Beautiful Sacrifice

“The wounded man is with ICE.”
    “Any other wounded?”
    “No.”
    “You’re both bloody.”
    “Jase’s blood,” Lina said, her voice strained.
    Someone passed a signal and the med-techs pushed through to the van. Very quickly Jase was hooked to an IV, field-dressed, and loaded into an ambulance for a screaming ride to the hospital.
    “His wife is pregnant and he has two small kids,” Hunter said. “She should be with him.”
    “We’ll take care of it.”
    “Now,” Hunter said. “After you’re done questioning us might be too late.”
    The cop started to object, then looked at Hunter’s face and the blood that covered him.
    The officer’s partner said to Hunter, “Give me her number. You ICE, too?”
    “Not anymore.”
    As soon as he had Jase’s home number, the second officer withdrew. Other officers scattered out to secure the crime scene and question everyone who had been crazy enough to hang around after the shooting started.
    “What happened?” asked the first cop. “You first, ma’am. Begin with your full name.”
    Lina answered that question and the following ones while leaning against Jase’s van. Hunter and another cop with an agenda walked fifty feet away and began the Q-and-A process. When crime-scene techs asked Lina to move, she and her questioner went to a pillar beyond the yellow tape that was being strung around the parking garage like some kind of perverse Christmas wrap.
    “How long have you known Agent Jason Beaumont?” the officer asked without a pause.
    “I don’t really know him. He’s Hunter’s friend. We came to the gallery so that Mr. Beaumont could get a feel for what’s available in the high-end artifact market.”
    “How long have you known Hunter Johnston?”
    Lina was on the hard downward spiral of an adrenaline jag, and she had answered all the questions at least three times. A fourth time was twice too many.
    “As I’ve told you many times,” she said, her tone as impatient as she felt, “Mr. Johnston has audited several of myclasses over the last year. We’ve had coffee and conversation. Now, if you don’t have any new questions for me, I’m exhausted and would like to at least wash my hands.”
    Hunter must have reached the same point in the questioning process because he was striding through the various remaining cops toward her. He was close enough that he heard her last sentence.
    “Unless you’re going to arrest us,” Hunter said, “we’re leaving. She’s a civilian and she’s kept it together better than anyone has a right to expect. She needs to chill, not to be grilled.”
    “You know that we’re required—” began the cop.
    “To ask questions,” Hunter cut in. “Once, twice, fine. Three times because you’re pissed. Now you’re just wasting our time.”
    “With what you’ve given us, there’s not much chance of catching the shooter,” the cop snarled.
    “No shit. Now let us leave or read us our rights.”
    Someone with higher rank moved in. “Thank you for your cooperation,” she said to Hunter and Lina. “If we make any arrests, we’ll need you to identify the suspect or suspects.”
    “You can reach me on my cell phone,” Hunter said.
    “You have my cell number,” Lina said wearily.
    “Your cooperation is appreciated,” the woman said, smiling professionally.
    Hunter and the cops all knew that devils would be ice-skating in hell before there was any arrest. If the SUV was found on this side of the border, it would be stripped, likely reported stolen. Every description of the occupants boiled down to short, swarthy, and similar. More indio than Mexican. Like thousands of other Houston residents.
    The description was useless for catching anything but overtime.
    Hunter nodded to the cops, took Lina’s arm, and led her to his Jeep. It had escaped the bullets. The Mercedes parked in the next slot over hadn’t been as lucky. The rear window was blown into thousands of grainy, sparkling pieces.
    Before Lina had fastened her seat belt, Hunter called the hospital Jase had been taken to, only to be told that Jason Beaumont was none of his business. Swearing, he called Ali’s cell number.
    “It’s Hunter,” he said as soon as she picked up. “How is Jase?”
    “In surgery,” Ali said, her voice raw. “He won’t be out for—hours. It’s—very serious.”
    “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” As soon as I wash Jase’s blood off me.
    A hot darkness wrapped around the Jeep as it nosed out of the