Her Stolen Past. Lynette Eason

heard the sharp crack and saw the woman jogging four feet in front of her stumble. Then fall.

      Another crack.

      Another woman cried out and hit the ground.

      “Shooter! Get down! Get down!”

      With a burst of horror, Sonya caught on. Someone was shooting at the joggers on the path. Terror froze her for a brief second. A second that saved her life as the bullet whizzed past her head and planted itself in the wooden bench next to her. If she’d been moving forward, she would be dead.

      Frantic, she registered the screams of those in the park as she ran full out, zigzagging her way to the concrete fountain just ahead.

      Her only thought was shelter.

      A bullet slammed into the dirt behind her and she dropped to roll next to the base of the fountain.

      She looked up to find another young woman had beaten her there. Terrified brown eyes stared at Sonya and she knew the woman saw her fear reflected back at her. Panting, Sonya listened for more shots.

      None came.

      And still they waited. Seconds turned into minutes.

      “Is it over?” the woman finally whispered. “Is he gone?”

      “I don’t know,” Sonya responded. “Let’s just stay here for a while longer.”

      Screams still echoed around them. Wails and petrified cries of disbelief.

      Sonya lifted her head slightly and looked back at the two women who’d fallen. They still lay on the path behind her. Oh, Lord, help me help them. She reached for her cell phone. Had anyone called 911? Surely they had, but one more call wouldn’t hurt.

      Her trembling fingers refused to hold the device and it fell to the ground in front of her. She curled her hands into fists, desperate to control the shaking. She’d done this before. She could manage the fear. But never before had she been caught by surprise like this.

      Sirens sounded.

      Sonya grabbed her phone and shoved it into the armband she wore when running. She took a deep breath and scanned the area across the street. She’d been in dangerous situations before, working the streets first as a paramedic, then as a trauma nurse on an air-ambulance helicopter.

      Later, she’d shake her head at the irony. All those times she’d been in the midst of the flying bullets and had come out unscathed. Now she was a hospice nurse on her day off and she got shot at. Slowly, she calmed and gained control of her pounding pulse.

      Her mind clicked through the shots fired. Two hit the women running in front of her. Her stomach cramped at the thought that she should have been the third victim. She glanced at the bench. The bullet hole stared back. It had dug a groove, slanted and angled. He was shooting down, which meant he was higher up.

      She had no idea which building the shots came from, but if she had to guess, she would pick the one directly across the street. The office building? Or the clothing warehouse?

      The police would figure it out. She checked her watch. No more shots had sounded in the few minutes she’d lain next to the cement fountain, her mind spinning. There were wounded people who needed her.

      Heart in her throat, Sonya darted to the nearest woman, who lay about ten yards away from her. Expecting a bullet to slam into her at any moment, she felt for a pulse.

      * * *

      Brandon Hayes heard the gunfire through the open window of his third-floor part-time office at Finding the Lost and automatically reached for his weapon as he spun in his chair.

      A police detective by profession and a Finding the Lost employee on his days off, he didn’t have a lot of downtime. Nor did he want any.

      The Glock felt natural and comfortable in his right hand. He stepped to the side of the window and looked out.

      Chaos reigned in the park below.

      Two people lay on the ground and appeared to be injured.

      Erica James, his sister and founder of Finding the Lost, bolted into the office. “What was that?”

      “Bullets. There’s a shooter nearby and people are hurt.”

      She pulled out her cell phone. “Someone’s probably already called, but—”

      Brandon heard her reporting the incident to the 911 operator as he tried to pinpoint the location where the bullets originated from.

      His gaze shifted from the horror below him to the building beside him. Nothing. Not a flash, no movement, nothing. He grabbed the phone from his desk. Rachel, his cousin and secretary for Finding the Lost, picked up. “Get this building locked down now.”

      “I already did. I heard you say something about bullets fired and immediately called security.”

      “Good.” Her office was just outside of his.

      He returned to the window and watched the craziness unfold in the park, assessing the situation, planning the best way to help. Go after the shooter or help the victims?

      Movement by the fountain caught his eye. A woman trying to pull one of the injured ones to safety.

      Wait a minute.

      “Hey, isn’t that Sonya Daniels? What’s she trying to do? Get herself killed?” He raced from the office, Erica’s protests ringing in his ears. “Stay here!”

      Brandon hit the glass door, swiped his card that would allow him to exit, but would lock the door behind him. Then he was on the sidewalk. Within seconds he was at the park. Police officers who’d been nearby started to arrive on the scene. To the nearest one, Brandon flashed his badge and yelled, “I think the shooter was in the building next to the bank.”

      Law enforcement now swarmed the area and he kept his badge in plain sight. He stuck his weapon back in the shoulder holster and headed for the fountain. Sonya Daniels had shown up at Finding the Lost a little over a week ago with a birth certificate for Heather Bradley. She’d hired him to find the person. And now she was rescuing joggers in the park. His heart thudded as he kept his attention tuned to the area around him.

      No more shots sounded. He hoped that meant the shooter was on the run and not aiming at any more innocent people.

      Brandon rounded the back of the fountain and found Sonya doing CPR on the woman she’d pulled out of harm’s way. He dropped beside her. “What can I do?”

      Surprise and relief flickered across her face when she saw him. “She needs an ambulance. Her heart’s stopped.” Sonya did more compressions. “Feel for a pulse.”

      Brandon did as ordered. He looked up and shook his head.

      Sonya gave a growl of frustration and slammed a fist onto the woman’s chest. “Beat!” She pressed and released, pressed and released, unrelenting and breathless, with determination etched on her features.

      Brandon felt a faint flutter under his fingers. “Keep going. I think I felt something.”

      Hope blazed in her eyes as she continued her efforts. “Come on, please. Please.” An ambulance pulled up next to the fountain and two paramedics rushed over. Sonya looked up. “I think she has a pulse now. She coded about thirty seconds ago.”

      “You have medical training?” the first paramedic asked as she dropped beside Sonya.

      “Yes. One semester short of being a doctor.”

      Brandon shot her a look. He hadn’t known that.

      He moved aside as the other paramedic joined them. Sonya fell back out of the way and let them take over. He grasped her arm. More medical help surrounded the other woman. “She’s dead,” Sonya whispered to him. “The bullet went straight through her head.” Grief coated her words. “The one I was helping was shot in the back. Please let her make it, God.” Brandon wondered if she even realized she’d whispered