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Chapter One
Tim Birch hoped there were leftovers at home, maybe some more of that beef stew Aunt Becky had cooked up two nights ago. Sure would go well with a piece of her corn bread. He’d be lucky. Audra, Becky’s sister and a retired nurse who hated to cook, was staying with his six-year-old son Adam tonight. She’d practically salivated when he’d mentioned Becky’s leftovers in the fridge this morning.
If he’d been home in time for supper, he might have had a chance, but there was too much work this week at the station with several officers taking a late-summer vacation before school started. As police chief, he was helping out where he could so no one else resigned. As it was, he had three patrol officer vacancies going unfilled for the third month in a row. There hadn’t even been a nibble of interest. Another retirement or resignation or a flu epidemic and they’d really be hurting. He could advertise again through the state universities’ job boards. The town couldn’t offer the salary and benefits the larger cities offered, but Crossroads wasn’t a bad place to live.
Ahead, red lights from one of the patrol units flashed at the side of Cypress. Tim slowed. The driver’s door of the Kia sedan parked in front of the police vehicle was open, but both vehicles appeared to be unoccupied.
Edging forward past the civilian car, he watched for movement in the dark yard beyond. There hadn’t been a radio call about a pursuit. He passed the front of the civilian car.
“Shit!” Tim whipped over to the side of the street and jumped out.
Two people lay in the grass. The young man was moaning, his head turning restlessly, but the woman, dressed in her Crossroads PD uniform, lay still, her eyes closed. A white Narcan dispenser lay just beyond her fingertips as if it had fallen out of her grasp. The carton lay open next to the male victim.
“Josie!” He reached out to check to see if she was breathing and then remembered their recent training about fentanyl and other even more dangerous drugs starting to appear around the country. If that’s what this was, he wouldn’t help her by going down himself due to an accidental exposure.
But seconds counted. The Narcan package she’d opened near the male victim had an unused second dose. He freed it from the package. Tilting her head back, he administered the nasal spray to his deputy, hoping he wasn’t too late.
“Come on, Josie!”
There was no noticeable change. She needed another dose.
Scrambling to his feet, he hurried to his SUV and grabbed his kit. Keeping his voice as calm as he could, he called in for paramedics as he tugged on a pair of gloves.
“Dispatching an ambulance now, Chief,” the operator said. “Do you have Narcan? It sounds like your officer may have been exposed to fentanyl.”
“Affirmative. One dose administered.”
“Is she breathing, Chief?” the dispatcher asked. “If she isn’t, you’ll need to do CPR. Be sure to—”
He didn’t wait for her to finish.
Josie’s face was as pale as the moon, her lips dark. Oh god—he couldn’t lose her. “Come on, Josie,” he urged, beginning chest compressions.
Her rib cage seemed so small, not at all like the overweight man he’d resuscitated two years ago. He pressed as hard as he dared, afraid to break her ribs. He counted to himself to set a steady pace and not think of the outcome he feared. “Breathe, Josie, breathe!”
The young man moaned louder, but Tim wasn’t about to stop. Fortunately for both of them, the guy rolled to his side just before he vomited, probably saving his sorry ass from choking.
Josie’s heart-shaped face was deathly still. Her lips had darkened into a dusky purple. Tim pumped harder, willing air into her lungs, her brain.
He wasn’t sure how long it was before he heard the sound of a heavy vehicle. Flashing red lights confirmed the arrival of the paramedics. The first one to jump out was his best friend, Curt McMillan.
“Fentanyl?” Curt said snapping on gloves.
“I think so.”
Curt knelt beside him and told him to stop compressions. He felt Josie’s wrist for a pulse.
Tim waited, hardly daring to breathe.
Curt’s lips tightened. “Was she like this when you found her?”
“Yeah. I gave her a dose of Narcan.”
“Any response? Did she gasp or move?”
“No.”
“We’ll try shocking her.” He rose.
Tim resumed compressions.
“Chief,” called the other paramedic, an older guy named Mike. “How many doses has this guy had?”
“Just one, I think. I gave the second dose in the open package to Josie.”
The interruption had caused him to lose his rhythm. Please breathe, Josie. You’ve got to stay with us!
Curt placed a defibrillator on the ground and opened it. Tim stopped long enough to jerk Josie’s T-shirt up and expose her chest. He continued CPR as Curt applied the pads on either side of his hands.
“Stop compressions.” Curt squeezed his shoulder. “You’re going to need to stand back.”
Tim moved out of the way. Curt tried several shocks.
There was no response.
Curt removed the pads and lowered Josie’s shirt. “We’ve got to transport these two now.”
Tim prepared to resume compressions, but Curt stopped him. “You’ve done all you can here. Doc needs to see them. Come on. Let’s get her on a gurney.”
Mike already had his patient ready to load into the ambulance. Disoriented and agitated, the guy was shouting about needing to go home. Soon both victims were inside.
“Josie?” The owner of the deep voice jostled Tim aside.
“Out of the way.” Tim grabbed him and jerked him back. It was enough to allow Curt to shut the doors.
“Is she okay?” Sergeant Ed Robbins demanded. He had twenty years and about as many pounds on Tim, all muscle. He wasn’t in uniform. Someone must have called him about Josie.
“They need to get her to the clinic. Looks like she’s been exposed to fentanyl.”
“Goddammit!” He shook off Tim’s grasp as the ambulance started. “I told you she wasn’t ready to go solo.”
For a moment Tim was certain he was about to be punched. A struggle played out in the usually stoic sergeant’s face as they stared each other down. Go ahead, Tim wanted to urge him. Instead, training—much of it provided by the man squared off against him—kicked in. “She needs you, Sarge,” he said in a firm voice. “Go to the clinic. Let her parents know too.”
Rollins glared at him a moment longer. His fists were still clenched at his side as he stalked toward the street where his motorcycle was parked. He kicked the stand up and roared off.
And then Tim was alone on the scene.
He peered into the opened door of the Kia. A baggie containing blue tablets lay on the passenger seat. Grabbing an evidence bag from his utility belt, he secured the drugs after snapping a photo of them as they’d been found. He didn’t want anyone else finding them or touching them.
Fentanyl in Crossroads. They’d had the first overdoses last weekend. Four kids about to start their senior year of high school had scored some similar-looking pills laced with the powerful opioid. They’d chosen to party at a vacant house that fortunately had an observant neighbor who’d seen them go inside and called the police. By the time an officer had arrived, three of them were already unconscious. The fourth kid, who’d brought a bottle of vodka, was texting on his phone, oblivious to the life-and-death crisis his friends were in. Fortunately, the dose had been small enough and the Narcan administered quickly enough to save their lives.
Josie hadn’t been so lucky. If he’d left work a little earlier or listened to Sarge about her readiness for patrol on her own, she might have had at least a fighting chance. Tim swore, furious with himself. He’d been so sure Sarge was just being overprotective. Officer Josephine Rollins was his niece.
Illegal drugs weren’t new to Crossroads, but fentanyl? One of their local dealers was now selling a deadlier poison or there was a new player in town. Either way, someone had just declared war.
End of Excerpt
