the younger nurse. She was a small-framed girl with slumped shoulders and round glasses.
“Carrie, this is Josie. She’s the officer that will be in the room with us throughout surgery.”
Josie shook the girl’s clammy hand. “Good to meet you, Carrie. Don’t sweat this. We’re going to be okay.”
Carrie offered a weak smile, and Vie told her to get the surgical table set.
After the girl left, Vie planted her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at Josie. “You never answered my question. Must mean it’s pretty bad.” Without waiting for a response, Vie turned back to the surgery room, already shouting orders.
When the surgeon arrived, Josie followed him into the prep area, where he scrubbed for surgery and dressed in sterile gear. He was tall, early thirties, and rail thin with a calm demeanor that impressed Josie immediately. She gave him a quick summary of the situation.
Before they walked out of the prep area, Josie stopped him at the door. “My first priority is the medical staff. You have control over the surgery. I have control over your safety. If I give you and the nurses an order, I need you to follow it. No questions asked. These people are murderers. I want to keep you safe.”
He paused, considering his words, and then reached into the breast pocket on his scrub top. He handed Josie a picture of a baby.
“She’s three months old,” he said, his voice strained.
The baby’s hand was wrapped tightly around her father’s little finger, her lips forming an O, as if the camera had caught her by surprise.
“Keep us safe,” he said. He squeezed Josie’s shoulder and pushed open the door into the surgery room.
* * *
Within fifteen minutes, Hector Medrano was prepped, and Josie and Otto had done what they could to secure the building. She had sent the mayor back to his office to reduce his risk and keep him out of the way. Otto was positioned at the front door, crouched behind the receptionist’s desk, while Josie stayed in the operating room. Her biggest fear was the unmanned door at the back of the clinic. It was locked, but they were wide open for attack. There were so few police officers in the region that backup was unlikely. Artemis was surrounded by towns with populations under eight thousand. Odessa was the nearest large town, at ninety thousand people, but it was 240 miles away. She had requested Border Patrol and DPS backup, but time was not on her side.
As surgery began, Josie listened for voices or activity outside the operating room. She stood behind the surgical table to keep a clear view of the door, and attempted to avert her gaze from the bloody mess in front of her. Hearing the suction of body fluids made her realize she had not eaten since a half can of fruit cocktail for supper. She glanced down and watched the gloved hand of the surgeon, slick with blood, exit the man’s chest cavity. Her peripheral vision turned black, and she pressed her hands flat on the cool concrete wall behind her, bent her knees, and breathed in the pungent mix of antiseptic and blood. She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths.
Vie, standing opposite the surgeon, called Josie’s name. “You’re looking a little peaked. You’re not going to drop on us, are you?” Vie asked.
Josie shook her head, hoping Vie would leave her be.
Focusing on the door, Josie listened to the surgeon’s steady voice and the measured blips and whisking of machines as her nausea subsided.
The surgeon walked Carrie through the process of inserting a chest tube to stabilize the patient’s breathing, and Josie wondered at his bravery. He was one of twelve surgeons from El Paso and Odessa who served the trauma needs of several West Texas border towns on a rotating basis. With so few resources, the surgeons were required to take a course in triage. During emergencies, they were taught to determine which patients would live and which would die, regardless of treatment, so they could focus on the patients who would most benefit from immediate care. Josie feared the knowledge might be put to use that day.
Each person on the surgical team understood the danger they were in; operating on one of Mexico’s drug cartel elite after a failed assassination attempt—one that would most certainly be completed in the future—seemed suicidal. And at what cost? Three decent human beings in exchange for a man suspected by authorities to have plotted the