While Freddie drove, Sam read over the information her team had gathered on Billy Springer, who was twenty-four, a graduate of Wilson High and a dropout from Catholic University. He’d worked as a plumber’s apprentice, a store clerk and a bartender since leaving college three years ago. He had a sealed juvenile record along with several drug possession arrests that had been adjudicated with probation. Clearly, he’d been escalating since he dropped out of college.

They arrived to find the SWAT team already assembled, with Farnsworth, Conklin and Malone on the scene, as well. The house was an older stand-alone brick-front structure with two stories and a wide front porch.

“Everyone ready, Lieutenant?” Farnsworth asked when her team was in place.

“Yes, sir.”

He had raised his radio to give the order to go in when shots rang out from the house. They dove for cover behind their cars. Sam took a head count on her team and noted with horror that Gonzo had been hit. She was gripped by fear as she crawled on her belly to get to him with Freddie right behind her. Jeannie and Arnold were with Gonzo, applying pressure to a wound on his neck.

“Is he breathing?” Sam asked.

“Rapidly,” Arnold said, his face devoid of color as he held a hand to Gonzo’s neck.

“Call for a bus,” Sam said to Jeannie, whose hands trembled as she fumbled with her radio.

The cackle of “officer down” over the radio sent a bolt of fear through Sam’s body as she watched Gonzo struggle for every breath. Around them, Sam was aware of the SWAT team receiving orders to go in and take the bastard, but her gaze was riveted to Gonzo and the pool of blood forming under him.

“Alex,” Gonzo said haltingly. “Tell her to take care of him.”

“Don’t talk that way,” Jeannie said as she blinked back tears.

“Christina,” Gonzo said between ragged breaths. “Tell her...”

“You can tell her yourself,” Arnold said, his voice tinged with hysteria he was trying hard to hide from his partner. “You’re going to be fine.”

“He’s got an arsenal in there,” the SWAT team commander said on the radio. “We believe he’s holding at least one civilian hostage as well, and we can’t confirm he’s the only shooter. We need to regroup.”

“Where’s that ambulance?” Sam asked as her anxiety level peaked in the red zone.

“The paramedics won’t come in here with an active shooter,” Malone said.

“We can’t move him with a neck wound,” Sam said. “We need a backboard.”

“I’ll go get it,” Freddie said.

“No way,” Sam said, grabbing his arm. “You’re not exposing yourself with Springer shooting at cops.”

Freddie shook her off. “If someone doesn’t go, he’s going to die. I’ll be right back.”