SWAT Standoff

by LENA DIAZ,

  The wobble in her voice had him hesitating. He looked down at her, noted the intensity in her expression, the shine of unshed tears sparkling in her eyes. He’d been with Destiny P.D. since late fall of the previous year and had been her partner for over four months. In all that time, she’d always been decisive, in control, never breaking down no matter how tough things got. He’d never once seen her rattled. But right now she seemed...fragile, vulnerable. And he’d bet it wasn’t just because she was worried about her friends. There was something else going on here. And he thought he knew what it was.

  “Donna?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  She frowned. “What’s not my fault?”

  “Whatever happened, whatever is going on with the team. I think you’re second-guessing yourself, feeling guilty. But if anyone’s to blame, it’s me. If I’d been a good partner to you, we’d have both been here with them when—”

  “When what? When aliens beamed them up to the mother ship? Come on, Blake. This is crazy. Four highly trained SWAT team members and the chief of police don’t just disappear off the face of the earth. You know what I’m starting to think is going on? Group hysteria, or mass hysteria, or whatever psychologists call it. We’re both feeding off each other’s fears and making this into something it’s not.”

  “I honestly hope you’re right.”

  “But you don’t think I am.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Before she could interrogate him about what he really thought, he said, “How about we finish our due diligence and get this over with? This whole place is giving me the creeps.”

  “You won’t get any argument from me about that,” she mumbled, scanning left and right with her flashlight, before training it in front of her again.

  They headed into the woods, side by side. The truck’s headlights didn’t penetrate more than a dozen feet in, because trees blocked the light. Forced to rely solely on their flashlights and the moonlight overhead, they studied the ground, the branches and the bark of trees they passed.

  When they stopped by a tree with red and blue paint splotches on it, Donna gave a small smile. “So much for Dillon’s claim that our biodegradable paint will fade in the first rain. He’s not going to be happy about that. He’ll probably drop the vendor and start researching a new one.” Her smile died a quick death as fears for her friends obviously invaded her thoughts. She stalked past the tree, and he rushed to catch up.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the law-enforcement family cruise?” he asked, trying to steer her thoughts to more innocuous ones while they performed their search.

  She hesitated, then continued forward, sweeping her flashlight across the ground. “Honestly, I guess it never occurred to me to bring it up in conversation. It’s not like you ever socialize with the rest of us after work. Not very often, anyway. I’m not even sure you’ve ever met Chris’s wife, Julie. And you probably only know Max’s wife, Bex, from your first real case with us last year, when someone was trying to kill her. Dillon’s wife, Ashley, of course, everyone knows. The station would probably riot if she ever stopped dropping off her homemade treats.”

  “She does bake a mean oatmeal raisin cookie.”

  “Banana nut bread. That’s my favorite. Her recipe is to die for, and she refuses to share it. Trust me, I’ve asked. Many times. That stuff is amazing.” She pressed a hand to her heart as if paying homage.

  “Yuck on bananas,” he said. “Not my thing.”

  “No banana pudding?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Not even if I was starving.”

  “No wonder you don’t fit in with the team,” she teased. “Banana pudding is a staple of any well-balanced diet. Especially in the South.”

  “And yet somehow I’ve survived all these years without it.” He stopped and looked around. “This is about where I first spotted the guy I ended up shooting in the second floor of the barn.”

  “Larry. The second guy, the one you caught at the river, was Tim. Mike was the third guy. I don’t think you ever saw him though.”

  He supposed he should have known the first two men’s names. Maybe she and Dillon were right, and he really wasn’t making enough of an effort to fit in. He’d really never accepted the blame for how things were going, always thinking it was everyone else’s fault that they refused to accept an outsider. The truth, as with most things, was probably somewhere in the middle.

  “Were Larry, Tim and Mike with the team when you left?”

  She put her hand on his arm, her eyes widening as she pulled him to a stop. “Mike had to leave early. But Larry and Tim were still there. I didn’t even think about calling them. If one of them answers, maybe they know where the guys went. Or, heck, maybe for some reason, they all piled into Tim and Larry’s trucks and went to a bar somewhere, and it’s too loud to hear their phones. With the wives out of town, it makes sense. They’re having a guys’ night out. Why didn’t I think about that? Maybe Tim and Larry are the designated drivers. I bet we’re going to feel really silly in about one minute. I just know it.”

  “I’m all for silly. It beats the alternative.”

  She checked her watch and winced. “If they’re not in a bar, if they’re back at Larry or Tim’s house, sleeping off a binge, someone’s not going to be happy about being woken up at one in the morning. But no way am I waiting until a decent hour to call. Which unlucky soul gets woken up? Larry or Tim?”

  “I think Tim suffered enough being shot twice. I vote for Larry.”

  “Larry it is.” After tucking her flashlight under her arm, she scrolled through her contact list and punched the send button.

  A few seconds later, she crossed her fingers in the air and spoke into the phone. “Larry? Yeah, hi. This is Detective Waters. Donna, that’s right. Hey, I’m really sorry to call so late, but it’s important. What? Oh, yes. I’m fine. Sorry. You?”

  She made an impatient rolling motion with her hand as she waited for Larry to finish whatever he was babbling about.

  Blake didn’t wait. If it was taking this long to get anything out of Larry, and she had to call Tim, too, he could at least check the barn out, since it was visible through a gap in the trees up ahead. He motioned toward the gap, and she gave him a helpless gesture, pointing at the phone. He smiled and headed toward the barn, sweeping his flashlight back and forth.

  The dilapidated structure was just as he remembered it—a sagging collection of warped gray boards, which were partially covered in vines that should have given up the ghost a long time ago. He figured it was similar to many other old structures throughout the Smokies, like those found near Cades Cove. It was a relic of another century. But unlike its cousins that were protected because they were in the Smoky Mountains National Park, this one was clearly suffering from a lack of historical society preservation.

  If the building could talk, he imagined it would have some amazing stories to tell, the same way old men liked to rock on front porches, reliving the glory days with anyone who would listen. He smiled at that thought and pulled one of the large double doors open.

  And froze.

  Footsteps sounded behind him.

  “Blake? Larry wasn’t out in a bar with them. And Tim—”

  He whirled around to stop her, but it was too late. She’d already seen inside. Her eyes widened with horror at what was visible in the beam of her flashlight.

  “Oh, no. No, no, no. Oh, please, God. No.”

  She dropped to her knees beside the bullet-riddled body of SWAT officer and fellow detective Randy Carter.

  Chapter Six

  Donna tried to peel Blake’s hands off her arms. He was crouched beside her and wouldn’t let her touch Randy.

  “Let me go,” she pleaded. “I have to check for a pulse. Maybe we can still save him.”

  “It’s way too late for that. The blood�
�s already starting to dry. He’s gone.” He gave her a light shake. “Donna, look in my eyes, not at him. Trust me, you don’t want this to be the last image of your friend burned into your brain. You don’t want to remember him this way for the rest of your life.”

  She was still trying to pry his fingers off her, but the anguish in his voice cut through her own haze of grief and despair and made her pause. Part of her had known that Randy was beyond help. But part of her was in denial, or had been. Blake’s tone had snapped that second part back to reality.

  She shifted her gaze to his. The hollowness and pain in his dark eyes nearly stole her breath. What was he remembering from his own past? What kind of tragedy would put those shadows in someone’s eyes? Without even thinking about it, she cupped his cheek.

  He ducked away, forcing her to drop her hand.

  “Come on,” he said, his voice gentle but strained, all signs of whatever he’d been thinking about erased from his expression. “Let’s make that call to the station.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. Randy was your friend. You shouldn’t be here, cop or not. The best way to help him now is to leave the crime scene to others to process.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to argue. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her out of the barn. She was so surprised that she didn’t think to protest until he was lowering her back to standing.

  She smoothed her shirt down and straightened her shoulders. “I’m a police officer first, a woman second. And I’ve spent half of my life working hard to ensure that I’m treated with the same respect that my male peers are treated. So don’t you dare ever try to carry me like that again unless we’re lovers and you’re carrying me to bed. Got it?”

  His eyes widened, and she could feel her face flaming over her poor choice of words. But in that one moment, with him carrying her from a crime scene, all her struggles, the fights to be treated with respect in a profession dominated by men, came boiling to the surface. She would grieve, bitterly, for her longtime friend later. But right now she needed to be the best cop—the best detective—she could be so they could catch the killer and find the rest of the team.

  “Got it?” she repeated.

  “Got it.”

  She nodded, feeling a little silly but glad that she’d set some boundaries. It made her feel more confident, more in control.

  “What all did Larry and Tim say?”

  The earlier disappointment that she’d felt after speaking to them settled over her again like a dark cloud. “Larry had definitely been drinking. At first, I thought that was a good sign, that I was right and he’d been at the bar with the others. That maybe Tim ended up being the DD for everyone. But once I cut through his slurring, he admitted he’d left shortly after I had. Tim said much the same thing. They were both supposed to come up here, to Hawkins Ridge, in the morning, to do another exercise. The same exercise Dillon told me about before I left.”

  “Okay. Donna? Give me a minute alone inside, okay? I just want to have a quick look around while you phone this in.”

  “You think there could be more bodies, don’t you? We were so focused on Randy that we didn’t look around.”

  He was shaking his head before she finished. “No. It’s a small barn. I don’t think we could have missed another body, even in our peripheral vision. But I still want to see whether there are any obvious signs that anyone else was in there earlier. Okay? Will you wait right here?”

  She nodded, even though she had no intention of waiting. She understood his concern for her welfare, for her peace of mind. After all, these people were her friends. But as she watched him head into the barn, sweeping his flashlight back and forth across the floor, she also understood that she couldn’t cower away from her duty as a police officer. And there was something she needed to check out before the barn was turned over to the crime scene techs.

  After calling the station, she hurried inside and was kneeling beside Randy’s body when Blake finished his inspection and saw her. He rushed over, stopping just short of touching her this time.

  “Donna. Don’t. Please.”

  She had already pulled on a pair of latex gloves. Like most detectives she knew, she always kept a pair in her pocket for emergencies. This definitely qualified.

  “I’ve already called the station,” she assured him while she finished adjusting the gloves. “One of the patrolmen is going to come up here to secure the scene until the techs arrive. Another will call Maryville to borrow their M.E., or get old Doc Brookes to play medical examiner if the Maryville one isn’t available. I didn’t say who the victim was, though. I didn’t want that to get out until I can notify Randy’s mom. This is going to devastate her. He’s single, an only child. And she’s a widow. I’ll probably get my mom to go over there and sit with her.”

  “That sounds like a wonderful idea, having your mom help out. I wouldn’t have thought of that. Donna, what are you doing?”

  “Checking something really quick before we go. Did you see any signs that the others were in here?”

  “No. What exactly do you think you have to check?”

  She was about to answer him, but her breath caught in her throat when she finally, for the first time since entering the barn, looked fully at Randy’s body splayed out across the floor. A deep sadness welled up inside her. She was the oldest of three sisters, but had never felt deprived over not having any brothers. Her fellow detectives, her SWAT teammates, were her brothers. Randy more so, because he was so sweet-natured. But she couldn’t give in to her grief. Not yet. Once she started crying, she might never stop. The best thing she could do for him right now was to engage her brain, not her emotions. She needed to study him objectively, as a victim, and soak in all the information she could glean from his injuries, which were, sadly, extensive.

  “Donna.”

  “He didn’t go quietly, did he?”

  His gaze shifted to the body. “No. He didn’t. He put up a good fight.”

  Randy lay on his back, his arms and legs akimbo, his unseeing eyes staring up at the rafters. Green eyes, the color of spring, she’d always teased him. They were his best feature. She couldn’t believe she’d never look into those smiling eyes again.

  His shirt was saturated with what had to be blood. It was reddish bronze, definitely not the bright red from their paintball guns. Blood had pooled faintly beneath the skin just below his eyes, revealing cellular damage, probably from being hit with a fist. If he’d survived long enough for bruises to fully form, the shadows would be black and purple shiners.

  “Let’s hope that he scraped a boatload of DNA off the bastard and their profile is in the system already,” she said. “From the looks of his shirt, I’d say he’s been cut somehow—not necessarily stabbed—in addition to being shot. I count four bullet holes.”

  “Five. There’s one on his leg, too. His right calf.”

  She had to fight to keep her breathing steady as she noted the fifth hole. His pants were soaked around the entry point, like his shirt. He’d been shot in the leg before his heart stopped pumping. Which meant he’d suffered.

  Oh, Randy. Sweet, sweet Randy. How did this happen to you?

  “Now can we go?” Blake asked, respecting her earlier insistence that he not pick her up again, even though it looked like it was killing him not to. He was a take-charge kind of man, probably not used to having to restrain his protective instincts.

  “Soon. Did you bring your phone?”

  He frowned. “Yes. Why?”

  “I need you to photograph Randy’s right hand before I pull that piece of paper out of it.”

  She’d laid her flashlight down on the ground, aimed toward Randy’s hand. Blake looked down, his face mirroring surprise. He must not have noticed the paper earlier.

  She could see the conflicting emotions in his expression. They both knew they shouldn’t touch the
body, or anything around it. They should leave the evidence collection to the crime scene techs and the medical examiner. But there was a lot more at stake here than just bringing Randy’s killer to justice. There were four more missing people who needed to be found before it was too late.

  If it wasn’t too late already.

  The piece of paper clutched in Randy’s hand could be the clue they needed to save their friends’ lives. And the hours they’d have to wait for the techs and M.E. before they learned what was on that piece of paper were hours they couldn’t afford to wait.

  He glanced toward the barn doors, in the direction of the parking area. Then he pulled out his phone. “All right.” He didn’t sound happy with his decision as he raised the phone to snap the first picture. “But as soon as we see what he’s holding, we put it back, exactly the way we found it.”

  “Agreed.”

  After snapping half a dozen pictures of Randy’s hand from different angles, he nodded.

  She leaned forward and carefully uncurled his fingers, while Blake continued to snap more pictures of the body.

  “Full rigor hasn’t set in yet,” she told him. “He hasn’t been dead very long.”

  They both glanced toward the open barn doors.

  “We’re excellent targets in here with our flashlights lighting us up for a shooter,” he said. “Proverbial sitting ducks.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. I’ll hurry.”

  After gently working the paper free, she unfolded it. Blue cursive writing was scrawled across the white square, about a third the size of a typical sheet of notebook paper. There were only two sentences, neat and precise, as if the author had taken a painstaking amount of time to get them just so.

  This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment murder. It was planned.

  “What’s it say?” Blake asked. “I can’t make it out.”

  Her hand shook as she held it up in the air.

  His jaw tightening was the only indication that he’d read it. He snapped several more pictures. “You know what this means, don’t you?”