She had no idea how long she had been lying on the floor but by the time Jorja opened her eyes, the moon was high. She could tell from how it beamed its silver light to a spot on the bottom of the wall next to her. Her head hurt and she let out a soft moan. The space around her slowly came into focus. In the moonlit room, her eyes traced the shadowy half-circles of the fish scale ceiling above her. She was flat on her back, head in the doorway that opened to the front of her gallery. She knew because she had brought in a freelance contractor from London to add the texture technique to her ceiling.
She tried moving her body but couldn't. Something was on top of her, weighing her down. Her mind scrambled to figure it out, recalling the events that had brought her there. It took only a few seconds to remember what had happened.
"Ewan," she whispered, realizing he was still on top of her.
He wasn't answering, or moving.
Her hand went to shake his shoulder. He didn’t stir so she called out for him again, wriggling her body beneath him as she tried to free herself. But it was no use. He wasn’t moving, nor could she get out from under him.
Suddenly realizing their attacker might still be around she froze, scanning the area as best she could. There was nothing but dead silence. Assuming he had left them both for dead she managed to get one hand to the side of Ewan's neck—there was a pulse, faint but a heartbeat, nonetheless.
"Ewan," she called out again.
Still he did not answer.
Her hand lowered to his torso where she aimed to drag him off by grabbing hold of his jacket. Something felt sticky. She let her hand blindly search for the source, tracing the sticky moisture to where her fingers soon disappeared in a shallow pool just below his left shoulder. It took a split second for her to realize it was blood and that he had been shot.
Shot by the bullet that was intended for her. He had saved her life.
Adrenaline rushed through her body and forced its way into her arms all while she continued to call him back to consciousness. It was only when she pulled her leg up to wedge her knee under his hips that his body rolled off and plonked onto the floor next to her. It took no time at all for her to get up and hover over his body, staring down at the open wound in his shoulder.
"Ewan, can you hear me? Wake up!" she patted his cheek, each time with more vigor until the quietest of moans escaped from his lips.
Her hands pushed down on the pool of blood that had started to well up under his jacket.
"It's okay, you're going to be okay. Stay with me, Ewan."
He moaned again.
She vaulted to the phone that lay upside down on the floor beneath her desk, pulling the cord to free the receiver that had landed inside the wastepaper basket.
Her bloody fingers dialed for an ambulance, barely aware of the words she spoke when they answered. Her attention was with Ewan who had since opened his eyes and was desperate to say something.
She pinched the phone between her shoulder and ear and knelt beside him. His eyes looked urgent while his lips moved with hardly any sound emerging from it.
The emergency operator interrupted and asked for any details she could remember about the shooter. She couldn't answer that. Should not answer her—she needed more time.
"I don't know. I can’t remember, just hurry! He's lost a lot of blood, please, hurry!"
She slammed the receiver back on the cradle then turned her full attention to Ewan whose eyes looked even more desperate to say something.
"You shouldn't talk, Ewan. They're on their way, just hold on for me, okay?"
But he ignored her, hooked his good arm's hand behind her neck, and gently pulled her ear to his mouth.
"Leave anger to God," he whispered in staccato words.
His words took her by surprise. She didn't quite know what to make of it and stared down into his eyes, the green color now suddenly dull.
"Hush, don't try to talk. You can tell me when you are better." She smiled.
Once more, he pulled her in so he could speak. This time his words came in the form of a Bible verse: Leviticus 19:18
She caressed his face.
"I'll read it, okay? Hush now, save your energy."
The ambulance sirens rang in the distance and drew closer with each passing second.
"They're almost here, Ewan. Not long now."
She jumped to her feet and darted across the small shop floor to unlock the front door, leaving it open to invite them in, then hurried back to Ewan's side to wait for the paramedics. Even in the soft moonlight, she could see Ewan's breath becoming shallow and his eyes less responsive.
"Oh no you don't, Ewan Reid! Don't you dare bail on me! Do you hear me? Stay with me, Ewan. Fight!"
She was close to panic, but didn't allow her voice to make it known to him. His eyes threatened to close and she tapped him on his cheek to wake him up. From the street she heard the ambulance pull up, followed by a police car.
"In here!" she called out to them moments before she watched Ewan close his eyes.
It was all she could do not to let anger and fear engulf her as she shouted for Ewan to open his eyes. The paramedics were already on the floor next to him and she felt someone lift her to her feet to usher her away. It was Charlie.
"Let them do their work, Jorja. It'll be okay."
They watched in horror as the paramedics worked to save Ewan's life before they rushed him out on a gurney toward the ambulance.
"I need to go with him," Jorja announced, already chasing after them as they loaded Ewan into the back of the ambulance.
"I can't allow that, ma’am, I'm sorry. His condition is critical. You are welcome to follow us." The female paramedic slammed the ambulance door shut without saying another word and Jorja watched as the vehicle sped off.
"Jump in," Charlie motioned toward his police vehicle. "I'll leave PC Daniels here to call for backup and to process the scene."
Jorja did not hesitate and quickly settled into the seat next to Charlie. When they were a fair distance away, Charlie glanced at her.
"You haven't said a word since we arrived at your gallery, Jorja. Are you sure you're not hurt?"
"Uh-huh, I'm fine. I just cannot believe what happened. I could never live with myself if Ewan—“
"Don't even think it. He is in good hands. We have to have faith that he will pull through. Besides, it wasn't your fault."
He paused briefly before he asked, "Care to tell me what happened? I mean we're going to need to take down a statement, but anything you can recall right now will help catch whoever did this."
Her body went rigid as she searched for an answer.
Charlie nudged her again.
"You're in shock, I get it, but it's really important you tell me everything you remember, Jorja. The sooner we have a lead to follow the less time the guy has to get away. Was it a burglar?"
For the briefest of moments, she thought of telling Charlie about the man across the street and her suspicions that it was he—and who it was she was now certain he worked for. But she couldn't, not yet, and certainly not to Charlie. He was too inexperienced. He would undoubtedly let it slip to his chief inspector since a breakthrough in a case of this magnitude would most certainly gain him an additional pip in rank—not to mention the threat it would pose if word got out that she was still alive.
"Was it a burglar, Jorja? Was it more than one?" He pushed again.
"I don't know. It all happened so fast," she finally answered.
"Try to remember, Jorja... anything. Why were you at the gallery so late at night? Why was Ewan with you?"
She knew Charlie was not going to let up so she told him as much as she could to shake him off her back for now.
"I was working late, alone, on the arrangements for the fair. Next thing I know, I am choked from behind. I didn't see who it was or how many there were. I must have blacked out or something when I couldn't breathe because all I remember seeing was Ewan rushing toward me. There was a gunshot and Ewan fell forward onto me. That is it. I woke up with him bleeding out on top of me and immediately called 999. That's all I can remember right now."
"That's good, a start, at least. So, let's assume they were burglars. I left Ewan at the station earlier this evening. Perhaps they tripped an alarm?"
"I don't know how, I was inside and I didn't have the alarm on. I didn't even hear him come in."
"So there was one person. You said him, not them."
"I don't know for sure. I think so."
"Okay, if it was a burglar, why did he choose to break into your gallery? Were there any paintings of value in the shop?"
She paused to think, then answered.
"No, not really, at least not anymore."