She drove faster, cranking up her radio for news.

“One officer is down,” a reporter droned in a nasally, impersonal voice as if reading the alphabet. “But the gunman is in custody—”

It took her four more long, agonizing minutes to get to the scene, the longest minutes of her life. She’d lost sight of Kenny’s truck, and the entire block had been barricaded, but she moved in as close as she could. Unfortunately, she couldn’t find a spot to park.

When an ambulance whipped past her, going in the opposite direction, followed by a squad car, her heart kicked up a notch, if that was even possible. She was just about to abandon her car and say the hell with it when her cell phone rang.

It was Kenny. “Oh thank God,” she said in lieu of a greeting. “Listen, I can’t get in close, there’s nowhere to park, I’m just going to—”

“Turn around.” He sounded perfectly calm but Summer could hear the strain beneath the surface. “He just left in the ambulance, and is heading toward the hospital.”

Now her poor heart stopped. “He was hit?”

“I don’t have any details yet, but we both know Joe is far too stubborn to be anything but okay.”

She heard Ashes let out a little bark, and knew she must be riding shotgun with Kenny. Summer let out a little sobbing laugh, and with the phone shoved against her hunched shoulder, tried to turn around. But traffic was a bitch and no one was moving and…and she was going to go postal here in a second. “Damn it!”

“Listen to me, Summer. You have time, so drive carefully. Summer? Are you there?”

Since she couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat, she nodded as if Kenny could see her.

“Just get to the hospital,” he said. “I’ll meet you there.”

Summer tossed the phone to the seat besides her and weaved through traffic, snarling at anyone who got in her way. At the hospital, she parked crookedly and ran through the lot and into the emergency department, which was so packed there was standing room only. People lined the hall, sat against the walls, paced the floor. Summer made her way past all of them, skidding to a halt in front of the nurses station. The line there was long but no one seemed to be doing anything so she stood off to the side and caught the eye of a nurse. “Joe Walker,” she gasped. “The fire marshal from the store bombing.”

Miraculously, the nurse moved to the counter and consulted a clipboard. “Are you family?”

She debated with herself for less than a single heartbeat. She knew the rules. No family, no information. “Yes,” she said because it was true. She was the closet thing to family he’d ever had.