“Yeah, sorry.” Daniel mentally shook himself and told the pilot about a high school football field about half a mile from that location. He closed his eyes and pushed thoughts of Annika Mehta out of his mind. If the EMTs had called for the chopper, he was going to need to focus.

A few minutes later, the pilot landed them smoothly in the field. Daniel and Crista grabbed their gear bags and ran for the red flashing lights of the fire truck that would serve as their ride to the site. Daniel barely even registered the siren as they approached the bar. Blue-and-red flashing lights became visible—at least two cop cars as well as an ambulance were parked as if thrown in a semicircle in front of the bar.

“Phil’s Place,” Crista chuckled.

“What?”

She shrugged. “It’s the bar. Kind of place I’d go to.”

“Yeah, sure.” Daniel scanned the area. Not looking for beautiful women with dark curly hair. No. Not at all.

Sirens blipped, red and blue lights flashed, a flurry of activity around the ambulance and the police cars. Daniel automatically tuned out every distraction and focused on the bleeding man thrashing about on the gurney. The EMTs had him strapped down while treating his wounds, but it didn’t deter his attempts to be free of his restraints.

“Let me out!” His voice was strangled with sobs, taking the fight out of him, but he continued to twist against the straps around his wrists. “I don’t want to live! I can’t—” His wail of pain distracted Daniel for a quick moment before he registered it clinically. An EMT was cleaning one of the man’s wounds.

Daniel met Crista’s eyes and stepped up, taking the lead. He motioned for light. The scent of gunpowder confirmed shots fired, and a quick scan revealed one gunshot wound in the man’s shoulder and another in his upper thigh.

“What happened, Andy?” Daniel asked the EMT. The patient was crying out in a nonstop stream that quickly became background noise as Daniel’s focus narrowed to his patient and how he was going to best care for him in a quick and efficient manner.

“Looks like he tried suicide by cop.”

Daniel flicked his gaze to the EMT. “Seriously?” This was not entirely uncommon, but still not your run-of-the-mill gunshot wound.

“Yeah. Apparently, he buried his wife today.” The heft in Andy’s voice was metered by the clinical tone that was a side effect of their job, where life-changing events became information.

Daniel approached his patient with new eyes. Young, male, late twenties, maybe a few years younger than Daniel. A nod of silent communication to Crista, who started her clinical assessment while Daniel addressed the patient. “So, hey. What’s your name?”

“Mark.”

“Okay, listen up, Mark. I’m Daniel. This is Crista. She’s the best. We’re going to fix you up, get you to a hospital.”