The sight of flashing blue and red lights illuminating the sky stops me in my tracks. I take off running. The closer I get to the building the slower my legs feel as if I’m running through a thick pool of mud. I know I’m moving, but the distance between that balcony and me doesn’t seem to lessen.
My elevated pulse makes me feel winded. It has nothing to do with my running and everything to do with my panic.
Sirens and unintelligible commands fill the air.
Officers line the entire perimeter of the building. Armored SWAT vehicles block the street. Armageddon has struck while I was pathetically strolling on the beach. I push and shove my way through the hoards. I feel like I’m getting nowhere. Even with all the chaos around me, I hear nothing except for Ella’s voice calling for me over and over in my head.
“Farley!” I scream as I see him entering the building. “What the fuck happened?” My spit-riddled bark hits him square in the face.
“I don’t know, Ben. She’s alive. She’s been shot, but she’s alive. That’s all I know right now.”
He runs into the building, dismissing me. When I follow, a cop stops me from passing through the front door. With all my strength, I shove him up against the glass door when Farley says, “He’s with me.”
The scene in the lobby is one of death and destruction. The cop that was on desk duty lies dead in a pool of blood. It may as well be Ella. I need to get to her, see her now. As I desperately wait for the elevator door to open, I squeeze the back of my neck to the point of bruising. It’s too slow, three seconds is too long to wait. On impulse, I bolt for the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. Along the way, a uniformed SWAT officer stands at each door stopping me as I try to pass. At the fourth floor, with a final flash my badge I barrel through the door.
When I step into the hall, the oxygen leaves my lungs with such force it causes me to stumble sideways. “Ella!” I call out pitifully as if she’ll turn and respond.
Everything I feared has happened. This moment will forever be burned into my memory, another memory to be haunted by, and another event to forever run from.
Paramedics’ hands are all over her.
Chuck lies dead at the end of the hall.
Politto lies a few feet away with his own caretakers trying to save him.
Fury rumbles through me. “Let him die!” I roar as I drop beside her.
“You need to move aside, sir.”
“NO!” I spew venomously.
“She’s losing a lot of blood. We’re airlifting her to St. Luke’s.” They lift her onto a gurney in one swift motion and proceed as if I’m not there. Her clothes are drenched in blood. The rug is drenched in blood. Her blood. There’s so much of it, everywhere. Her skin looks ghostly gray in contrast to the red dots that are scattered over her face, her neck, and her arms. I clutch her clammy hand between mine. My fingers skim her wrist, searching for her pulse. It’s faint, but it’s there. In spite of her lifeless body, she’s still with me.
“Two shots?” I ask as we push her into the elevator.
“The first passed through. Actually, it looks as if it grazed her. The one to her thigh may have hit an artery.”
One of the paramedics holds a thick pad to her side while another holds a thicker pad under her left leg as he elevates it over his shoulder. A tourniquet squeezes her upper thigh. The slowest elevator that was ever created by man moves lower, floor-by-floor. When the door finally opens, it spares me from a complete and utter meltdown.
An ambulance screeches to a halt inches away from where we emerge. A helicopter hovers above before landing on the beach. I know everyone is moving as fast as they can, but to me, they look like they’re in slow motion. The paramedics and I sprint to the helicopter, my eyes trained on her. Is she secured? Is she safe?
This time when they push me aside after we crawl into the small space, I let them. I watch as they cut away her clothes, revealing a gaping hole in her leg and shredded flesh at her waist. Her wounds are being dressed as best as they can be. Her pressure and heart rate are monitored. The landscape below goes unseen, and all I can focus on is her face. Minutes later, we are on the roof of the hospital. A medical team and a police escort are waiting and rush us into the building. Rob steps forward as I run after the gurney, trying to keep up. At my slight hesitation he says, “Go. I’ll find you.”
I muster a wordless nod and attach myself to the side of her gurney. Where she goes, I go…until a surgeon stops me in my tracks with a slam of the door.
In my hand is a clipboard of paperwork that I have no idea how to handle. I stare at the form for several long minutes, my eyes glued to the one word.
NAME.
By writing Ella Parker, I tell the world what her new identity is. By writing Gabriella Volante, I expose her to the mob world.
Rob finds me staring blankly at the forms in my hand.
“Any word?”
“No,” I respond, not looking up. “I don’t know what to do.”
Rob looks down at the forms. “Why?”
“Is she Ella or Gabriella? I’m not prepared for this. I need direction. Either way, this is going to change her life.”
He points behind him and says, “Ask Farley.”
Farley pushes through the doors, walking toward me with purpose. He motions to a small waiting room and closes the door once we all file inside.
“Here’s what we know,” he says as I stare at him. “Politto walked in and shot Grunn.”
“Who the fuck is Grunn?” I ask, not bothering to hide my impatience.
“The cop on duty in the lobby. He’s NYPD, 30th Precinct.”
This captures my attention. “Oh my God.”
“Video shows Politto entering the lobby, showing his work I.D. to Grunn, and immediately shooting him while he makes a call. The camera outside Ella’s apartment shows Politto emerging out of the stairwell, immediately shooting Officer Harris.” My blank stare has him clarifying, “Chuck.”
“How did he find us?” I ask robotically.
“We don’t know yet.”
“Is there anything you do goddamn know? So this proves that he is smarter than you!” His response uncorks my fury. “Can. You. Admit. You. Fucked. Up?” I ask through clenched teeth.
Farley matches my glare. “Two officers lost their lives. We were on the scene minutes later. You left the apartment without ensuring we knew.”
He’s right. I wasn’t concentrating. I wasn’t analyzing every piece of this puzzle like I normally would. I was acting like a boyfriend and not a cop.
Farley’s words to me, in the briefing today, ring through my head. I brought you two on because you are the best in the city. You need to get your head OUT of your ass and get your head in the game.
“Why would he risk everything?” I voice what I’m thinking.
“No clue.” Farley sighs and says, “We are working on that.”
Ella’s paperwork still sits in my hands. “What do I do about these? Who is she?”
He takes them from me and glances at the forms. “She is Gabriella Volante. That’s who’s in that operating room right now.”
I sit heavily in an empty chair, defeated and beaten. Farley watches as I drag in deep breaths, trying to keep myself calm.
“Stone, we can’t expose her real name. You have to trust me on this.”
The surgeon appears in the doorway, forcing me to stand abruptly. “Relatives of Jane Doe?”
“Agent Farley, FBI,” he flashes his badge to the surgeon. “This is Officer Withers and Officer Stone, NYPD. The woman you are treating is Gabriella Volante. She has no living relatives or next of kin. She is a victim of Mr. Victor Politto Jr. He is under suspicion in a case we have been following. All information you have is to be used as evidence.”
He nods in understanding. “I’m Dr. Rouse. Ms. Volante is stable but remains in critical condition. The bullet missed the femoral artery and has traveled through soft tissue. It’s imbedded in the femur bone, causing severe splintering. Due to her massive hemorrhage, she is receiving transfusions.”
“Can you clarify what that means?” I ask.
“Of course. The massive hemorrhage she endured can cause her organs to shut down. We are carefully monitoring to ensure her liver, bladder, and intestinal functions have not been compromised. The biggest concern right now is hemorrhagic shock, infection, and possible loss of her limb. Open wounds, especially of that nature, are always prone to infection, and we are preparing for that possibility. We have repaired the tears caused by the bullet that passed through her side. The bullet in her thigh remains lodged and will be removed once we build her hemoglobin levels to better prepare her for leg surgery. At that time, we will remove the bullet, repair her femur, and check for signs of infection.”
“Will she survive?”
“The next twenty-four hours are crucial.” He avoids my question, maintaining an impassive expression.
The tether connecting Ella to my heart stretches tautly, causing pain to sear right through me. On shaky legs, I sit in the chair behind me, afraid that standing for even one more second would cause my knees to buckle. My reaction is not one an investigating officer would portray. Rob comes over and places a steady hand on my shoulder. The confusion toward our response is clearly written on Rouse’s face.
“Do you have any other questions?” he asks with his eyes still trained on me.
“Not at this time,” Farley responds for us.
“I’ll be back once I have more information.” Dr. Rouse glances my way one more time before he exits the room.
Everything I feared, everything I tried to protect her from is coming to fruition. The last thing I said to her was I needed air. I couldn’t even be with her when I disagreed with her decision. She trusted me. She trusted us, and we failed her.
I failed her.
The weight of my failure settles on my shoulders as I hang my head in shame.
“She’ll be okay,” Farley says, trying to comfort me.
I don’t even bother looking up at him.
“We are sorry to interrupt your normally scheduled programming for this breaking news. I am Steve Carson, reporting live from the scene in Long Beach, New York. The FBI has confirmed that mob boss, Mr. Victor Politto Jr., has been critically shot and rushed to North Shore LIJ Medical. Three others have been killed at the scene. Among the other victims is Ms. Gabriella Volante.”
An old mug shot of Angelo Volante is shown. Instead of a photo of Ella, one of a much younger Regina Volante is also flashed on the screen.
“Ms. Volante is the daughter of the late Angelo Volante, the infamous head of the Volante Crime Family. This morning, Ms. Volante died of her injuries at St. Luke’s Roosevelt Hospital in lower Manhattan. Mr. Politto remains in critical condition at North Shore. The other victims are New York City police officers. Their identities have not yet been released, pending family notification. We will continue to update you on further developments as they are revealed. Now back to your…”
I click the TV off, nausea rises as I sit and stare at the darkened screen.
That fucker is still living, still breathing. He was shot four fucking times. Farley said it doesn’t look good, yet he’s still breathing.
Farley updated me an hour ago.
“Politto was there to retrieve the flash drive and then kill Gabriella.”
“A flash drive that doesn’t exist. How the fuck did he find her?”
Farley removes a picture from his pocket. “Recognize him?”
“It’s the fuck-face receptionist from the gym.”
“Frank isn’t as dumb as he let on. Nole Travitt has a healthy coke addiction. He took pictures as you were escorting Smyth out of the gym. He sent them to Frank to warn him. Frank immediately recognized Gabriella in one of the pictures. He also thought there was something very familiar about you. It wasn’t long before he found out you were David Stone’s son. Through his lawyer, he got word to Politto that Smyth knew Gabriella’s whereabouts all along. He said Smyth was planning to barter her whereabouts for control of the drug ring out of Manhattan and all its profits. Of course, that wasn’t true.”
“Why would Politto believe him?”
Farley waits a pause before adding, “Frank told his uncle you were the lead cop in Smyth’s investigation and that your only agenda was to arrest anyone involved with the Politto name. He said you were in charge of keeping Gabriella safe in an undisclosed location because she recognized Smyth at the gym. Politto had no idea he was walking into an FBI operation. He bit the bait Frank dangled and followed you right to her. Frank was betting on Politto arriving, killing Gabriella and killing you. He was also banking on us killing Politto at the scene. Frank believed he would then enter the WITSEC program, never having to worry his uncle would find him. Smyth would be left to take all the blame. The minute you walked out of the building, Politto made his move.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“Does Frank know Ella and I are together?”
“No. He knows you are a cop, and she is a witness.”
“And if Politto survives? What happens to Frank then?”
“Frank’s fucked. The WITSEC offer is off the table. He just added conspiracy charges to the mountain of charges he’s already fighting.”
I force my brain to try and look at all these facts with my cop hat on. I can’t do it. I can’t go back to thinking like a cop, at least not in this situation. I’m useless as a cop right now. “I need to file for a leave.”
He nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ll ensure it gets approved, full pay.”
His immediate approval rubs me the wrong way. “Bribe?”
“Ben, we did everything we could to keep her safe. You know we did.” He shakes his head and says, “Our downfall was Frank Politto.”
A sarcastic huff is all I can manage. I guess we all have them, downfalls.
Mine was Ella Parker…and I was hers.