Joe blocked out the pain radiating down his arm as they ran and focused instead on both identifying the shooter and finding an exit strategy. Most people, when faced with a clearly imminent threat, tended to freeze. But that reaction could mean valuable seconds lost, giving the attacking force an advantage. Years of training made his own response automatic. Which meant unlike an everyday victim in a similar scenario, he was already seconds ahead in his thinking.
But this situation was more complex than simply deciding the best way to take down an active shooter. His first priority—his only priority at the moment—was keeping Talia safe. Which meant he had to get her away from the attacker.
“Joe—”
“Just keep running.”
From where they were, the closest cover was in one of the shops across the street, but the last thing he wanted was to be boxed in without an escape route.
The other option was the covered bridge straight ahead.
He glanced briefly behind him without slowing down. Fifty feet behind them he caught sight of the shooter. A figure wearing a gray sweatshirt and a ball cap, and carrying a weapon, was coming toward them. Male, female, age—he couldn’t tell. But what bothered him the most was that the person wasn’t acting logically. Why shoot at them in broad daylight, with dozens of potential witnesses? It meant that either the gunman was panicked, or they believed they were invincible and could manage to escape. And it meant they were willing to take risks in achieving their objective.
Making sure his body was between her and the shooter, Joe gripped Talia’s hand tighter and picked up their pace, wondering where he’d faltered. Taking in his surroundings had become second nature to him. He always knew where the nearest exit was at a restaurant or store. Always looked for anything or anyone that didn’t fit into his environment.
Today, though, he’d managed to get caught up in the moment and missed the warning that they were in immediate danger. But there was no time for regrets. He’d have to deal with those later. Instead he made his decision. Their best option was to get to the bridge. The problem, though, was that it was still another ninety to one hundred feet ahead of them and their sniper was still behind them. Which meant the odds of finding cover before getting shot weren’t good.
He kept running toward the bridge. The sound of gunshots had sent dozens of people scurrying for cover and ducking into shops. And even though it was early, there was still a steady stream of cars going past, putting frightened pedestrians at risk of getting hit on top of getting shot. But for the moment, the only thing he could focus on was getting Talia to safety.
His gut churned with unease. Until they got to the bridge and were able to find cover, they were in reality pinned down and completely vulnerable. But as long as the person with the gun was also moving, the odds of him hitting his target accurately were going to be far lower. Which was why they had to keep moving.
Someone yelled behind them. He had no idea what was being shouted beyond polizia. He glanced back, searching quickly once again, but he couldn’t find the shooter this time.
Where is he, God?
He still had to be nearby. Lurking in the shadows. Trying to blend in with the swarm of terrified tourists. But there was no way he’d get away with this. Someone had to have seen him shooting and would be able to ID him. And at this point the sniper’s only escape was one of the side streets away from the river.
Joe shifted his focus back to the bridge. Seventy-five more feet... Fifty...
He kept running.
“Joe, where is he?”
He caught the panic in her voice. “I don’t know. I lost him. We just need to make it to the bridge.”
He searched the crowd across the street. No one suspicious there, which meant he still had to be behind them.
They reached the edge of the bridge where the Ponte Vecchio spanned the Arno River at the narrowest point. Instead of being open like most European bridges, this one had dozens of overhanging shops that dated back to the Roman era. The perfect location, he hoped, for evasion.
“This way,” he said, leading her onto the bridge.
“Joe, you’re bleeding too much.”
“Maybe, but we can’t take a chance of stopping and one of us getting shot again.”
His heart raced inside his chest. His arm was beginning to throb despite the adrenaline pumping through his body that should have helped mask the impact of the bullet. Ignoring the pain, he led her across the bridge, where shops were just beginning to open up. Past wooden doorways and shop windows. Past store after store selling jewelry and gold, sprinkled with a few places selling postcards and gelato.
“Do you see him?” she asked.
He glanced behind them again, trying to sort through the blur of people on the bridge as he searched for the figure in the gray sweatshirt. “No, but keep running.”
Some people glanced oddly at them, but most were headed in the opposite direction to see what was happening on the street.
In the center of the stone bridge, archways opened up to stunning views of the Arno River. He could hear sirens wailing in the background. Someone had called the authorities. He was going to have to make his own call and let his boss know what had happened. He also needed to let Esposito know what was going on, and in return get an update on last night’s train incident. There had to be a connection between the woman who’d followed them and what was happening right now. He needed her ID’d and brought in. And they needed to find the paintings that were the reason for all of this.
“We have to stop,” she said, grabbing on to his good arm. She slowed down in front of one of the shops, and grabbed on to his uninjured arm. Rows of gold necklaces sat lined up on display. “I meant it when I said you were bleeding too much. If you keep pushing it, you won’t make it much farther.”
“I’m fine. We need to get as far from here as possible.” Just because they were on the bridge didn’t mean he was ready to stop. Not yet. They could catch a taxi on the other side that would take them out of the neighborhood and somewhere safe.
“You’re losing too much blood,” she said. “Besides, I’m pretty sure our shooter’s disappeared.”
He drew in a deep breath. Maybe she was right. He could feel himself slowing down. His legs were beginning to feel like lead, and he was struggling to get enough air.
You’re fine. It’s nothing but a flesh wound, which means you’ll be back on your feet as soon as you can catch your breath.
At least that’s what he kept trying to tell himself. Whoever had shot him might not have had the best aim, or maybe they’d done exactly what they’d wanted to do—make sure he was pulled off the case without actually killing him. He wasn’t sure which made more sense. But what he was sure about was that even a bullet wasn’t going to stop him at this point.
Talia pulled him inside. She started speaking rapidly in Italian to a woman behind a glass display. Something about the police and a gun. The woman replied, speaking even faster. He took a step forward, but the room was spinning. Funny. He’d never had issues with vertigo. Boats, planes, cars—nothing bothered him, but this... A wave of nausea hit him, along with a sharp pain that radiated to his fingertips.
“Joe—Joe, I need you to sit down.”
“I’m fine.” He was still determined to shake it off.
“No, you’re not, which is why right now all you need to think about is going to the hospital.”
Maybe she was right after all. He couldn’t stop the dizziness. There were two of her. Two heads, four eyes... The room was spinning. He tried to shake it off. He needed to protect her. That was why he was here. To protect her from whoever was trying to kill them.
* * *
Talia refused to give in to panic. She took a deep breath and guided Joe to the back of the room.
“Joe,” she said. “I’m calling for an ambulance. You’re going to be fine, but I need you to take deep slow deep breaths and relax. We need to elevate your arm above your heart.”
She turned back to the woman, who was still standing in the middle of the store, unsure of how to react to two people barging into her store, one who was bleeding on her floor. “I need you to lock the front door and put up the Closed sign in case we were followed,” she said to her in Italian.
The woman hesitated. “You think the shooter might follow you here?”
“I don’t know, but please. I’m not trying to put you in danger, and I can’t be certain, but we do need your help. Please.”
She tapped her heel, then glanced at the door. “Okay. I will help you.”
“He needs to lie down,” Talia said.
“There’s a place in the back of the room,” she said, leading them behind the counter.
Joe didn’t move. “I really don’t need to lie down.”
He was fighting with her again. Acting agitated and anxious. All signs of shock.
“Joe, you kept me safe out there. Now it’s my turn to ensure your safety. Trust me. You’re not fine. You need to lie down.”
He shook his head. “Burns like fire, but I don’t think it’s serious.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” She turned to the woman. “Can you get me something to help stop the bleeding? A towel...anything you might have.”
“I think I can come up with some hand towels.”
She turned back to Joe while the woman searched for the towels. “You can lie here behind the counter until the ambulance gets here.”
“Talia—”
“I tell you, I’ve never met such a stubborn man,” she said. “Lie down and be still.”
“I just don’t want someone else getting shot.”
“It’s a bit late for that, and you’ve played enough superhero for today. So before you pass out on me, lie down.”
Seconds later she had Joe on the floor and his arm elevated. The clerk handed her two small white towels. She immediately pressed them both against the wound.
Sirens blared in the distance. At least she hadn’t heard any more shots. But that didn’t mean they were out of the woods yet. She brushed her free hand across Joe’s forehead. His skin was clammy, his face had paled, and his pulse was rapid. She glanced down at the towel. Blood had already turned it red.
She pressed harder against the wound. Her medical expertise ended with Band-Aids and ankle braces. She knew more facts about Florence than how to treat a gunshot wound. How the city had become the first in all of Europe to have paved streets. How Leonardo Da Vinci had been born here in 1452. Or how the Duoma—a domed cathedral—had 463 stone steps that led to a stunning view of the city.
Dealing with this type of wound hadn’t exactly been a part of her education. Or how to deal with an active shooter. And the only way she knew to keep herself from panicking was to hold on to facts and the small sliver of reality that was left.
“Did you know that this bridge was the only bridge along the Arno River that wasn’t blown up by the Germans? Charles Steinhauslin convinced one of the German generals not to blow it up because of its historical value and it worked.”
Joe just stared up at her. “What?”
“The bridge we’re on. The Ponte Vecchio. It’s...never mind. I ramble when I’m stressed. I start spewing out facts and other nonsense. It’s an annoying habit, or so I’ve been told.”
But that wasn’t what had her worried.
“Joe, there’s something else. The bleeding isn’t stopping, and I don’t know what else to do other than elevate your arm and keep pressure on it.”
“Then we have a problem. It should have slowed down by now.” Joe switched his gaze to his arm. “In order to stop the bleeding, I think you’re going to have to press on the brachial artery.”
“Okay. Where is that?”
“Right below my armpit. Grab underneath my arm, wrap your fingers along the inner part and then press firmly. When you’ve got the right place, the bleeding should slow down.”
“How do you know that?” she said, working quickly to follow his instructions.”
“Training. There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”
“Like?”
“After spending half a dozen summers as a lifeguard throughout high school and college, one of the things I wanted to be growing up was a doctor. I ended up taking a bunch of first aid on the side.”
“Anything else I should be doing then?” she asked.
“Do you notice any rapid swelling around the wound?”
“No...what would that mean?”
“Internal bleeding.” Her stomach clenched at the reality of the situation started to hit her. She wasn’t sure about internal bleeding, but she did know that no matter where the bullet had hit, it was going to cause damage.
She’d do anything to be back in Rome talking to a bunch of rowdy tourists instead of on the run from a crazed sniper with connections to her husband’s death. Her life had truly been turned upside down.
She glanced again at the door, wishing she knew what was going on outside. “Tell me this was just a random shooting, and we were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
He shook his head, wincing as she pressed against his arm, but at least he seemed calmer. “I wish, but that would be way too much of a coincidence with all that’s happened the past few days.”
“So you think they were trying to kill you?”
“I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure whoever is behind this wants me out of the picture. This was just supposed to be you searching for the paintings, remember. No authorities in the picture. And now they know I’m with you.”
“How do they know you’re part of law enforcement?”
“On the train, I told the woman I was FBI. She—or whoever’s behind this—wants you to have to deal with this on your own. And so there’s no chance of me confiscating the paintings once—if—we find them.”
“Maybe you’re right, but that’s pretty risky, shooting at a government agent. Especially since whoever is behind this probably isn’t even from here.”
“I agree, but I think they panicked. And when you’re that scared you make foolish choices. Like going after your target in broad daylight.”
“How’s the bleeding?” he asked, looking down at his arm.
“I think it’s finally slowing.”
Her pulse was racing. Her own breathing labored. If anything happened to him... She tried to ignore the feelings brought on by that thought. But she’d seen how he’d looked at her when they were standing together next to the river. And she’d felt her own reaction to his nearness. And how for a moment she’d actually wished that he would have kissed her.
But this wasn’t about him being her hero and coming to her rescue. She already decided that she was never going to date a lawman again. Thomas had betrayed her, but his death had really driven home that his job had been dangerous. And so was Joe’s. And that wasn’t something she was going to deal with again.
The store clerk was back again, hovering beside Talia. “Can I get you anything else?”
“What about the ambulance?” she answered back in Italian.
“It should be here in less than five minutes.” The store clerk glanced at the window. “I just called my brother, who has a shop down the road. He said he saw the shooter.”
“What’s happening?” Joe asked Talia.
“There’s an ambulance on its way right now.”
“Someone had to have gotten a good look at him,” Joe said. “Though from what I saw it could have been a man or a woman from the way they were dressed.”
“The police are here,” the woman said, running toward the door and unlocking it.
Three police officers marched through the door, followed by two paramedics and a gurney.
Talia stood up and moved back, giving them room behind the counter to get to where Joe lay. “Please tell me he’s going to be all right.”
“Looks like he’s lost a lot of blood, but we’ll take care of him.”
She turned to one of the officers while Joe was settled onto the gurney. “Have you found the shooter?”
“We’ve secured the bridge and surrounding areas and have a description, but we’re going to need your statement.”
“I need to go with him to the hospital first...please.”
“Tell them I’m with the FBI,” Joe said to Talia. “Give them Esposito’s number so he can update them on what’s going on.”
Talia gave the officers the number off Joe’s phone, thanked the store clerk, then followed the paramedics outside the shop and toward the other side of the bridge, where the ambulance was waiting. A crowd had gathered, watching as she hurried to keep up.
Her phone went off as soon as she sat down in the back of the ambulance. She hesitated, then pulled it out of her back pocket to read the message.
Do you know why this happened? It’s your fault. I told you not to involve the authorities and now your friend will die. All because you didn’t listen.
Talia stared at the text. Joe had been right. This was all because of her. And if he died, she would be the reason for his death.