Chapter 1
Sat., May 6, 2023, 11:37 a.m.
Lara Evans attached the LifePac and hit the man with two
hundred joules of electrical current. His eyes popped open,
his pulse stabilized, and piss flooded his sweatpants.
Terrific. He would live long enough to regret cutting off
two fingers in an attempt to collect disability funds. She
cauterized his bloody stumps and watched him breathe for a
few minutes. Gangrene or sepsis might kill him eventually,
but she’d done all she could. Lara stepped back from the
sweat-soaked couch and packed up her equipment.
"You’re taking him to the hospital, aren’t you?" The
man’s wife grabbed Lara’s arm, her bony fingers pulsing
with misery.
"You said he didn’t have a med card."
"If you leave him in the twenty-foot zone, they have to
treat him."
"I’m sorry, but I could lose my license if I do." Lara
shoved the portable defib into its pouch and strapped the
pack around her waist. She had to carry it in public at all
times, the privilege of having a freelance paramedic
license. With the growing doctor shortage, anyone with
medical skills was fully utilized.
"He has heart disease and needs an artery vac. This was
our chance for treatment."
"Oh crap." Lara hated this aspect of her job. "Do you
have a car?"
"Yes."
"I’ll help you get him into the vehicle, but you have to
drive him."
Lara hurried to her med van and hauled out the wheeled
gurney she rarely used. She and the gaunt wife struggled to
get the now-conscious but heavyset man onto the gurney,
then into their small car.
"When you get to the hospital, pull him out, honk the
horn and drive away." Lara gave her a grim smile. "Good
luck." Walking away from the noncs, as non-covered citizens
were called, never got easier, but she dwelled on it less
now. She’d once been a homicide detective, a job that had
toughened her for the new world.
She started toward her van and her iCom beeped. Another
909 emergency. The location appeared on her screen in map
form, a secluded home only a half mile away. Lara
acknowledged the assignment with a push of her thumb and
ran to her vehicle. Her body hummed with adrenaline as she
raced up City View. What would it be this time? The
neighborhood was probably too upscale for something like a
gunshot wound or a domestic dispute with knife injuries.
Lara scowled. She hoped it wasn’t another VEx accident with
a chubby middle-aged woman trying to improve her health
with virtual exercise. Someone had called for a freelance
paramed instead of an ambulance, so it could be anything.
Lara loved these moments—rushing to a scene, not knowing
what chaos she would encounter. In some ways, it was better
than being a police officer because she kept on the move
and did a lot less paperwork. She missed the authority of
the badge though. She’d liked having people pay attention
and feel nervous when she approached. It beat the hell out
of her current personal life: a forty-two-year-old woman
with no partner, no children, no power.
Lara turned on Ridgemont, located the street number, and
drove through the open gate. The house sat at the end of a
long drive, behind a tall screen of Sequoias. A black
compact car soaked up sun in the driveway. The summer heat
settled in earlier every year. She parked next to the empty
vehicle and glanced at her Taser on the passenger’s seat.
The weapon was bulky to carry, but some neighborhoods and
situations required it. Lara determined this wasn’t one of
them. She touched the 9-millimeter in her shoulder holster
as she climbed out. The gun went everywhere she did, but
for most volatile situations, she preferred the Taser. Less
blood, noise, and risk.
As Lara moved toward the house, the front doors burst
open and a man barreled out. Behind him, a giant black dog
noisily gave chase. Lara backpedaled toward the med van to
get out of their way.
The running man raised his arm and aimed a gun at her.
Lara dropped to the asphalt as he fired. She rolled and
pulled her weapon, but his footsteps kept going and a
second shot didn’t come. A car door opened, the engine
cranked over, and he raced down the driveway. Still
facedown, Lara let out her breath. As she stood, the dog
turned back and charged into the house.
What now? The person who’d made the emergency call had
likely been shot and still needed medical attention. Heart
thumping, Lara glanced down the driveway and watched the
black sedan turn left on the road. Her muscles unclenched
and she decided to enter the home and check out the
situation. She grabbed her Taser and tucked it into her
waistband in case the dog turned on her.
As she hurried up the walkway, she made a mental note of
what she’d seen of the assailant: five-ten, lean, dirty
blond, thirty-something, and a squarish face. Lara slowed
and moved cautiously through the open front door, weapon
ready. The big house was quiet and she crept through,
taking in details. High ceilings, open floor plan, and two
additional exits that she could see. One leading to the
garage from the kitchen, the other into a lush side yard.
No people, no black dog.
She made her way down the hall to a room near the end.
Weapon raised, she entered a bedroom. A large man, wearing
only black leather chaps, lay on the floor on his back.
Blood had soaked into the pale-blue rug under him and
sprayed the white satin sheets on the bed. A familiar salty
smell mingled with the wet metallic of the blood. As she
stepped toward the victim, Lara recognized the scent: a mix
of sweat and semen.
She slipped off her medpack and knelt down. She heard
shallow breathing and saw that he’d been shot in the
shoulder. The black dog lay nearby, whimpering and watching
her. "Good dog. You stay."
The man opened his eyes. "Thank god." The dog started to
get up, but victim snapped his fingers and it lay back down.
Lara began to pull out supplies. "You need the ER. Why
didn’t you call for a regular ambulance?"
"It’s personal. I don’t want to report this."
Lara groaned, not caring that he heard. She should have
left after the jackass shot at her. It was too late now.
She couldn’t walk away from a bleeder. Lara lifted his
shoulder to see if the bullet had gone through. He moaned
and squeezed her wrist. The exit hole was twice the size of
the entry wound and bleeding heavily, but at least she
wouldn’t have to dig out the bullet. She laid his shoulder
back to the floor. "What’s your name?"
"Thaddeus Morton."
Lara froze. "The federal employment commissioner?"
"Yes."
"Aren’t you supposed to be Washington D.C.? Overseeing
the Gauntlet?"
"I’m flying out tomorrow morning—if I don’t bleed to
death."
"Is this your house? I thought you moved to the capital."
"I kept my home here and a friend house-sits for me. I
come back whenever I can." He grimaced as he talked.
Lara bit back another question and focused on her task.
She grabbed a packet of gunshot gauze, a new product
designed to fill such a wound and slowly dissolve as the
tissue around it healed. A Chicago ER doctor had invented
the gauze soon after the dark shift, as she called it. The
Supreme Court had struck down a series of gun control laws
and now weapons were everywhere. So were gunshot wounds. An
entire industry had sprung up to treat them.
"We need to roll you over so I can bandage the exit
wound." Lara gave him her best smile, which wasn’t
much. "This will hurt."
"Do you have pain meds?"
"I’m not licensed for them. You know how the DEA is."
Lara cauterized the major bleeders with a C-laser,
sprayed the wound with antibacterial, then packed it with
gauze. The white material soaked with blood before she
could get the skin-sealing bandage in place. The sealer, as
medics called it, had biologic properties that bonded with
tissue.
She taped a padded exterior bandage in place and
asked, "Who shot you, and why don’t you want to report it?"
"My lover." He paused. "Going public was a political
career killer even before the new Congress made homosexual
acts illegal. Not that I’m gay. I’m bisexual."
Lara didn’t give a rip about his sexual practices, but
she watched his face for signs of lying, a habit from her
detective days. She saw none. "What makes you think I’ll
consider not reporting this? I could lose my license."
"Because I’m the employment commissioner and you’re a
contestant in the Gauntlet. I can help you if you help me."
Lara’s pulse quickened. What was he saying? "Did you ask
for me when you called the Paramed Service?"
"I didn’t have time. But I hoped it would be you."
Morton spoke softly, then waited.
Lara’s mind raced. The employment commissioner oversaw
the contest, now in its third year, and he would rule on
any situations that required a judgment call. He could
disqualify any competitor too, including her.
Lara was torn. Her desire to win the Gauntlet was like a
tumor growing inside her. Oregon desperately needed the
grant money and the jobs that would be awarded to the
winner’s state—and she needed a reason to keep getting up
every day. Yet having the contest handed to her was not
what she had in mind. "I don’t want to win except on my own
merit." She almost regretted the words as soon as they left
her mouth.
"Be more specific." He sat up and she noticed that he
was attractive in a pretty-boy way with dark wavy hair and
high cheekbones. She’d only seen the commissioner a few
times on the news, and the camera had not flattered him.
Still, he was almost fifty and the black leather gear he
was sporting made her a little sad for him.
"I don’t want your help. I want to win clean."
"Could I interest you in some cash?"
Lara laughed. "Taking a bribe for not reporting this
incident would be worse than simply not logging the GSW."
She began to pack her medical supplies.
"Tell me what you want. I can’t let this incident reach
the police or the media."
"Your boyfriend is a menace. He shot at me on his way
out and should probably be locked up."
Morton’s eyes widened. "Oh shit. I’m so sorry." He
scooted to the bed and leaned against it. "He’s having a
bad reaction to some medication. He’s not usually like
this." The commissioner’s gaze slid away and Lara sensed
he’d just lied to her.
"Does he have a criminal record?"
"No. He’s never hurt anyone before. He discovered I
cheated on him and freaked out. Shooting at you was just a
leftover emotional reaction. He’ll calm down and be fine."
"I want his name. For my own protection."
Morton hesitated. "Richard Bremmer, but please don’t
report this. I’ll lose my federal position." He locked into
her eyes. "And everything that goes with it."
Lara wanted to get the hell out. After a quick look at
the dog, which hadn’t moved since Morton snapped his
fingers, she slipped her gun back into its holster and
stood to leave.
"Are you going to report this?"
"I don’t know yet."
In the van, she accessed her call log on her iCom and
stared at the cursor, which was waiting for her to speak or
type something. Crap. She was required to report the GSW,
so that was the safest thing to do. If she lost her
paramedic license, she’d be scrambling to find work like
millions of others. She couldn’t go through that nightmare
again. After leaving the police department, she’d been
unemployed for years. Then the gun laws loosened and health
insurance got scarce, so paramedics were suddenly in
demand.
Yet, if she reported the incident, Thaddeus Morton would
be investigated and likely removed from overseeing the
Gauntlet. His last act as commissioner might be to
disqualify her. If she kept his secret and he stayed on as
a judge, he would owe her, and it couldn’t hurt to have
someone in her corner while she competed.
If she brought home a grant, co-funded by AmGo and the
federal government, Oregon would have money to spend on
jobs and social programs. AmGo would build a facility in
Eugene that employed thousands. Teachers and police
officers would go back to work. Not her, of course. She had
burned that bridge thoroughly. Still, she was a cop at
heart and she hated the way law enforcement had been
crippled by the never-ending recession. Most departments
now only investigated violent crimes, and detectives had a
couple of days to track leads. After that, the case went
into the cold file and they moved on. It was shameful. So
many victims with no one held accountable.
Lara slammed out of the van and ran back into the house.
Morton had changed into jeans and opened a suitcase on the
bed. He jumped like a startled cat when she burst into the
room.
"How is the first section of the contest structured this
year?" The Gauntlet had five phases that changed annually,
and the details were kept secret until the program went
live.
"It’s an elevated maze."
Lara made a quick mental assessment. "I’d like to be
paired against someone tall and female."
"I’ll see what I can do."
"Beyond that, I intend to kick ass on my own."
"I’m sure you will."
"I hope your accidental shoulder wound heals quickly."
Lara bolted from the room before he could say anything
else. No promises had been exchanged, but she felt a little
dirty anyway.