly shut, a blood smear on the handle. Curious about that, she set down her crime scene kit and opened it, removing a sterile swab to take a sample from the door. One quick swipe and done. She capped her swab stick and slowly opened the closet door.

Before she had time to react, a man dressed all in black slammed into her, knocking her onto the bloodstained bed. The swab went flying out of her hand as he held her down with his body, piercing her left shoulder with the same bloodied knife that killed the other woman.

The knife sliced through her body, the pain ricocheting everywhere. He pulled the knife out, brought his hand swiftly up and back down to stab her again. Ava screamed and brought her knee up into his groin area. He dropped to the ground slightly, but regained his stance quicker than she thought he would. Kicking again, she managed to roll from the bed. Her body moved toward the door as her mind centered on the icky substance clinging to her back and the throb radiating in her shoulder.

Bleeding. She had never bled like this in her life.

He ran toward her, knocking her into the dresser before she could reach the doorway to freedom. Cringing from the pain of the drawer knob slamming into her back, Ava blocked another swing of the knife with her right forearm. More pain slashed up her arm as the knife cut her faintly.

The brute strength in the man was undeniable. The other woman had died. Multiple stab wounds. She felt death looming as well. Yet, quitting knew no bounds in her vocabulary. She refused to give in without the fight of her life. She raised her knee again.

Her firearm jabbed the top of her thigh as they fought against the dresser. She had to grab for it. Why the hell didn't she do that right away?

He must've seen her reach down because he dropped the knife, slamming her harder into the dresser. Ignoring the pain from the drawer knob digging deeper into her back, she pushed back. He clung tightly to her shirt. The momentum of the push brought them near the window cushioned between the dresser and bed. The man turned her around slightly, shoving her toward the window, not letting go once. The force sent them both out the two-story window.

The sound of glass breaking deafened her as tiny shards sliced her body. No more than twenty seconds could've gone by since he burst out of the closet. Officer Sampson had to have heard her scream.

The wind swept through her hair as the notion of preparing for impact flickered briefly. Before she could react in anyway, her body hit the pavement hard.

Sounds muffled in the air, her name drifting to her ears from a distance, her mind foggy. Nothing was clear as she lay suffering from every point in her being. The need to breathe a simple breath of air, a struggle. Her arms wanted to move, but her mouth wouldn't even cooperate to suck in a deep breath.

A small gasp finally escaped as she attempted to roll into a sitting position, only managing a brief twitch of her body. Her head rang, pounding. She had to get up. Blood slowly dripped down the side of her face as a fire lit up inside her body with the pain radiating everywhere. The bruises on her back from the dresser, the tiny slices covering her body, it all made it hurt to move. It was as if time halted. She saw everything happen. She felt everything happen. But she could only lay there.

Out of the corner of her eye, the man struggled as well, but not as bad as her. She forced her hand to grab for her gun, feeling nothing but smooth pants.

The sleek feeling in her hands turned rough when she came across a rip. She'd have to buy new pants. She hated shopping, the decisions it came with. It took her forever to find the perfect outfit, as she could be particularly picky. She would have to drag Ashley with her. She had an essence of moving the chore with ease—throwing decent clothes in Ava's arms when the irritation hit her that it was taking too long.

The ringing in her ears rapidly pierced through her, increasing in strength, the sound as if a fire alarm was going off inside her. Scarcely moving her head to shake it away, she tried to remember what she should be doing. It hit her instantly when she moved her hand back up her body and felt the oozing substance in her hair. Slowly, she forced her body to sit up. Halfway there, a gun centered into her vision.

One second she was facing the barrel of a gun, the next second she was falling backwards as a body knocked her down. A sharp zinging ache pierced her right shoulder. Her world shifted into slow motion.

The sensation of a bullet tearing through her skin. The force of the body knocking her back. The heavy feeling of someone on her. A warm sensation filtered in, wetness spread onto her shirt, soaking right into her body.

"Officer down. Officer down. I need a bus now."

A body on her. Bleeding slowly. But to move was unimaginable. Again, time slowed to a stop. Her brain tried to focus on what her eyes just saw, what her body just felt.

"Ava! Detective McCord!"

What? Jimmy was here. Everything would be okay. She tried to sit up and focus.

Then more pain zapped her as someone shoved her back to the ground. "We have to stop the bleeding. Maybe you should lie back down, Ava."

Ava finally looked at Officer Eaton, who had been standing outside when she arrived, trying to press into her wound. It flooded her shirt in a bright red fashion. Then she turned her head at the body lying next to her and started screaming. "Jimmy! Oh my God!"

Her eyes zeroed in on his chest where blood poured out in a steady stream. Immediately sitting up, the dizziness rushed over her. She ignored every ounce of pain as she put her hand over his wound and tried to staunch the bleeding.

"Where's the ambulance? He needs an ambulance," Ava screamed as she shoved Officer Eaton off her shoulder.

"Ava, please. I need to stop the bleeding. You're losing too much blood," Officer Eaton said as Officer Sampson stood near the suspect who had been shot as well, unsure of what to do, the terror written on his face.

"No. Help me with Jimmy. Help me," she cried, pulling Jimmy closer to her, almost cradling him in her arms. "Please, Jimmy. Hold on. The ambulance is on the way. You're going to be just fine. Hold on."

Ava tried to press harder into his wound, but the wooziness crept back in. She looked over at Officer Eaton. "Help me."

Officer Eaton ignored her as he tried to clamp a hand over her wound again. She shoved at him. "Help me with Jimmy."

"Ava, listen to me. Detective McCord is—" Officer Eaton started to say. "We have to stop the bleeding. Please let me help you."

Ava pulled Jimmy closer to her body and started crying. "Jimmy, please. I got you. I'm stopping the bleeding. You're going to be just fine."

Sirens sounded in the distance. "The ambulance is almost here. Jimmy? Do you hear that?"

Her head started to spin. The ambulance pulled up. Doors slammed. Paramedics running towards them. The next moment—nothing but blackness.

***

Zane walked out of the barn and headed to the building they built for their offices, not too far from the barn itself. He had built the office a few years ago, hating to trample inside the clean house when he wanted to go over paperwork. Eleanor, their long time cook and all around housekeeper, appreciated that gesture.

The farm wasn't large by some people's standards, but large enough for him. They owned roughly a hundred cows, about forty hogs, some chickens, horses, and a few goats—because his mother had loved goat milk. Maintaining his animals, the grounds around the house, the fields that covered almost 300 acres, kept him busy. It took hard work and plenty of his time. The farm passed from his father from his father and so on. He had thought he and his brothers would run it together, but it hadn't turned out that way.

Austin was still on the farm, but chomping at the bit to leave. Zane made him feel guilty about it, forcing Austin to stay—making Zane feel guilty for making him feel guilty. He felt like he already lost one brother, he didn't want to lose another.

It was his own damn fault. He only had to call Jimmy and apologize. But he couldn't do it. Call him stubborn. Most people did anyway.

He opened the office door and stepped inside. Austin sat at his desk, typing furiously away at the computer.

"I hope it's work you're doing and not game playing," Zane muttered, as he sat down in his chair.

Austin stopped typing and looked at him. "You would assume I'm just playing around. I'm entering the figures that were piling up from the winter. Thank you very much."

Zane was just giving him a hard time. He thought Austin knew that, but sometimes he could be quite serious, so maybe Austin thought he wasn’t joking. Zane pulled open his ledger and started to mark down which pigs were ready for sale. Stalls one through ten looked to be close to the two hundred and fifty pound mark, which was what the local meat market liked for the size of the hog they bought.

"You know, I'm going over what we planted last year over in the west field for corn, and I think we need to plant a little more this year. The field next to it has alfalfa. I think we could switch that to corn instead. We almost ran out last winter."

Zane looked up briefly from his ledger. "If you think so, then I agree. It was only a so-so crop last year. Hopefully, we'll have better luck this year. I noticed the automatic feeder in stall twenty wasn't dispensing correctly. We need to fix that today."

Austin nodded. "Yeah, I can go look at it when I'm done here. I'm almost done. Did you check on Old Betsy today yet? How's she doing? Ready to calve?"

"She's doing well. She's sticking close to the barn. Not quite ready, but she's close. Do you have to call her Old Betsy? She's not old—or a pet that requires a name." Zane looked exasperated as Austin gave him a ridiculous grin.

Austin stared at him as he picked up a pen and started to twirl it, then took a small breath. "So, I talked to Jimmy earlier today."

"Yeah, that's nice."

"He's planning on coming home for Memorial Day. It's been a while since he's been home," Austin said hesitantly.

Zane averted eye contact. "That'll be nice."

"That's all you have to say. You haven't spoken to him in six months and all you have to say is—that'll be nice," Austin exclaimed. "Are you going to be that cordial when he gets here?"

"What do you want me to say? It will be nice for him to come home finally," Zane snapped.

"Yeah, but he's not staying home. You can't treat him like that and make him feel guilty when he comes. Maybe you two can finally work things out."

"I have nothing to work out. He took sides with that despicable woman. He would be home right now if it wasn't for her," Zane grumbled.

"That's not true and you know it. Ava is great. You would see that if you gave her a chance. If you just listened to Jimmy and how much he loves it in New York, you would know. Not everyone wants to be a farmer."