Alisha’s voice was as brittle as cracked ice. It was only one simple word but it would take more than I could offer to answer her.

“Hush,” I said. “Don’t talk. Try to be as still as you can be.”

“Am I . . . going to . . . die?”

“No.” I tilted away from her so that she couldn’t see the lie in my face.

When I looked back at her she was watching my face, but there was little recognition in her eyes. The pupils were as small as pinpricks. “Why did you do this to me, Luke?”

Whether her question was rhetorical or she was swimming through delirium, I felt her words like a vice closing on my throat. I wasn’t like him: physically maybe, but not in my heart.

“Shush, now. Help’s coming, Alisha.”

Rink nodded his head over us, and I became aware of the sound of sirens and vehicles braking to a halt. Seconds later there followed shouted orders and the clatter of running feet.

Somewhere along the line I’d put my gun back in my belt, and I noted now that Rink had put his away. My friend lifted his open hands to the cops shouting at him and then waved them over.

“This woman needs help now.” I stared up at the cop who had his sidearm pointed at my face. “Get a goddamn medic.”

Other cops pounded by us, some doing a nervous dance as they approached the vehicle surrounded by dead men, others moved toward the house. I didn’t give any of it much more than fleeting notice as I was too busy trying to keep Alisha alive. Next moment, hands were pulling me away, and the people bending over Alisha wore different uniforms. I relinquished my hold on her, handing her over to the paramedics.

I looked down at her blood on my hands. Please . . . not another innocent, I prayed.

Next thing I was aware of was moving ahead with Rink, passing cops who tried to grab at us; we brushed them aside. Then we had passed the side of the house. My senses had pinholed during the last few minutes, but now they were returning as we took up the chase. The smell of gunpowder hung heavily in the air, and there was also the familiar tang of death. The house held no interest for us and we raced into the backyard. A man was dead on the ground and a little distance away a dog lay oozing its brains out of a hole in its skull. I barely glanced at them, and jumped the gate over which Rickard must have fled.

We went through another garden and on to a parallel street where we found another two dead men. People from the neighboring houses were beginning to come out to see the show. It was a bad sign. It meant that Rickard was gone.