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.
Ellen continued. “Apparently it was just a graze to his chest from the discharged bullet. It looked worse on TV than it actually was since it bled a lot and Cisco was wearing a white shirt.”
“Uh, thanks, Ellen,” Hilly managed. “That makes me feel better. I, um, met with Cisco this morning, and was just…worried for him.”
“Uh, huh.” Now Ellen’s voice took on a different cadence. “He’s kind of cute, isn’t he?” she prodded.
Hilly knew better than to bullshit the woman. After all, she was the mother of eight boys, and would see right through any baloney Hilly handed her.
“Yeah. He is,” she allowed. Should she…?
Hilly went for it.
“I knew him in middle school, you know.”
“Ah. Before you went away to boarding school?” Ellen asked. She knew all about Hilly’s past, having been long-time friends with Hilly’s mother.
“Yeah. Before that. During my chunky, awkward years.”
“Don’t tell me. You had a crush on him.” Even though one couldn’t see a smile over the phone, Hilly knew the woman was beaming.
