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    Ronnie stayed where she was, leaning over Kim with both hands pressing the blood-soaked cloth into the wound cavity.
    Brett Moore’s comforting voice came from behind him.
    “Ambulance is three minutes out,” he said, taking off his jacket and motioning to Lavin to do the same so Quinn could use them as blankets for Kim, who now shook uncontrollably.
    Three minutes . Quinn’s eyes flashed up at Moore. He wondered if she had that long.
    “No more shots,” Moore offered. “That’s good.”
    “Jer,” Kim moaned, licking her lips. “You would not believe how thirsty I am . . .”
    Quinn put two fingers to her neck. Her pulse was rapid and shallow as her heart struggled to send what blood she had left to her brain.
    Steve Brun trotted up with his wife. They’d been on the other side of the cadet chapel when the sniper fired, and it had taken them a few moments to find out Kim was a casualty. Steve had continued as a Combat Rescue Officer, or CRO, after Quinn had moved on to OSI. Connie was an ER nurse. It was natural for them to come running when they found out Kim was wounded, no matter the danger.
    Connie smoothed the skirts of her wedding gown beneath her knees and knelt next to Quinn while Steve made his way to the opposite side.
    “Should I move?” Ronnie asked. A line of blood ran down her chin.
    “No, sweetie,” Connie said, calm as if she was up to her elbows in bloody messes every day. “Go ahead and keep that pressure on for now.” She touched the knotted cloth squeezing the flesh of Kim’s thigh. “Tourniquet looks good,” she said, seemingly oblivious to the red line wicking up the white taffeta of her dress as she assessed the wound. It was good to have friends that didn’t run off screaming at the sight of such trauma.
    She put a hand to Kim’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Avoiding Quinn’s eyes, she looked at her husband with a flash of pity.
    Kim coughed again, weaker now. “Mattie . . .”
    Quinn patted the back of her hand, nodding back tears.
    Veins in his neck knotted in anger and sorrow. “You’re going to be fine.” The words caught hard in his throat. “Just hang on. The ambulance will be here in a few seconds.”
    Kim’s eyes fluttered. She seemed to gather herself up, focusing all the will she had left on this single demand. “Let me talk to Mattie.” Her head fell back against the folded uniforms with an audible thud. Her breathing slowed.
    Quinn waved at Camille, who watched from halfway down the chapel walkway. The Thibodaux boys and Mattie were gathered around her like a brood of chicks. Mattie broke away as if released from the starting block. She was young, but even at the tender age of seven she had a tougher constitution than many men Quinn knew.
    She knelt beside her mother without an apparent second thought over all the blood. Kim kissed her cheek, straining to whisper something in her ear. Mattie nodded. Tears dripped down on her mother’s face.
     
     
    Across Academy Drive, the young Japanese woman had settled back into position quickly after the concussion of the shot. She flicked at the peppermint with the tip of her tongue as she watched Quinn’s ex-wife collapse through the reticle of her scope. She shrugged. That was the way of things. Much could happen in the 1.3 seconds it took for the 250-grain bullet to travel from the muzzle to its intended target. She’d heard accounts of birds flying into the path of oncoming projectiles, of strange winds, and targets bending to tie their shoe or pick a flower at exactly the right moment to prolong their miserable lives.
    It did not matter that Kimberly Quinn was not her original objective. The choice had been left up to her, so no one need ever know. The death of his ex-wife would move Quinn in the direction he needed to go. That’s what was important.
    While Quinn and his friends flapped around like headless geese, the sniper was already on the move. She left the rifle resting in the crook of the