The robber, or whatever he was, had a firm grip on his hostage as he inched his back along the glass façade, until he and the manager stopped, five feet from the door. He then beckoned to Cisco with his head, clearly giving him the okay to walk forward.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Hilly almost couldn’t breathe.

Cisco nodded, then slowly crossed the street. While he traversed the short expanse, he hoisted the camera higher on his shoulder, placing one eye on the viewfinder.

Hilly didn’t know what to expect as she studied the screen in front of her, but when no alternate camera box popped up on her TV—as would normally happen when two or more cameras were engaged—Hilly realized that not only had they sent in Cisco as a fake reporter, the offer of an interview was also a sham.

Cisco was obviously going to make some kind of move; a momentous and dangerous action that had nothing to do with filming.

Hilly thought she might be sick. Her fingers clutched the edge of her desk as she fought back nausea, but nothing could get her to move her gaze away. She felt like—as long as she watched—she could somehow keep Cisco safe. A stupid thought, but that didn’t matter. She didn’t dare take her eyes away from him.

It soon became apparent from the one camera that was filming, that words were being exchanged between the criminal and Cisco.

The real reporter spoke again, momentarily breaking Hilly’s concentration as she’d been squinting and attempting to read lips.

“I apologize to our viewers,” the woman said. “I’ve been told the audio and visual from our second camera will be on a slight delay due to the delicate nature of the material which is being discussed. We hope to bring you that recorded feed as soon as its content has been cleared for public consumption by the people monitoring the situation.”

Right. The people monitoring. That had to be Cisco’s team.

But why weren’t they close enough to help him if shit went sideways? Hilly silently railed. What were they thinking?

She could see more discussion between Cisco and the unidentified man taking place before, with a nod of agreement from the miscreant, Cisco moved slowly nearer, stopping within four feet of the man, where he leaned in to get a close-up.

The operating camera feed to which the audience was privy took it all in. Hilly noted that the bank manager looked terrified, and the man behind him, pissed. But Cisco? He remained focused and calm.

Not so, Hilly. What did he think he was going to⁠—?

Before she could finish the thought, Cisco sprang into action; launched himself, camera and all, toward the gunman. He knocked the man’s weapon high and askew before sending the camera flying, then pushed the bank manager to the ground. With his hands now free and the hostage out of the way, Cisco scrambled for the weapon that was now being lowered toward him.

“No, no, no!” Hilly wailed at the TV. “Somebody help him.”

As if her words held weight, the area was suddenly swarmed by SWAT, several of whom dragged the manager swiftly away from danger while the others came to Cisco’s side where he was now struggling to disarm the aggressor.

The gun waved wildly, being held by both men, but Cisco managed to hook the criminal behind his ankle and tumble him to the pavement, swiftly following him down and gaining a position on top of him. He sent the fist that wasn’t grappling with the firearm into the man’s face, repeatedly, until⁠—

The gun discharged.

Hilly leapt to her feet and brought her hand to her mouth.

Was he…? Had he…?

The breath whooshed out of Hilly as Cisco got up and stumbled back a few steps.

The man lay still on the pavement, and several officers swooped in to secure him with zip-ties.

But Cisco…

Hilly cried out as blood began soaking his white shirt.

He’d been hit.

But how badly?

Ten minutes later, Hilly wanted to tear her hair out. The reporting, which up until the perpetrator had been hauled away screaming obscenities at a bloody Cisco, had continued being highly informative of everything going on. Except regarding Officer Andera.

She’d watched him being loaded onto a stretcher, then…crickets.

The station had gone on to describe how, during the initial encounter between the undercover SWAT member—who they didn’t name—and the robber, the team had broken in the back door of the bank and helped all the remaining hostages to safety.

They’d updated on the condition of the bank manager who was shaken but uninjured.

They’d even enlightened the audience as to how SWAT had used a member of their own team as a fake reporter, gaining not only the culprit’s trust, but a proximity close enough where the highly trained officer was then able to diffuse the situation.

Diffuse the situation?

Hilly screamed at the TV. Cisco had been fucking shot. Why weren’t they reporting on that?

When it looked like no information on his state of well-being would be forthcoming, Hilly took matters into her own hands. She’d probably regret it, but she just had to know if Cisco was okay.

She stood, too agitated to remain seated, and picked up her phone with shaking hands to call Ellen Sothard.

“Ellen?”

“Hilly. Hi.” Ellen’s calm greeting did little to soothe Hilly. “Don’t tell me. You want to discuss more menu changes,” she chuckled.

Not even close.

Hilly might have made a few revisions to the original offerings Ellen had drawn up. Okay. A lot of revisions. But final food orders had been made days ago and the upcoming week’s meals were now set in stone.

“No, Ellen. I need…” How could Hilly put this so she didn’t sound like a meddling lunatic? “I’ve been watching TV, and…”

“Oh! Right. I saw it all, too. Didn’t SWAT do a stellar job?” she queried proudly. Of course she’d be pleased. Her son, Mason, was the team’s chief, and he wasn’t the one who’d been taken away, bloody.

“Right. They did,” Hilly agreed. “But I’m…concerned about the officer who was shot. It was Cisco Andera, correct?”

She didn’t wait for confirmation. “I’m trying to find out the state of his health because…he’s the one who’s going to be teaching our self defense courses. If he’s been badly injured, I need to know so I can find someone to replace him,” she ended, lamely.

Her reasoning sounded thin, even to her own ears.

“Hold on,” Ellen’s motherly voice came back, and luckily, even as astute as she was, the woman didn’t push Hilly for the real reason behind her concern. “I’ll give Mason a call and find out for you.”

The next two minutes felt like the longest of Hilly’s life until Ellen eventually reconnected.

“Cisco’s going to be fine,” she began.

Hilly felt her knees give out, and her ass hit the chair.