Charlie stared back at Shane, her mouth hanging open. He couldn’t be serious. “So someone took restricted drugs from the ER’s stash and HQ thinks someone in our house did it?!”

Shane’s face was tight, his mouth set in a thin line. He’d invited her down to have lunch with him while he finished up the log books, some “time out” from the loud speculation upstairs about the arsonist. “That’s what Chief said the log books say, but that’s just a record. There’s not a shred of any other evidence.”

“They’re still going to be looking at us, though.” She slumped down in her seat. Why the hell would Chief think that anyone from their house was capable of stealing drugs? The answer hit her like a fist to the face. Chief Stone hadn’t talked to both of them; he’d talked to Shane. The paramedic, and the permanent member of the house. She was a floater, and could just as easily be gone tomorrow as she was there today. She looked out the front window, but her eyes were unfocused. Why wouldn’t the chief approach both of them with this? The only answer she could think of was that he’d already decided she was guilty. Then why the hell was she still sitting here and not on her way to HQ?

“Ambulance 32, 901A, attempted suicide. Police are on scene. 105 Charlotte Rowell Boulevard.”

Charlie scrambled, dumping the rest of her sandwich and slamming her door shut. “That’s Cody’s address!”

Shane took two seconds to throw her a glance, his face concerned, before he pulled out of the engine bay, engaging the lights and sirens. The rest of the ride was made in silence. Charlie knotted her fingers together in her lap. Fuck. She had to get the hell out of her head. Cody was the only person who mattered right now. The rest of the shit—and it was complete and utter shit—could wait. It had to.

Shane pulled the ambulance up outside Cody’s residence, and Charlie barely waited for him to turn off the engine before she was out of her seat and grabbing her bag, sprinting up the front steps. When she cleared the front door, her feet stopped dead, causing Shane to nearly run into the back of her.

Cody lay still on the floor, a police officer kneeling over him, pressing a towel that was soaked with blood to his head. “Thank God you’re here,” the officer said. “I don’t think he can breathe too well.”

At her words, Charlie’s feet moved almost of their own volition, her training kicking in and taking over. She moved quickly to Cody’s other side and dropped to her knees, trying desperately to ignore the squelching as his blood soaked into her pants. Her gaze flew to the bloody towel and then moved quickly over the rest of his body. No visible blood. That didn’t mean there wasn’t any other wound for sure, but there were more pressing concerns. His airway was compromised, choked with blood, and with bits of teeth and bone. Shane dropped down at Cody’s head, pulling out the equipment needed for an intubation. Charlie reached over, grabbing for Cody’s wrist to check his pulse. His neck was slick with blood and also had damage from whatever the hell had happened. Her gaze moved fast, assessing the scene. A handgun lay a few feet away. “I kicked that over there when I arrived on scene,” the cop said. “It was lying by the body.”

The body. Cody. Damn it.

She probed his wrist, but there was no pulse. Dropping his arm, Charlie reached forward and clasped her hands together on his chest, beginning CPR. She looked over at Shane, who had put down the laryngoscpe and was sitting back, his hands on his knees. “What the hell are you doing? He needs air, damn it!”

Shane looked up at her, his face passive but his voice heavy. “Charlie, we need to stop.”

Her hands kept moving. She had to save him. That was her job. “Why aren’t you moving? Shane, help him!”

Shane didn’t move. “Charlie,” he said again. She ignored him, counting compressions under her breath. How many could she do before Cody would run out of air? “Charlie.” Shane’s voice was more forceful now. “Stop.”

She didn’t. She didn’t think she could.

Shane moved. He stepped over to her position and dropped to his knees next to her on the floor. His hands, stained red with Cody’s blood, covered her own, ceasing their movement. “Charlie, you have to stop. He’s gone.”

She pulled back sharply. What? Charlie pulled her hands free of Shane’s grasp and ran the back of one across her cheek. It felt slick, with blood or tears, she didn’t know. She looked at Cody, lying still on the floor. His face was pale, a stark contrast to the puddle of red surrounding him on the floor. She looked up at Shane again, her voice half dazed. “How do you know?”

He reached out and rested a hand on her arm. His voice was quiet, but every word rattled around in her brain, ricocheting through her emotions until she could barely stand it. “Sweetheart, there’s brain matter on the floor.”

The world seemed to spin beneath her. She moved, she thought, sitting back, mimicking Shane’s earlier position. Someone entered the room, Shane stood, calling dispatch. The cop who had been kneeling on the floor with them moved away, looking for something to clean the blood from her hands. Cody’s blood. She probably didn’t want to be covered in it any longer, now that there was no point.

Charlie looked down at her own hands. They were gloved, but a smear of blood moved up her wrist, streaking her skin with it. She shifted and the dampness on the knees of her pants pressed against her legs.

God. There was so much blood.

She clamped a hand over her mouth and bolted for the front door, barely making it before she puked up everything she’d eaten that day. When the rest of the world came back into focus, Shane was standing next to her, holding out a couple of wipes and a bottle of water. He handed them to her, saying nothing, but his eyes were sad. She rinsed her mouth, spitting out the water, and then tried to clean herself up. She scrubbed at her hands. Her pants were completely ruined. Somehow focusing on that kept her sane, kept her standing. As long as she didn’t think about the body lying in the room just behind her.

She took another sip of water, looking out across the street. Another cop, one she hadn’t noticed when she’d burst into the scene, walked out the front door. Shane stepped over to him, and they talked for a while in low tones. Their voices were too quiet for Charlie to overhear anything, but she didn’t care. Another sip of water. This time her roiling stomach protested less.

That was, until Shane swore loudly. “Motherfucker!”

Her head snapped up. “What?” Shane looked over at her and she frowned. Why the hell did he look guilty? The water in her stomach threatened evacuation. “Shane? What’s going on?”

He slid a piece of paper in his hand into his pocket. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Yeah, sure. Her eyes narrowed. “Shane Parker, what is that?”

His shoulders dropped. “Charlie, please. Trust me on this. You don’t need to know.” His face looked almost pained.

She stood and took the few steps to stand in front of him and held out her hand. “Now, Shane.”

Another silent movement, slowly this time. He reached into his pocket and handed her the paper. No, it was an envelope. Addressed to her, her name scrawled across the front. Had Cody left a note, addressed to her? She’d liked the guy, wanted to help him, but that was as far as it had ever gone. Why would he choose her? Her heart beat rapidly as she slid her finger under the flap. It came away easily, unsealed. Charlie pulled out the piece of paper inside, nearly a scrap with just four words, written in an equally messy scrawl.

This is all your fault.