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Damien couldn’t get past Frank Lang, Hayeston’s City Manager, who had the height and beard of Abraham Lincoln. Darlene’s hospital room was past the two visitor limit of patients in the Intensive Care Unit, but Sanders’ was able to use his relationship with the mayor to squeeze in.

Lang, however, was blocking all others from entering.

Damien could see inside the room where the mayor sat next to Darlene’s bed, his daughter’s burnt body in front of him, while his wife stood in the far corner, facing the wall, weeping, unable to look upon her only child.

Damien could still smell the gasoline on his face. It could have been him on that bed, the face and smile that Raquel loved turned into twisted scar tissue.

I should have taken the shot, Damien thought.

If he had acted sooner, reacted more aggressively, the mayor and his wife would be welcoming their daughter into their arms at the police station instead of being forced to look down on a young woman who vaguely resembled their little girl.

“It’s not your fault,” Ted said from behind him.

“You weren’t there,” Damien said. “You don’t know.”

“I know you. Better than anyone else, even your wife. You’d pull the trigger if it was the right thing to do. We’re trained to shoot when we’ve run out of options, not before.”

“And how many options does Darlene have now?” “Her injuries belong to the attacker, not you.”

“Yeah,” Damien said. “Maybe one day I’ll believe that.” “Decker’s looking for you,” Ted said. “Want me to stall him?”

“If you can. I’m not ready to talk to him about it. Not yet.”

Ted placed his hand on Damien’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

Damien turned back toward the crowded hospital room, watching Darlene’s parents, and thought of the baby growing in Raquel’s womb. How could he protect his child from the evil in the world if he couldn’t save Darlene when she was thirty feet away from him?

Damien wanted to claw off his cowardly skin.

Police badges didn’t mean anything without intent and execution. Otherwise, he’d be no better than a crossing guard.

Decker would probably be easy on him, taking the blame for putting a cadet into the field with the department’s most decorated ass. The lieutenant would take the hit in the press and from his superiors, but it wouldn’t dull Damien’s guilt. There was a dying girl in the other room because he wasn’t up to the task. Decker falling on his sword wouldn’t change that.

Sanders pulled Lang out of the room.

“Our deal hasn’t changed, has it?” Sanders asked him.

“That’s what you want to talk about right now?” Lang asked.

“Just holding you to your word.”

“What would you know about keeping your word?”

“Answer the fucking question,” Sanders said.

“Yes, you prick. A deal is a deal.”

“Good.”

Sanders moved past Damien and down the hall without saying another word.

Damien thought of following after him, but activity began to stir in Darlene’s room and her mother started to panic. Her daughter began to shake with a seizure and medical monitors began to screech.

A nurse and doctor rushed to her bed, blocking Damien’s view.

Darlene’s heartbeat monitor, previously slow, was beeping rapidly and the doctor’s jerking head and barked orders told Damien something dire was unfolding.

A syringe was pressed into her I.V. The nurse prepped a defibrillator. The doctor eyed the monitors.

Seconds later the activity stopped as quickly as it started.

The heart monitor held a steady tone. Darlene’s mother wailed.

The blonde cheerleader’s blistered hand slipped from her side and hung off the bed, where Damien spotted her freshly painted red nails.