The man was muttering swears under his breath, sorting through Poppy’s desk. Poppy’s motionless body was on the floor, her back to him.
The shot was true and the man's grip clenched on the trigger, but his shot missed, hitting the wall behind Francis. He fell to the ground, dead before he landed.
Francis took a breath, feeling the adrenaline and the thrill and panic. He paused before kneeling, becoming worried, and calling 911. "Poppy? Poppy?"
Poppy was curled around the baby bump protectively, a nasty bruise on her head. Her lips were slightly parted and she was unconscious, her skin so pale he could count her freckles. It would take her a moment to realize that there was a gunshot in her shoulder, blood soaking her white blouse.
Her pulse was rapid under his fingertips and she shifted slightly, her fingers brushing her stomach protectively.
Poppy was in the hospital, still unconscious, and a doctor was doing an ultrasound to check on the baby. "The baby seems to be alright," he said after a moment. "The heart beat is a little faster than normal, but that's to be expected. We'll keep monitoring it."
"Well, we'll have to run a few more vitals on Ms. Craw. But it looks like we dodged this bullet. Figuratively, of course."
He nodded and stood up, cleaning off the instruments before leaving the room. A few minutes later, Poppy shifted, her brows furrowing as she woke.
