by Nikki Wild
“Captain Pierce, please… You can’t do this,” I said, trying desperately not to glance toward the decadent chairs that sat across from us. I knew full well the t22 would be transmitting this whole conversation. Just up the road, everything going on inside here was being recorded. Video, audio—it would all be in the undercover car I’d parked just on the edge of radio range. I just hoped I’d live long enough to see this bastard behind bars.
“Shut up, you stupid cunt,” one of the Irishmen said, turning and flashing me a vicious smirk. “The good captain here knows what happens to assholes who get on Mr. Wallace’s bad side. You’ll find out too, soon enough.”
I stared back at Pierce. The fire in his eyes was gone. “Is that true?” I asked, tears filling my eyes despite my attempt to control my emotions. I wondered what I saw in the man staring back. Was it regret? Fear?
He didn’t give me the pleasure of knowing. Before I could say a word he swung up the butt of the gun and smashed it over my head.
15
Darkness. Pain. Movement.
I woke to the feeling of being bounced around the roomy interior of a trunk, but the main reason I had been shaken from my slumber was the nearly destroyed spare tire that had landed on my leg. Judging from the space and the tire floating around back here, it was probably my own detective-issued Crown Vic, and that wasn’t a good thing. I’d replaced that tire just three weeks ago, never bothering to put the stupid spare back where it belonged. They’d been putting me off at the motor pool ever since…
I took a moment to think about my situation. The captain would have taken his own car, so it stood to reason there was an Irishman at the wheel. I fumbled around in the dark for a moment, trying desperately to get my bearings.
The shotgun…
My hands flashed to the roof of the trunk, feeling around for the shortened tactical shotgun that was normally strapped to the underside of the lid. Unsurprisingly, it was missing. Just one more thing to worry about. I slapped my hands up against the edges, looking for some kind of handle or release to get myself out of here, but the car was too old for such silly little safety features.
I’d very quickly started to develop a hatred of the budget cutbacks that had been imposed on the force lately. In the span of only a few moments, they’d moved up the ladder from “mildly annoying” to full-blown “rage-inducing.”
What the hell was I supposed to do? Wherever we were going the ground was definitely not paved. That meant a kill site. If I knew anything about the Irish, I was about to be buried so far out they’d find Jimmy Hoffa before they found my body. If I was going to survive, I needed to get the hell out of here.
Think, Sandra. Think!
I clawed at the edges of the carpeted interior, desperately trying to inch along through the cavernous trunk. There had to be something I could do.
My fingertips hit the edge of a small compartment along the side of the space. I wrenched it open, my hands feeling around inside.
The jack!
I unscrewed the small wing nut holding it in place, pulling it out and wedging it against the floor, aiming the upper face toward the trunk latch as I began to spin the scissoring mechanism with the tire iron. It expanded, pressing the edge against the trunk and tightening even as the car accelerated. We must have been doing fifty miles per hour or more down this dirt road.
Daylight…
A small glimmer was peeking out from the edge of the trunk lid as I continued to spin the jack, my arms burning from effort as I wrenched the tire iron around rapidly. This had to be fast. I had to pop this latch before the driver saw what was happening.
With a satisfying sound of cracking and destruction, the lid burst open, blinding me with light as I stared out into the dust cloud stretching behind us. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, my adrenaline pumping through me, seeping out like glacial water from the nodes above my kidneys. We were traveling too fast to safely jump, but there were other things I could do to stop the car.
Without even a thought, I reached to the side and shoved the battered flat spare right over the edge, finding myself suddenly slammed against the inside of the rear seats as the car fishtailed.
Guess he noticed… I thought to myself, clutching the tire iron.
The car skidded to a halt. The driver’s door opened, and there was the sound of cursing as a man came running into view, staring back at the dust trail behind us.
He didn’t even see it coming. I swung the tire iron around and screamed at the top of my lungs, the metal impacting his face and sending him sprawling. Leaping out of the trunk with pain coursing through my throbbing head, I followed up with a second blow, watching him go limp as I kicked the shotgun away from his hands.
“Motherfucker!” I screamed, my foot laying into the unconscious man.
I looked around, trying to get my bearings. We were outside of town, at least twenty miles north, judging from the mountain range in the distance. Wherever we had been going, it wouldn’t have ended well for me. I left the man sprawled out on the ground, rooting around in the glove box for the heavy duty zip ties. A few minutes later, the battered man was hog tied and left on the side of the road. It wasn’t a very friendly thing to do, but I wasn’t thinking much about this man’s personal welfare. I had a job to do.
Serve and protect.
I picked the shotgun up from the dirt and threw it across the bench seat. I would have preferred something a little more concealable, but it would have to do. I needed to get back into the city. Nathan needed me, and every moment I spent out here was a moment I knew was killing him. By now, he had to know I was missing, and if he went back to the house…
If I had any hope of stopping this, I needed to get my hands on the video before Captain Pierce realized I wasn’t quite dead yet. My survival was an advantage, but it wouldn’t last.
The engine roared as I stepped on the accelerator, spinning the old Crown Vic around and leaving the Irishman in my rearview mirror.
16
Dark thoughts filled my head as I reached down and flipped on the old police CB. Before I even had a chance to consider whether or not I should use it to call into the station, I got caught up listening to the chatter.
Captain Pierce had wasted no time. He had issued an APB on Nathaniel Hale, and men were being stationed around the city even as I battered the poor car on the uneven dirt. Squinting, I could see the highway that loomed ahead, and with it, the end of this journey.
Don’t use the radio. Don’t let the Captain know you’re alive. Get the video. Get yourself some proof, first.
As I swerved the car onto the asphalt and floored it, I wondered where Nathan was. We had scheduled a meet at a small diner on Fourth Street, but he wasn’t supposed to show up there for hours. I only hoped he would keep his damn head down until all of this was over.
There had been so many fuck-ups today already. I didn’t want him to be another one, maybe one that I couldn’t fix. There had to be a way to make things right, and I was determined to find out how to do exactly that.
The miles ticked by as I hit traffic. It was nearly rush hour. That would slow me down getting out to Nathan’s mansion, but it wasn’t about to stop me. I reached over, flipping the switch on the dash that lit up the siren and lights hidden behind the grill. Like Moses parting the red sea, cars began to move aside.
I’m coming, Nathan…
I had to ignore my fears and reservations. I needed to get to the t22 receiver from the undercover car and bring the evidence to someone I trusted. If I could get to the video, maybe I could fix this.
The off ramp was coming up fast, and I brought the car swerving down and into the upscale residential neighborhood, its houses getting more and more expensive as I approached Nathan’s mansion. Turning onto a side street, I came up quickly to the car we had parked to serve as a recording station. Inside, I knew the small receivers were doing their job, but what I needed was the USB drive they were piping the information into.
&
nbsp; Without a key, I used the butt of the shotgun to smash in one of the windows, ripping the usb drive free and returning to my car.
I was hyperventilating as I tossed the small portable hard drive into the passenger’s seat. This was it. But what exactly did it buy me? A chance, sure, but if the Captain was compromised, how high did this go? Was the commissioner involved? The mayor?
And even if I found someone to trust, what good would it do if Wallace could still strike at us from behind bars?
No. I couldn’t take this to the police. Not when it was possible that this infection ran rampant throughout the entire department.
My thoughts flashed back to the white envelope and the press. I could bring it to the Times. I still knew a person or two on the inside. They could keep me safe and break this case wide open. The FBI would be all over it within a few weeks. I could start again with a new name and a new life… WITSEC protection and the whole nine!
With Nathan at my side? We could run away together. Surely he had some money stashed offshore.
I took a deep breath as I got nearer to my car, trying to soothe my nerves. Everything was going to be okay. A short drive, a few words with a reporter, and we could let the feds sort this whole thing out. I was done.
Before I could even get to the door, I could hear it. The police radio was going crazy. Opening the door and leaping inside, I froze in place, my mind decoding the various messages cross-firing over the speakers.
Code 999, officer needs help urgently. 10-59, hostage situation exists. Swat team en route. Police surrounding a building on Elm Street. Suspect deemed armed and extremely dangerous… Officer involved shooting…
I was gasping for air in the driver’s seat, desperately trying not to pick up the radio. My hand gripped the wheel so hard it was sending pain shooting up my arm. God help me if Nathan was involved. Did the damn fool go and poke his head up? Had he killed someone? What the hell was he doing on Elm?
“Oh, Christ…” I said aloud, throwing the car into gear. Captain Pierce’s house was on Elm Street. I’d told him the Captain was after him. Was Nathan trying to settle the score? My mind reeled as I tried to make sense of it, but a moment later, everything clicked into place.
Nathan must have left someone to watch the house. He must have known Captain Pierce took me out of there. He must have thought I was as good as dead, and that made him extremely dangerous.
Without a second thought, I floored it. Lights on and siren blaring, I flew along side streets, blazing a trail toward Elm. SWAT would be out in force, and if they went into that house and found Nathaniel Hale with Captain Pierce, they wouldn’t be so sympathetic. Despite everything the Captain had done, Elm Street was his home. He had a wife and a kid.
First rule of the force: nobody messes with a cop’s family. Crooked or not, it didn’t matter. Nathan would never even have a chance to explain himself before they took his head clean off. If I could get there in time, maybe I could stop it. Speed blurred my vision as the trunk slammed open and closed with every little bump.
I’m coming, Nathan. I’m coming.
17
Breathe… Just breathe…
I tried to keep my cool as the Crown Vic swerved onto Elm, coming to a hard stop just shy of the police line. I practically leapt out, shouting at the Lieutenant to let me through as he trained a gun at me. His eyes flashed with recognition and he gave me a wave, my hand reaching back into the seat to pull the tactical shotgun out of the vehicle. I slung it over my shoulder, crossing the police line with purpose and intent.
“Detective, where the fuck have you been?” Lieutenant Daniels shouted as I stormed past him. At least one cop wasn’t in on this little scheme.
“Enjoying the roomy trunk of my cruiser,” I shouted back, walking straight past the line of police before breaking into a run.
“Detective! Stop!” Daniels shouted, but I wasn’t giving him a chance to slow me down. He was a good cop, but I had no way of knowing how far the corruption had spread. Any of these men could stop me from getting into that house, and I wasn’t about to let that happen. I needed to keep moving.
Captain Pierce’s house loomed at the edge of the cul-de-sac. The police had formed a semicircle around the front as a pair of helicopters thumped through the air overhead, blades chopping at the clouds almost as fast as my heart was beating.
I held my breath as I passed SWAT, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible while still moving at a good clip. For my sake, and Nathan’s, I hoped to God that the corruption hadn’t spread to their snipers, wherever they were. Thankfully, nobody stopped me as I stepped away from the perimeter and headed straight for the house.
I reached the captain’s stoop and racked a round into the shotgun before bursting through the door, ready to rain down lead justice on anyone who stood in my way. If Nathaniel Hale was here, I needed to understand. I needed to see him, and if necessary, I needed to stop him. Someone needed to take Captain Pierce down, but not like this. Not with murder, and not in front of his wife and kid. I half expected carnage… What I found instead was a woman tied to a chair, screaming.
“Upstairs! Oh, God, they’re upstairs!” she shrieked, frantically motioning toward the living room with her head.
Confused, I aimed the shotgun toward the stairwell. “Who’s upstairs? Who the hell is up there?” I asked her, adrenaline surging through my body. Behind me, I could hear cops shouting, their voices strained. They knew I’d breached the house. I kicked the door shut and stepped away. I wasn’t about to give anybody a clean shot.
“My husband. My son. Please, help them!” she begged me, tears streaming down her pale face.
“Who’s up there with them? Who has your husband?”
“A man.”
There wasn’t time for more explanation, and I doubted she was capable of giving a coherent one, anyway. Poor woman looked shell shocked, like she was just hanging on by a thread. I nodded to her and rushed past.
I stormed the stairwell. I couldn’t stop myself. Whatever was happening here, I was the only one who could fix this. I was the only one on the force who I knew for sure wasn’t some Irish puppet. I was the only one I could trust. It was a terrifyingly lonely feeling.
I hit the landing, careful not to let my desperation get the best of me. I couldn’t go into this half-cocked, and I was dangerously close to doing just that. I had no backup, no one to cover me if things went south. I had to be more cautious, more patient. I had to plan ahead.
Gun drawn, I edged around the corner of the hall, sweeping my gun toward the door. When no one moved, I moved quickly and quietly past the family portraits hanging on the walls, all signs of domesticity passing by me in a blur. This wasn’t a house to me anymore. This was a war zone.
I stopped in front of the door. I knew I should have waited, should have listened for who was inside, but there was only so much time I could waste. If Nathan was in there with the Captain, then I needed to intervene as soon as possible, and even if he wasn’t, the cops outside wouldn’t wait forever to come and get me.
I took a deep breath through my nose and let it out between my trembling lips. This could have been the last thing I’d ever do. Was I prepared for that? Was I ready to die today?
No, I decided. Stop thinking like that. You fight. You fight smart, and fight hard.
I nodded to myself and faced the door. Here goes…
I kicked the door wide open. It swung inward with a crash, burying its knob inside the interior wall as I raised my gun again, throwing myself over the threshold.
“Police!”
Adrenaline pulsed through my veins as the little boy came into view, cowering in a corner. The Captain was just to the left with his hands in the air, the long barrel of a handgun pointed at his head. We stared at each other in shock.
It wasn’t Nathan inside with them. It was one of the phony Irish policemen. I was hit with a sensation that was equal parts relief and cold, hard dread. I was glad it wasn’t him, but at the same tim
e, the fact that it wasn’t created a new set of problems. I could have talked Nathan down. This guy? Probably not so much.
This was not the situation I had expected to walk into.
“Drop the weapon,” I growled, training my shotgun on the Irishman. Behind him, I could see the shattered window and the shell casings scattered on the floor. He must have fired at least half a dozen rounds toward the officers on the street. Clearly, this was a man who had lost control of the situation.
That, at least, partially worked in my favor. It meant that corruption or not, the men and women on the street would be aiming at this asshole and not at me. Most of them, anyway.
“I said, drop it!” I shouted, wincing as he jumped, his finger resting firmly on the trigger.
“You should be dead,” the man offered up, glaring. He shot me his best sneer, but I could see the tremor in his hand. “You should be fucking dead. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. This isn’t my fucking fault!”
He looked scared and way too young to be up here with that weapon in his hand. He was quickly devolving, his trembling now so obvious that he was knocking the business end of his gun against the Captain’s skull.
This wasn’t good. A calm, cool, collected criminal was bad enough. But a man who thought he had no way out, who believed he had no option except to choose his own death? Those were way more dangerous, and any attempts to talk them down almost always ended in blood.
“There’s a SWAT team outside,” I began, “and every officer in a twelve-mile radius is parked down there. They’ll be coming through the door downstairs any second now. You’re not walking out of here. They won’t hesitate to kill you.” I took a breath, trying to offer him a little bit of hope in the face of overwhelming odds. “But if you drop the weapon and let me take you out of here, maybe none of this has to happen. Cooperate, and we can work out a deal. It doesn’t have to end this way.”
