His hands shook as he holstered his weapon, and it had taken a couple of tries. She was too still. “No.” The whisper was anguished even to his own ears. He pressed two fingers to her neck. Her pulse pushed back, thundering under his fingertips. “Thank God,” he breathed. Cops poured into the living room and Pete took a moment to yank Nikki’s shirt down over her exposed breasts and zip her jeans. This was all his fault. Selfish bastard. “Crane, we’ve secured the perimeter. Suspect is nowhere in sight.” Officer Eric Bartlett holstered his gun and came closer. “Ambulance just pulled up. Are you hit?” Chloe asked as she strode into the room. She kneeled, joining him on the carpet. “No. Just Nikki.” His voice cracked and he had to clear his throat—twice. “This one’s dead,” another cop called out. He looked over his shoulder to see one of the guys squatted down next to Mickey Donati. “Pete, she’s gonna be okay. Breathing is great, heart rate is strong.”
