Ramsey shot?

“Molly, take a deep breath. That’s right. Now slow down and tell us exactly what happened.” But he was thinking, Why Ramsey? He’s a federal judge, removed from that sort of violence-but a man who judged others was a man who gathered enemies.

“He’s in surgery,” Molly said again. “The nurses say they don’t know anything yet, but I know it can’t be good. He was shot in the back-” she said, and broke off. He heard her breathing, harsh and fast, and then her voice, choked, frantic: “Please, Dillon, you and Sherlock, you’ve got to come.”

Savich and Sherlock both asked questions and let her ramble, knowing she was trying to get it together. She told them Lieutenant Virginia Trolley was there with her, and they realized she was probably listening to their questions and Molly’s answers. They’d met Virginia and her husband a couple of times when they’d visited San Francisco over the past five years.

“Molly, let me speak to Virginia.” Virginia came on the line. “Dillon, the SFPD responded and arrived at Ramsey’s house right after midnight. I arrived ten minutes later. Since it was dark, we didn’t bother to look for footprints while I was there. No one wanted to mess up the crime scene bumbling around with flashlights.”

“Have you spoken to Cheney?”

Virginia said, “Cheney arrived at Ramsey’s house when I was leaving. He called me a couple minutes ago, told me he’s assigned Special Agent Harry Christoff to lead the case, but he, Cheney, will be monitoring every detail. He wondered if shooting Ramsey was a revenge deal. It’s too soon to know, but I’ll tell you, it sure feels like it.” Virginia’s voice dropped lower. “Molly needs you guys. Can you come out here?”

“We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

When he punched off, he took Sherlock in his arms and held her close, stroking his hand up and down her back.

“He’ll make it,” Sherlock said against his neck. “Ramsey’s got to make it. He’s one of the good guys, Dillon. He will make it. How could this happen, and right on top of this threat to you?”