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how convenient until we ran down a long hallway into the kitchen.
    There on the floor was a rather attractive women, dressed in tight jeans and a slinky black top, laying on the floor—with the phone chord wrapped tightly around her neck!
    Difficulty breathing?
    Her coloring was pale, but her eyes were still opened, if not watery, and her lips a bit cyanotic—that horrible grayish-blue of someone in need of oxygen.
    Dano was immediately unwrapping the phone chord, while I dug into the bag for the portable oxygen and a mask. We worked for a few minutes until the woman looked a tiny bit better.
    â€œHow’d this happen, ma’am?” Dano asked.
    She turned toward him and in a raspy voice said, “Er…I tripped. I tripped and got tangled in the chord.”
    Dano and I looked at each other, which kept me from shouting out, “Are you kidding us!” But the seriousness of her condition had me only raise an eyebrow to Dano.
    â€œReally?” he said, while taking her blood pressure and adjusting the oxygen mask on her face.
    I assisted him with whatever he needed until I felt something. Something behind me.
    Gradually I turned around to come face to knees with a pair of jeans.
    I heard Dano mutter, “Shit.”
    And I looked up into the barrel of a shotgun—aimed at my face.

Six
    The barrel of a shotgun looks more like a cannon when it’s aimed at your head—and in such close proximity.
    The guy holding it was gigantic, at least from this angle, with a huge potbelly, a red plaid shirt, and a beard that would rival Rip Van Winkle’s. He seemed to growl a bit then clearly (as if we were morons) said, “If I’d wanted her to live, I wouldn’t have strangled her.”
    I only wished that I lived long enough to repeat those words in a trial testimony against him.
    Dano looked at me, then at the guy. “You know what? You’re right, buddy.” As he spoke, he grabbed my arm and we stood. “She shouldn’t have called us. Fell and got tangled. Ha!” With that, he had me past the shotgun, which the guy now pointed toward the woman.
    I wanted to run and grab it before he shot her right then.
    â€œWe can’t leave,” I protested to Dano.
    He gave me some kind of look. A dirty look one might say, but I had no idea what it meant. “Nope. She shouldn’t have called.”
    â€œDano, we can’t leave that woman!” I tried to push at his arm, but even though I believed in equality of the sexes when it comes to…well…everything, there are jobs that some women (like moi ) are physically not strong enough to do.
    Right now, I couldn’t get away from ER Dano if I tried.
    He kept pushing me and said to the gunman, “We’re outta here. Have a nice day.”
    â€œHave a nice day!” I said, as he shoved me out the opened door.
    I turned to give him a piece of my mind, but he slid into the dining room before the door shut.
    â€œDan—” If I said anything, he’d get caught.
    I ran to the ambulance, grabbed my cell phone out of my purse, and called 911. If I didn’t have to wear stupid scrubs, I would have on a TLC uniform and a phone on my shoulder. “Give me the police!” I shouted then told them the situation and ran back to the front porch. I couldn’t leave Dano in there alone.
    I looked into the window, which, although covered in dirt and whatever, made it easy to see right through to the kitchen.
    Dano had the guy in some chokehold, the shotgun lay on the floor, and the poor woman was kicking the guy’s legs! But before I could blink, the guy did some kind of maneuver, looked like ex-military, and now Dano was on the floor next to the patient.
    I ran into the house on a surge of adrenaline and not much common sense, and when I got to the kitchen, the guy had picked up the shotgun.
    â€œNo!” I shouted and pushed at the barrel as a crack filled the air. A