Ryker (Hope City Book 5)

by Kris Michaels

  “It is a lot more than a single case. Your man is on the point of one of the largest busts we’ve had in the history of Hope City.” He winked at her. “Damn proud of you for picking one of the best cops on the force to fall in love with.”

  She melted into a wide smile. “He is a good cop... Oh, Dad. The car that brought me to the harbor—someone other than the guy who talked to Ryker drove it. I think it was a cop because there was a cage in the back like a police vehicle has, the metal sheet that prevents someone from getting to the front seat. The car was burgundy red. At least the portion of the back door I saw was burgundy.”

  Her father’s brow drew into deep creases. “Burgundy?”

  “Yeah, weird, huh?”

  He looked past her and nodded. “Really weird. Use my phone and make that call for someone to come stay with you.”

  Brie narrowed her eyes at her father. “Why are you suddenly giving up? Do you know something about that car?”

  He chuckled. “No, but I need to be available if I’m needed.”

  “I’m not buying it.” She smiled down at the picture of her mom that her dad kept as his home screen. “I really don’t need anyone to stay with me.”

  Her father put a hand on her arm. “Brie, tonight, you saw one man murdered, you shot someone, you were kidnapped, knocked out, threatened, transported here with a hood on under the threat of death, and nearly drowned. Forgive me if I want someone with you when all of that crashes around you, because it will. Eventually, it will all land and you’re going to have to deal with it. I don’t want you alone.”

  “Wow. Okay, hearing it like that...” She drew a breath. Now she was shaking again. Somehow, she hadn’t strung all the events together in her mind even after giving her statement. She trembled and wrapped the blanket someone had handed her earlier around her tighter. “Do you think Blay is working?”

  “One way to find out.” Her dad took the phone from her hand and made the call. “Blay, sorry for calling so early. Are you working today?” Her father glanced at her as he spoke. “No, that would be perfect. I’m going to need you to swing by your apartment. I’ll explain it all when you get here. Good. Yep, see you then. Love you, Son.” He hung up the phone and pocketed it. “He’s just finishing up shift change. We’ll catch a ride to the apartment and I’ll stay with you until Blay comes by.”

  “I’m sorry.” Tears formed in her eyes, but she had no idea why.

  “Ahhh... there it is.” Her dad opened his arms. She dove into the enormous chest and powerful arms that had always protected her. “It’s okay, sweetie. Let’s keep it together for another couple minutes.” He rubbed her back and started her walking down the pier.

  It took fifteen minutes to get to the apartment, and Blay was standing at the front door. His eyes widened when he saw her and then narrowed, hardening to a cold, frosty glaze. “I’ll kill the bastard.” Blay ground the words through clenched teeth.

  “It wasn’t Ryker. Could you get the door, Son?” Brie sniffled as Blay opened the door. They all marched up the stairs together. She heard Blay ask her father what happened, but obviously, her dad gave him a look to shut him up. Blay unlocked all the locks on the apartment. She walked directly to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stripped. She needed the stench of the harbor off her and she needed warm water. Lots of warm water.

  Sitting down in the middle of the shower, she wrapped her arms around her knees to still the violent shaking. The warm water sprayed down on her aching muscles. She lowered her head to her knees and let the fear wash over her with the spray of the shower.

  She could have been killed. The realization pulverized her hastily-shored-up emotional defenses. She let the tears flow. Cathartic and cleansing, that’s what her mother called these types of cries. Only the fear was still there, just under her skin. It crawled against her nerves sending constant messages to her brain. Panic, anxiety, fear... all of the emotions sat next to her on that tile floor. She could feel them as if they were living beings.

  It was stupid to allow them power now. She knew she was safe. She wasn't alone, she had Blay and her father here, but how did she turn off what had happened? She quieted her sobbing and rocked a bit, giving herself something else to focus on.

  It didn't work. God, what she’d seen and what she’d imagined, the thoughts that still raced through her brain hadn't quieted in the slightest. Since her father had strung each event together for her, she’d been replaying the moments in sequence. The totality of the evening overwhelmed her ability to put any of the thoughts into a cohesive perspective. She’d get there eventually, but it would not happen today. Today she was going to let herself feel the emotions that surrounded her. She'd find a way to put things into perspective. But not today.

  She tipped back her head and glanced way up to where the shampoo and soap waited for her. Maybe she’d just soak up the warmth for a bit longer.

  Blay rubbed his face with his hands. Scrubbed it, rather. Holy hell. Someone kidnapped Brianna. She’d shot a man. Almost drowned?

  “Are you tracking here, Son?” His dad’s question rang loud and clear in the kitchen.

  He nodded his head. “Yeah. I’m staying here until either you or Ryker come back.”

  “You’re off for forty-eight?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, just finished my seventy-two-hour shift. I’ve got plenty of time. You go do what you need to do. I’ll fix her some breakfast and then tuck her into bed.”

  “It might be better to ask her to sit with you here and watch television. If she wakes up in a dark room alone...”

  Blay bounced his foot as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “Oh, shit. Didn’t think about that. Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

  “I appreciate it. I’ll call your mother on the way to my office. I’m going to make her promise not to leave the house until we have this guy in custody.”

  “When is the sweep going to happen?”

  His father glanced at his watch. “It started twenty-five minutes ago.”

  Ryker approached the van. The HCPD sweats he wore were dry, but that did little to stop the reek of the harbor, and taking time to shower was out of the question. Thank God he had extra running shoes in his office. He’d eaten some over-the-counter painkillers and downed two cups of coffee. He was hurting and tired, but he’d be damned if he’d step down from the helm of this bust.

  He tapped quietly on the back door of the command vehicle disguised as a city utility vehicle. Stepping up into the van, he nodded at the officers already working the comms. He put his headset on. “Command to Team One, status.” His voice rang across the radios in the front of the van, squelching a high tone through the system. He covered his mic. “Secure your comms.”

  Patel yelled at him from the front seat: “Sorry. Okay, they’re off, go ahead.”

  “Command to Team One, status.”

  “Team One, ready.”

  “Command to Team Two, status.” He waited for the reply and repeated his check on Team Three.

  “All Teams, this is Command. Proceed to your Alpha position and check in.” He received acknowledgements and watched as his teams drove from the parking lot in armored vehicles.

  “Which site, sir?”

  He sat down and buckled in. “Position us at Alpha point with Team Two.”

  Peña and Rubio were deadly, but they liked the comfort that their money could buy. His bet was they’d been nesting inside the warehouse, and that was where they’d fled when Brie had shot Peña. Sarah said the apartment was opulent—or in her words, the place was ‘lit’—and they kept most of the drugs on the premises.

  Which raised an interesting question. Why would they keep their stock readily available, loaded in trucks so they could move their inventory at a moment’s notice? Why wouldn’t they cut it and distribute it immediately? Unless the fuckers were operating the logistical branch of the business right under HCPD’s nose.

  He shook his head and held on as Patel maneuvered the command van into traff
ic. The cartel’s time in Hope City was dwindling. Ryker shifted and eased his shoulder. He wanted to be at the tip of the spear with his team, but he was fucking sidelined and hurting. Regardless, they were striking a major blow this morning. He said a quick prayer for those taking part in the sweep.

  When Patel turned into the parking lot with Team Two, his people went into a flurry of activity. They activated the video feeds and checked radio communications. He dismounted the van and made his way through a gauntlet of personnel making final adjustments to uniforms and checking weapons and comms.

  He edged Tiernan away from the crowd. “Your people know what to expect?”

  Tiernan nodded. “We are going in expecting hostilities. It is our normal play, and we’ll exercise extreme diligence.”

  “Be careful and don’t get dead.” Ryker extended his hand to his friend.

  “That’s always the plan, my man.” Tiernan shook his hand and nodded to the command vehicle. “You’re not taking a position, right?”

  “No. Not unless hell freezes over.” He eased his shoulder again. “I think I’ll take it easy today.”

  Tiernan snorted, “Right.”

  He laughed and headed back to the command vehicle. When he put on the headphones and adjusted his monitor, it was time to move his people into harm’s way.

  Ryker cleared his throat. “Listen up. Each of you focuses on your team. I’ll be on all frequencies. If you need a wide broadcast, relay it to me.” He ran down the checklist. “Helmet cams.”

  “Team One, good feed.”

  “Team Two, good feed.”

  “Team Three, good feed.”

  He nodded and did the same for comms and his team echoed the same responses. It was redundant, but one malfunctioning piece of equipment could cost lives. Ryker looked up when the timer activated. He keyed his mic and issued the alert. “Team One, Two, and Three, two-minute warning.”

  He heard the doors closing on the two assault vehicles next to the command van. The engines cranked and all three team leads acknowledged his warning.

  He watched the clock as the digital display counted down. At exactly zero six hundred, he keyed his mic. “All teams, go.”

  As expected, Team Three hit their building first. Patel logged the exact time of arrival as did his other people when teams One and Two arrived on scene. “All teams on scene. Deploy.” At his words, the body armor and helmet cams moved, and they watched in real-time as the teams advanced on the sites.

  SWAT breached the buildings and a coordinated mayhem ensued. Each team worked to clear their facilities. They expected several non-hostile personnel at Lieutenant Theron’s site. King’s SWAT Team moved in with spotlights, speakers, and flashbangs. The plan for the hit squad’s confusion at the breach worked like a charm. Video screens showed handcuffed personnel being escorted from the scene, but his focus stayed on Team Two. The SWAT teams worked methodically to clear the downstairs area of the warehouse as quietly as possible. This was a stealth takedown, not a quick strike. Whispered check-ins cleared the area as they moved toward the stairs.

  A gunshot rang through the comms. The noise froze every one of his teammates in the control vehicle and all eyes pinned to the monitor. “Shots fired! Squad Two, take overwatch.” Tiernan’s voice confirmed what they already knew and set his people into action.

  Ryker switched his comms to speak to his JDET team outside the warehouse. “Shots fired inside. Keep your eyes peeled.” They acknowledged his command, and he flipped his mic off. There were seven different exits to that building.

  “We have runners. East side of the building.”

  “Shots fired. Officer down!”

  One of his newer team members called in, “Shit, Dobson’s hit. I need backup!”

  Ryker hit his mic. “Markel and Faison, back up O’Shay.” He turned to Patel. “Get an ambulance back there as soon as that area is clear of hostiles.”

  O’Shay’s voice panted across the radio, “Cap, they’re heading west. They’re in the alley. Two males, black pants, white shirts, both armed. We have three stopped here.”

  Ryker tossed his headset to Patel. “Get that BOLO out to patrols holding the outer cordon.”

  Patel caught the headset with one hand but yelled, “Cap, wait!”

  He spun at her call. She handed him a portable radio. “In case you need backup.” She put on the headset and sat down.

  Ryker clipped the radio onto his waistband and sprinted to the east to intercept the men running west. He removed his arm from its sling as he ran, tossing the damn thing. He slowed to a jog and yanked his radio from his pocket, keeping the volume down as he listened to Patel lead the response. He slowed to a walk. There were two avenues of escape for the perps. They could take Friarwood Drive, which would expose them to any responding patrols, or they could keep to the alleyways. Ryker carefully moved to the path he’d take to avoid being seen. He slid into the alley and worked his way up about halfway, taking cover by an overflowing dumpster. His best chance to take down two perps without killing anyone, himself included, was the element of surprise. He moved a box in front of him as he heard the distinct sound of someone running on the pavement to his east.

  He flexed his hand and extended his bad arm as best as possible as he waited. It was either one person, or the perps’ steps were in unison. He waited, hidden as they jogged past. Black slacks, white shirts. Ryker stood and pointed his weapon at the men. “Freeze! Police!”

  The men skidded to a halt. “Put your hands up where I can see them.” He made his way through the rubble that had concealed him. “Higher. You on the right, drop to your knees.”

  The man on the right dropped to his knees. “You on the left, walk forward five steps.” He couldn’t call in backup until they were both under control. As the other man walked forward, he used his cuffs to snag one of the other man’s wrists and had him on his stomach, cuffed in less than ten seconds.

  Ryker approached the other man. “You don’t think I’m going to allow you to cuff me, do you, Captain Terrel?” The man clasped his hands behind his head and turned around. Ryker held his service weapon on the man who’d thrown Brie into the water not more than four hours ago.

  “I think you’re going to do exactly that.” Ryker motioned to the ground. “Get on your knees.”

  The man smiled, an inappropriate action that sent a shrill siren of warning through him. The man was too confident.

  “I will kneel for no one.” The man shrugged with his hands still behind his head. “How is your shoulder, Captain?”

  Ryker could see the perp he’d cuffed in his peripheral vision. He’d rolled to his side, but the man wasn’t going anywhere. There was something off. His gut was screaming at him to be cautious, but he needed this man cuffed before he called in backup. “On. Your. Knees.” He held his gun on the man.

  “Ah, Captain... I know you won’t shoot me for not going to my knees.” The man shifted his legs. Ryker recognized the fighting stance immediately.

  The move was sudden and deadly. A throwing star catapulted in his direction. Only years of training in the martial arts prevented the weapon from being buried in his flesh. The moment it took to move gave the perp his opportunity, and the man came at him with caged fury. His gun was kicked from his hand and it skittered across the asphalt. Ryker dropped and swept with his leg, surprising the bastard. He caught the ankle, and the man went down, but they both popped up in fighting stances.

  The man’s eyes lit up, and he smiled again. He taunted, “Oh, yes, I do so enjoy a good fight.”

  Ryker’s arm was screaming like a bitch. He protected it and held it against his stomach. He’d beat this motherfucker with one arm. There was no other option.

  He dropped back, baiting the bastard. He feigned a backward step when the man approached. Ryker blocked a punch with his good arm and ducked a follow up right hook. Instinctively, he flattened his hand and used the curve between his thumb and pointer finger to throat punch. The fucker retreated and narrowe
d his eyes before he snarled and approached again. Ryker ducked the left cross and slammed a driving punch with his good hand into the bastard’s ribs.

  The man gasped as he dropped back. His eyes narrowed as a feral snarl curled his lip before he moved forward again. Ryker bounced on his toes, keeping his bad arm pinned to his stomach. The bastard might have had a throwing star, but he wasn’t well trained. Ryker sneered at the bastard and returned the taunt. “I love a good fight, too.” He bolted forward and elevated his good arm high over the man’s head, bringing the other man's arms up to block a blow that would never come. He kicked the bastard’s knee. The joint popped, and he went down partway.

  The perp snapped forward, sending his arm in an arc. His fist landed on Ryker’s injured shoulder. Black spots ravaged his vision and his knees gave out. He went down like a fucking rock. The bastard came at him, his rage pinpointed on Ryker’s neck, and the perp locked both hands around it.

  His reflex actions from countless hours on the training mat kicked in. Ryker bridged his back, trapped the man’s arms with his good arm, slipped his foot to the outside of the man’s leg, and flipped them both to the side. He rolled them, and with every ounce of strength he had left, he threw a left hook. The guy went limp and Ryker sat back on his heels.

  The fucker was still breathing. Thank God. He stared at the man's face. Other than seeing him tonight with Brie, he'd never seen the man before. Was he a major player in the Cartel? Had he killed Peña and Rubio? Was he the top of the organization now? So many fucking questions and not a single answer. Yet.

  Black spots still danced in front of his eyes. He blinked them clear and groaned as he stood up. He stared at the man he’d cuffed earlier. The guy wasn’t even trying to move. Smart man. He bent and picked up his weapon and then looked for his radio. Damn it, where had it gone?

  A rush of feet breached the mouth of the alley. Uniformed officers leveled their weapons and screamed for him to drop his weapon.

  Ryker hung his head and stared at the word POLICE emblazoned down his leg and across his chest of his sweats. Stupid. No, not really. The cop was being cautious, which was good. He carefully lowered the weapon to the ground and backed away from it as directed. He didn’t want to get shot again, and not following the directions a cop gave you upped that probability.