The state police and ambulance arrived a few minutes later. Attendants wheeled in a gurney and loaded Rhys onto it. The EMT didn’t bother with an assessment. “We need to get him to the ER ASAP.”
Bree snapped handcuffs to one of Rhys’s wrists and attached the other end to the rail. “I need to go with him.” Rhys didn’t look capable of harming anyone, but Bree had made the decision to try and save him. He was her responsibility. She would take no risks. She turned to Todd. “Coordinate with the troopers.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded.
Since Bree was involved in tonight’s shooting, the state police would take charge of the investigation, which was just fine with her.
They followed the gurney outside. The attendants slid it into the back of the ambulance.
“This guy is the one who killed those two guys?” one of the state troopers asked.
“We believe so,” Bree answered. She climbed into the back of the ambulance, trying to stay out of the EMT’s way as he set up an IV. “Did you come from the hospital?”
“Yes.” He hung a bag of fluids.
Bree unzipped her jacket. Dried sweat under her body armor had left her clammy and gross. Matt hadn’t responded to her text. “Did you see Matt Flynn in the ER?”
“No, sorry.” He shook his head.
Bree texted Matt: R u OK? When he didn’t respond, worry for him returned. She tried Juarez, but he didn’t respond either. She sat back, with nothing to do but wait.
Outside the ambulance, a trooper said, “He looks dead already.”
“He ain’t going to make it,” the other agreed. “I don’t know why she tried so hard to save a killer.”
She heard Todd speak as the driver closed the rear doors. “It has nothing to do with who he is, and everything to do with who she is.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Deputy Juarez walked around the curtain in Matt’s ER bay. “Sheriff Taggert is OK, and so is her brother.”
If Matt hadn’t been lying down, relief would have made him light-headed. Of course, he was already dizzy from the snake venom and cocktail of drugs he’d been given. But still . . .
Bree’s alive.
The deputy waved. “I thought you’d want to know, considering you and the sheriff . . .” He trailed off, as if unsure whether he’d overstepped.
Matt didn’t make him finish his sentence. “Thanks.”
Juarez cleared his throat. “Not that any of us care. We support the sheriff a hundred percent. She’s the real deal.”
“She is,” Matt agreed. “And I’m glad you have her back.”
“We do. Totally.” Juarez nodded hard. “You OK?”
“I’ve never been so happy to feel like roadkill.” Matt’s head swam. He was still amazed how much that damned snakebite had hurt.
Juarez agreed with one word: “Dude.” He added, “They’re bringing in the suspect by ambulance.”
“Gunshot?” Matt asked.
“That, and a snakebite.”
“Really?” Matt leaned back on the gurney. An IV line dangled from one arm. Next to the IV pole full of hanging bags—he’d lost track of the meds they were giving him—a heart monitor blipped along in a reassuring rhythm.
Juarez shrugged. “That’s what I heard.”
By the time Juarez had gotten him to the hospital—twenty minutes after he’d been bitten—Matt’s vision had been blurry and his speech slurred. With terrible fascination, he’d been able to watch the red line of venom spread up his leg. A ladder of permanent marker lines and their corresponding times climbed his leg where the nurses had kept track of the venom’s progression, which had slowed thanks to multiple doses of antivenin.
A commotion sounded in the hallway, with doors swishing, monitors beeping, footsteps pounding, people yelling. Someone was coding.
“Maybe that’s him. I’ll go find out what’s what.” Juarez left the room.
Twenty minutes later, a knock sounded on the doorway. The curtain shifted, and Bree limped through the opening. Her hair was tumbling out of its pins. Blood and a little dirt streaked her face. She’d never looked better. She approached the bed.
Matt grabbed for her hand, just wanting—needing—the physical connection. “Your blood or his?”
“Pretty sure it’s all his.” Bree leaned over and planted a soft kiss on his mouth.
He wanted to kiss her a hundred more times. He wanted a week with her and no distractions. He made do with squeezing her fingers. “Good. What about Adam? Farah?”
“Adam is OK. Farah is being evaluated for a concussion.”
“Todd?”
“He’s fine. Still at the final scene,” Bree said. “I just spoke with him and told him to go home as soon as he can. He did good.”
“Did Rhys make it?”
“Don’t know.” Bree looked troubled. “His chances didn’t look good, but I did everything I could to save him.”
“I know you did. I might not have tried so hard.”
Her head tilted. “Yes, you would have. This job often requires us to do things we don’t want to do.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
The doctor stopped in the doorway. “Sheriff. There you are.” He stepped into the room, looking grim. His surgical mask hung around his neck. “Your prisoner didn’t make it.”
Bree nodded.
“There wasn’t much we could do,” the doctor continued. “The snake nailed the brachial artery with both fangs. Between the location of the bite and his sustained physical exertion, the venom fast-tracked through his body. I suspect the snake bit him first and unloaded most of its venom.” He turned to Matt. “You were lucky. Your bite was limited to the muscle, where it took longer for the venom to spread. You minimized movement, only one fang punctured your skin, and you got here fast.”
“Small favors.” Matt couldn’t imagine twice as much venom entering his body.
“I didn’t know they could bite more than once,” Bree said.
“Not only can they bite multiple times, they can control how much venom they release.” The doctor checked Matt’s heart monitor.
“That’s creepy,” Bree said.
The doctor removed his wire-framed glasses and wiped them on the hem of his scrub shirt. “I did my residency in Arizona. The Mojave rattlesnake is very deadly. It can have one type of venom, which is a neurotoxin, or another, which is hemorrhagic, or a combination of both.” He set his glasses on his face. “We can be thankful they don’t live in this area. Do you know where the snake came from?”
“A private collection,” Bree said.
The doctor shook his head. “People are stupid.”
Understatement of the century.
Bree shifted her weight and winced.
The doctor squinted at her. “Why are you limping?”
She held up a hand. “Just banged my knee. I’m sure it’s fine.”
The doctor propped a fist on his hip. “I think I should be the judge of that.”
Bree shook her head. “I’ll ice it tonight.”
He frowned. “If you change your mind, let us know.” He pointed to Matt. “We’re finding a bed for you. You’re staying the night, at minimum.” After a quick check of Matt’s wound, the doctor left.