“Nice to meet you, Bill. I’m Detective Dane and this is Detective McNamara.” Stella exposed a nasty wound on Brody’s leg. A bullet had struck the meaty part of his calf. Covering the wound, she said, “We’re going to need more of these.”

“Try this.” Bill handed her a roll of gauze and an ace bandage.

“That should work.” She wrapped the wound, pulling the bandage snug but not too tight. “Are you hit anywhere else?” she asked Brody.

He didn’t answer, and his eyes were closed.

“Brody!” Stella felt for his pulse. It beat rapidly against her fingertips, but his face had gone dead-white. His leg wound hadn’t bled that much. “He must have another wound.” She ran her hands up his arms and legs.

“Here.” Bill moved aside Brody’s jacket. Blood soaked his dress shirt. “He must have been hit under the arm. How the hell did that happen?”

“He was below us.” Stella pulled at Brody’s jacket. “Do you have scissors?”

Bill ran to the counter and returned with them. She cut away Brody’s suit and shirt. Lifting his arm, she stacked gauze and applied pressure to the wound. The hole was smaller but more dangerous than the one on his leg.

Two patrol cars parked in front of the pharmacy. Bill went out to signal for the ambulance. Stella leaned into Brody. Blood welled between her fingers.

The next few minutes seemed like an eternity. Finally, two EMTs nudged her aside. Stella stepped back. They took vitals, started an IV, and applied a pressure bandage. By the time they loaded Brody onto a gurney and wheeled him into the ambulance, Stella’s legs were trembling and queasiness stirred in her belly like a toxic brew.

Lance rushed into the store, and Stella gave him a quick summary. Then she stumbled to the back of the store, went into the restroom, and heaved her afternoon snack.

She added Ring Dings to her list of foods never to be eaten again. Last time it had been apple cider donuts. At this rate, all her favorite sweets were going to be off-limits.

After washing her face with cold water, she opened the door. Bill the pharmacist was standing outside. He handed her a bottle of mouthwash. “Thought you might need this.”

“Thanks.” She went back into the bathroom and swigged a capful.

Second shooting of her career. Second after-shooting hurl. At least she consistently got the job done before letting adrenaline take over.

“Thank you. For everything.” She handed Bill the bottle and went outside. Three SFPD cars lined the street. Forensic techs crawled over the lawns under portable floodlights, and a mixed crowd of gawkers and reporters gathered behind sawhorses.

Lance led an elderly man with a cane to Stella. “This is Mr. Kiel. He’s the owner of the property. Lives in apartment one.”