by Lynette Mae
THE EMERGENCY TONE sounded. “All units, we have a report of shots fired in the area of Fifteenth and Hillsborough. Passerby says officers have been hit. All units respond priority one.”
Devon switched her radio to the frequency for that sector, spun her car around, and headed east. She checked the clock on her dash. The incident was in Jessie’s assigned area, but her shift had ended thirty minutes ago. Normally, Devon would call to let Jessie know that she’d be late, but there wasn’t time right now. She hit her siren and punched the gas, already shifting into tactical mode and preparing for whatever job needed doing.
Mac’s voice came over the radio. “Air One, enroute. We’ll be overhead in about thirty seconds.” Mac was flying tonight and from the critical sound of the call, her unflappable calm would be needed.
Devon’s zone in West Tampa was several minutes away, even at top speeds. The radio traffic was at a fever pitch with officers tersely advising en route status from every corner of the city. Dispatchers continued to attempt contact with the officers on the traffic stop. No response.
Devon wondered why no one was on scene yet. The helicopter zoomed overhead on an eastward trajectory. Mac would be able to see more of what was happening than ground units. Her update would be crucial. Devon hoped fervently that there would be a reasonable explanation for it all and soon Mac would say she had located the officers and they were okay.
“Oscar Three? Do I have Oscar Three on frequency?” The dispatcher again called in vain.
Dread seeped heavily into Devon’s chest. She pushed her car to the point where her air conditioner shut down, a sure sign that she was approaching top speed. A car slammed on its brakes directly in front of her, apparently scared by the emergency lights. Her frustration exploded. “Get out of the goddamned way!” she screamed. She jerked the wheel in an evasive maneuver and swerved around the citizen’s car into the oncoming traffic lane before veering back to her side of the road. Horns blared as traffic approached from the opposite direction. Devon ignored the indignant drivers in her wake, thankful to have open road ahead of her.
Devon heard Mac’s voice. “I’m overhead. What was the description of the suspect vehicle again?”
“Air One,” the dispatcher said, “the first unit called out a blue Ford Taurus two-door with a white male driver.”
“Have officers expedite.” The strain in Mac’s voice made Devon uneasy. “I see two police vehicles and no suspect vehicle.” After a pause, she snapped, “Radio, I have one officer down. Send an ambulance.”
Devon pushed her cruiser even harder. The news of a downed officer settled like a gut punch. Several tense seconds later, a flurry of transmissions poured from her radio. One voice yelled, “Ten thirty-three. We need an ambulance! Tell fire rescue an officer’s been shot. Starting CPR.”
The ten thirty-three call was reserved for the direst of emergencies involving officers so Devon knew the situation was deteriorating by the moment. Chaos ensued as panicked officers attempted to talk at once.
“Oscar One,” the area supervisor called, “we can’t locate the second officer. Air One, can you see anything?” The sergeant’s voice was steady, but the agony beneath the surface was heart wrenching. Devon saw the glow of blue and red lighting up the darkness ahead. Almost there.
Mac took control from above. “Have units seal off this block. We’ll check the entire area with the infrared camera.”
“Ten four, Air One.”
Devon arrived as Mac swung the helicopter in a wide arc. The observer worked the spotlight, illuminating the area below with wide shafts of light. Devon prayed silently that they’d locate the second officer nearby. The officer had probably chased the shooter, but the fact that he or she wasn’t transmitting was a bad sign. She tried to ignore the combined implications of an absent officer and a missing suspect vehicle.
Devon worked to keep her thoughts focused. If there were any indication about a possible location for the shooter, SWAT would be deployed. But first they had to secure this scene and locate the second officer. She needed to find the supervisor on scene to begin coordinating tasks.
The entire four-lane road was awash in flashing red, blue, and white as she entered the area, pulling up onto the sidewalk to get as close as possible. She exited her vehicle and ducked under the crime scene tape, moving quickly to where she Steph stood about fifteen yards away.
“All units be advised,” Oscar One’s voice was now painfully strained, “the suspect vehicle is a blue Ford two-door. White male suspect is armed and dangerous. One officer is down, and evidence at the scene indicates the missing officer may be shot as well. Use extreme caution. Air One, do you see anything?”
“Negative. We’ve checked the immediate area. No signs of the vehicle or officer. We’re widening the search area.”
“The police unit here is not one of mine,” the sergeant said. “Car number three twenty-five. Radio, I need to know what officer drives that unit.”
“Kilbride is the operator for that unit,” the dispatcher said.
The sound of Jessie’s name sent a sheet of ice slicing through Devon’s gut. A roaring sound started in her ears and grew to a crescendo inside her skull. “They’re wrong,” a desperate voice screamed in her head. She tried to tell herself it must be a mistake. With the sound of the car number reverberating in her head, Devon suddenly felt oddly detached from other officers milling around the scene, as though she were watching it all from a distance.
Stephanie was talking to the sergeant. As she hurried toward them, Devon fought the rising terror within. Surely there was some rational explanation for all of this. Steph looked up and met Devon’s panicked eyes, communicating her worst fear. Still, she grasped for a thread of hope. “Steph?”
Devon looked from her friend to the sergeant. Seeing Jessie’s car number on the vehicle behind them made her stomach twist. Paramedics were loading up the injured officer, one of them straddling the patient on the gurney, steadily giving chest compressions, while another periodically squeezed the ambo bag, administering air. Her composure slipped when she caught sight of the second large bloodstain on the sidewalk behind Steph. Two shell casings stuck out in the puddle of red.
Her legs felt like jelly and her knees threatened to buckle. She pulled in a deep breath and fought to remain standing.
“Corporal, I need you to get out of my crime scene.” The sergeant issued the direction without emotion.
Devon’s temper flared. “I’m not leaving. Tell me what the hell happened here.” Her voice shook with the effort to control her temper. She tried not to look at the blood. Jessie’s blood. The thought of Jessie bleeding from a bullet wound brought bile to the back of her throat.
Steph took her by the arm to steer her from the sight and effectively interrupt the confrontation with the sergeant. “Come with me.”
Devon jerked her arm away. “No! I need to know what’s going on.” The helicopter swung back around in a widening arc and the spotlight bathed the scene in a surreal glow.
Stephanie pointed skyward. “Mac will find her.”
“It’s him, Steph. I know it.”
Stephanie’s lips compressed into a thin line but she said nothing.
“Air One to Oscar One.” Mac’s normally steady voice had an edge to it that fueled Devon’s growing anxiety.
“Oscar One, go ahead.”
“Sarge, I’m flying toward the interstate to see if we come up with anything.”
Just then the dispatcher announced, “Units on scene of the shooting be advised a citizen just called in a reported reckless vehicle eastbound on I-4. The caller said a blue car sideswiped him on the onramp. He advised he saw a white male driving.”
“Air One I’m on the way,” Mac confirmed.
A black sedan pulled up outside the yellow tape, across from where Devon and Stephanie stood. Kelsey Sinclair jumped out and hurried over to the sergeant. Devon half ran in her direction. If Kelsey had news, she wanted to know. They were losing precio
us time if Jessie was shot and Honeycutt had her—Devon had to push the thought away or risk losing her sanity.
Devon missed the first part of what Kelsey was saying. “…and since that hit and run vehicle matches Honeycutt’s and he’s eastbound on I-4 we may have the location he’s heading to.
Honeycutt’s print was lifted at the Orlando murder scene. It’s the only lead we’ve got right now. We’ve developed enough probable cause to write a search warrant for the property referenced in our case. I was giving Orlando a couple of days to tie their case in as well. In light of tonight’s developments—” She glanced over her shoulder at Devon. “I’ll get the warrant pushed through tonight. But, I’ve gotta wait for more troops and we’ll have to coordinate this with Orange County. We’re waiting on the SWAT commander’s instructions.”
The sergeant said, “Give me the information on the suspect and the location so that I can update the alert.”
Kelsey started to hand over the page as requested, but Devon stepped in between her and the sergeant. She had regained some composure and was thinking more clearly.
“James, what the fuck are you doing?” the sergeant barked at her. “Didn’t I tell you to get the hell out of my crime scene?”
“You can’t place that alert.” Devon worked not to shout at him.
“The hell I can’t. We need the information out there in case an officer runs across this son of a bitch.”
“That son of a bitch has a police radio. He can hear everything you put out,” she seethed. “If he knows we’re coming, you’ll be taking away any chance of catching him or finding that officer. SWAT has to handle this.” She stood vibrating with rage.
“I don’t have time for your SWAT team super cop shit right now. I have an officer missing and very likely her life is in danger, so—”
“That officer is my—” Devon clamped her jaw shut painfully and finished through gritted teeth. “So help me, if you do anything to put her in any more danger, I will fucking—”
“Devon! Stop!” Kelsey grabbed Devon by the front of the shirt and shook her. When she was certain Devon was controlled, she addressed the sergeant again. “Corporal James is right. I’m not giving out that information over the main radio. You can call my lieutenant, if you want, but I think he’ll see it our way. We’ll wait for the SWAT commander.”
The sergeant stomped over to the crime scene tech who was taking photographs. Kelsey turned to Devon. “Now you listen.” She pointed her finger at Devon menacingly. “Do not do anything stupid. You hear me?”
Devon nodded.
Kelsey pulled her radio off her belt, “Air One, switch to a secure frequency.”
“Going to TAC four,” Mac said.
Kelsey Sinclair stepped away from Devon to relay the likely location of Honeycutt’s flight. Apparently, she forgot that as a SWAT team member, Devon had the secure frequencies on her own radio. Devon was already marching back to her car as she listened to Mac and Kelsey’s conversation.
“Air One, the address is going to be 3423 Red Grange Road in Zellwood, suspect Vincent Honeycutt.”
Mac growled, “Ten four, Sinclair, I’m enroute. Get SWAT moving on this. And have somebody call Orange County’s air unit. We’ll probably need a second chopper, and I’ll need a place to refuel. We’ll probably be there a while. This guy isn’t going to give up without a fight.”
“Yeah, I know. Keep me posted, McKinley.”
“Sinclair?” Mac called. “How’s Devon doing?”
“She’s shaken, but hanging in there.”
“Good. Keep an eye on her. Air One out.”
Each minute that slipped by was more dangerous. Devon couldn’t stand by and wait for the bureaucratic interagency plans to inch forward while Jessie’s life was at stake. Devon rocketed past Kelsey out of the crime scene, lights blazing and sirens blaring. She appreciated her friend’s concern, but her singular focus was getting to Jessie. Nothing else mattered.
“Goddamn it!” she heard Kelsey yell on the secure channel. “Devon, don’t do this!”
Devon was already launching from the onramp onto the interstate, screaming past cars that were doing seventy-plus and reducing road signs to a blur.
“Devon! Get back here.” This time, it was more of a plea.
“Sorry, Kelsey, can’t do that,” she said aloud and ignored the request.
A short time later, Nate’s voice transmitted with an urgency that got Devon’s attention. “TAC Nine?” He called her by her SWAT call sign. “Devon, are you there? If you can hear me, go to SWAT Sixteen.” She knew the signal. Whenever she and Nate wanted to keep their transmission private, they said sixteen. The signal meant, “one minute on SWAT six.”
“TAC Two to TAC Nine.”
As she shot down the interstate Devon listened, but did not respond.
“Give me your location,” Nate demanded. “I know you hear me.”
“Sorry, TAC Two, I’m getting interference, your transmission is breaking up.” She said it as genuinely as she could, knowing he wouldn’t believe her.
“Damn it, you’re really pissing me off.” His voice was hard now. “I’m putting a team together to take care of this the right way, Devon. You better decide if you want to be part of the team taking him down or be detained immediately when we get there. I’ll cuff you myself, I swear it.”
Devon kept driving.
“Devon. Listen to me. You know this is personal for me too. Jessie’s important to me.” The edge of pain in his appeal made Devon wince when he said Jessie’s name. “Please, Devon. You and I can get him. Let me help.”
Devon tamped down the rage for a moment, forcing herself to think professionally. What would she do as a team leader? He was right. She did need his help. She had to focus on and utilize her training. The objective was to neutralize the threat and secure the hostage.
Jessie.
Her heart ached. Maybe doing this right was Jessie’s only chance. If she went storming in by herself, she might put Jessie in more danger. Plus, it was always better to outnumber an adversary. Nate could get Jessie out while she took care of Honeycutt.
She had to admit to herself that she didn’t even know where she was going. She drew several deep breaths to clear her head and pulled onto the shoulder of the interstate.
“Sign says I’m at the Orange County Line. Can you meet me here?” she asked.
“I’m already on the way, bud. So are the rest of the guys. This fucker is all ours tonight. I’ll be at your location in less than fifteen minutes. Stay put.”
FIFTEEN MINUTES MIGHT as well have been an eternity. Thoughts of Jessie, hurt and bleeding, taunted her in an endless mind loop. How the hell did she end up on that traffic stop? She figured it had to be the same way she’d come to be on Devon’s foot pursuit earlier in the shift. Jessie was one of those cops who had “it,” that intangible something that set her apart from the pack. Whenever something was going on, cops like Jessie were there as if by some sixth sense.
But she should have been home by the time that stop was made. Why the hell was she still at work? Did it really matter now? No.
Devon tried to shift her focus to the radio traffic to get a sense of what the response plan was, but her internal voice ridiculed her for being so inept at protecting Jessie. The image of the blood-soaked sidewalk tore at her heart. She pulled her visor down and stared at the picture of Jessie. Reaching up to touch the photo lightly, she prayed that Jessie could feel her.
I’m coming, Jess.
Was it really only the night before when Jessie had rescued her from the latest of her nightmares? She’d awakened, bathed in sweat, and trembling. Jessie pulled Devon into her arms protectively, as she had done before, calming and easing her fears with the power of her love.
Now, Jessie needed Devon and she would not fail her.
“Listen to me.” She didn’t know if she was talking to God or the devil, and she didn’t much care. “She has to be okay. Let us find her tonight, and then if you have
to have someone, take me. Please.” Devon checked her watch: two-thirty a.m. They’d already lost an hour. She closed her eyes and dropped her head back against the seat.
She opened her eyes and watched the cars zip by, wishing Nate would appear. Then she thought he might call. She pulled her mobile phone out of the glove box. The message light was blinking. She dialed up the voicemail and the recording said she had two messages. The automated messenger indicated that the first came in at eleven thirty two p.m.
“Devon. Hey, it’s Jillian. Sorry to call so late, but I wanted to tell you what we’ve got. A car was stolen from the auto body shop the night of the murder. We didn’t know that at the time. A guy showed up this afternoon to pick up his car, and when he found the shop closed up, he eventually called us. The stolen car is a blue Ford Taurus. I’d give you the tag number, but that was found in the dumpster at the back of the business. One print lifted from the tag is Junior’s. We sent out an alert for the vehicle, but without the tag number, you know it’ll be harder to find. Anyway, please be careful and keep an eye out for the car, okay? Call me when you get this.”
The second message had come in a little over an hour ago.
“Hi babe. I’m getting out a little late tonight, but I’m on my way home now. Hope you’re being careful. I’ll see you at home in a while. Love you.”
Devon pressed the phone against her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut against the tears. Jessie must have stopped to back up that officer right after making the call. She blew out a breath and stared at the phone. Sitting here like a blubbering idiot was not going to help Jessie. Devon swiped at the tears on her face and dialed Jillian’s number.
“Hi, it’s Jillian. Leave your name and number and I’ll call you back.”
Devon thought about hanging up, but the need to reach out to someone won out. “Jill, it’s me.” Her voice cracked and she sucked in a deep breath. “Call me back, okay? I really need to talk to you.” She disconnected and stared out into the darkness, the futility of Jillian’s message arriving too late settling heavily in her chest. Had Jessie and the other officer gotten the alert on the Taurus before the stop? Was that what made the wounded officer stop the car in the first place?
