“Yes,” I said firmly. “I’d like that.”
“Excellent. We’ll be running it in tomorrow’s paper. Please be on the lookout for it.” Albert explained.
After a few more pleasantries, we hung up, and I pulled into the Newman’s driveway. I sighed when I looked at the clock and realized I was still fifteen minutes earlier than our scheduled appointment.
The Newman’s were a new case. The case itself was fairly routine. Child abuse wasn’t abnormal in today’s society. What was abnormal was for it to be grandparents accused of doing the abuse. Normally, it was the parents being accused and then the children would be relocated with their maternal or paternal grandparents if able.
The Newman’s case was of two children, ages seven months, and five, reportedly showing up to daycare with unexplained bruises. The daycare official was the one to contact child protective services, and I was called out to the Newman’s house to do an unscheduled well check.
Forgetting that I was waiting for James’ call, I got out of the car, grabbing my briefcase on the way, and walked swiftly to the front walk. After several knocks, the door was cracked open, and a grizzly voice emerged.
“What you want?” The man asked.
“Hello,” I said to the door. “I’m Shiloh Mackenzie with child protective services. May I come in?” I asked authoritatively.
“No.” He snapped, and then slammed the door in my face.
I sighed.
Normally, right about now, I would call the police to ask for assistance, but for some reason, my inner warning meter had taken a detour, and I didn’t use the opportunity to call for assistance like I should have. Instead, I knocked again.
When the door opened this time, I got a face full of shotgun.
“Get inside. Now.” The old man demanded as he flung the door open wide.
Not knowing what else to do, I woodenly followed his instructions. When I crossed the threshold, the first thing I saw was the massive amount of firearms spaced sporadically throughout the house. In Texas, it’s normal for people to have firearms.
What’s not normal is for them to have that many. I counted over sixty guns in crevices, on the couch, hanging on the walls, propped up in corners, laying over every available surface, and stuffed in between couch cushions.
And those were just the ones I could see.
Then there were the bullets. And shot gun shells. All shapes, sizes, and colors. I wasn’t a gun expert by any means, but I knew that this wasn’t normal. For someone with this type of collection, I would think that they would have them in a safe, or up high, out of the reach of small children.
Then horror struck me as I saw the baby in the corner. She was sleeping curled up in a ball, chained to the goddamn wall like an animal.
My brain raced as I came up with, then immediately omitted ways of how to extract myself from this situation alive. I knew one thing for sure- there was no way in hell I was leaving the children here on their own. They were coming with me. No matter what.
“Sit down in the corner by the baby.” Mr. Newman, I assumed, ordered.
I followed his directions, and maneuvered myself to where the baby was behind my body, just in case.
“Frank!” An older woman’s voice screeched from the room beyond this one. “Who was at the door?”
“CPS bitch!” He yelled back.
“What?” She screeched again.
“CPS bitch!” He yelled back again.
“What’d she want?” She continued.
“Nothing.” He answered.
“Okay.” She confirmed. “What’ja want for supper?”
“Got any of that sausage shit?”
“Yeah.”
“That.”
“Okay.”
The yelling finally stopped when a child’s voice yelled from the same direction. “Gram, I gotta pee. Let me out.”
“Frank!”
The name was a demand, and the old man looked studied me, before yelling back. “I’m busy. Get off ya’ fat ass and open the closet yourself.”
Oh, my God. The five year old was in a closet? What kind of fucked up place was this?
My mind circled around scenario after scenario, and not one single idea came to mind. That is until the phone in my pocket started pulsating like a heartbeat, indicating that James was calling.
Discreetly lifting my hand up to the hands free device on my ear, I pressed the button and let my hands fall back into my lap. Frank didn’t move, nor show any suspiciousness, so I continued to stay still, and listened.
“Shiloh?” James asked.
Waiting a few beats, he tried again.
“Hello? Shiloh? Are you there?” He asked, anxiousness becoming quite apparent in his voice.
With still no answer, he withdrew the phone away from him, if the sound of static and fumbling sounds were anything to go by.
“She not there?” A man asked on the other end.
It took me a few moments, but I finally placed the owner of the voice. Downy. James must be at work. Good.
“It says I’m connected. Hang on.” He requested.
“Mr. Newman, what are you going to do to me?” I asked, trying my hardest to hide the quiver of fear in my voice.
***
James
“Who’re you calling?” Downy asked from the desk next to mine.
It was my first day back at work in two weeks, and it showed. My eyes were heavy from what little sleep I managed to catch before being called out for a SWAT run at 3 AM. My leg throbbed when I moved quickly, but I was happy to be back. In the short time I’d worked with Luke and Downy, I realized how much I missed the team camaraderie.
Sure, I had the same team aspect while working at Free, but I didn’t get that adrenaline rush when working on a bike that I got when I was running a call. When my body was behind that scope. When my finger pulled the trigger. Free would forever be my home, but I had another team now that I trusted almost as much as my old team.
“Shiloh. I need her to go pick up Janie for her doctor’s appointment this afternoon.” I said while punching in the numbers on my desk phone.
The phone rang once before she picked up, but she never said hello.
“Hello?” I said into the phone.
No answer.
“Hello? Shiloh? Are you there?” I tried again.
Still no answer.
“She not there?” Downy asked.
Moving the phone away from my face, I looked at the handset to make sure I was connected. I was. Putting the headset back up to my face.
“It says it’s connected.” I said, apprehension, and a lifetime of training, started to make me aware of the odd nuances. Like the fact that if I listened really close, I could just make out the sound of a clock ticking in the background of the phone. The ding ding of a game show on a television.
“It says I’m connected. Hang on.” I said, holding up my finger.
That was when I heard Shiloh speak.
“Mr. Newman, what are you going to do to me?” Her voice quivered in fear.
“Anything I want to, girl. Now shut up and let me think. Don’t even think about moving either, or I’ll blow that pretty little face of yours off.” A man growled.
My hands were moving before I even contemplated my actions. Downy watched as I signaled to him that there was an unknown hostage situation. He confirmed he understood with a nod, and started making the appropriate calls.
The next ten minutes sailed by in a flurry of action. In less than four minutes, the entire SWAT team was in my office. Gear on. Guns loaded. The phone was now on speakerphone, and we listened as Shiloh gave everything she could think of to us.
“Mr. Newman, isn’t there a homeowner’s agreement for the mobile home park of Shady Lane that says all firearms have to be stored properly in a fireproof container?” Shiloh asked, sounding bored.
“Sure. Not that I really give a shit about any home
owner’s association. They already make me mow my freakin lawn, and keep it at a regulation one-inch height. They can suck my hairy ball sack if they think they can control what I do with my guns.”
With that information, we were on the move. I left the speakerphone where it was, and our information specialist, John Atoms, took over where I left off.
Downy handed me my rifle case as we walked out of the room and to the truck. The truck was a ton and a half pound beast that could carry nine men and their gear safely. It was an armored vehicle on steroids that could hold its own. Even against a fucking tank. It had the motor of a Mack truck, and ran up to speeds near one hundred and fifty miles an hour, without even red lining it.
Terror started to course through my veins. She’d said guns. Not that one wasn’t enough to accomplish the act of killing, but multiple meant he could potentially hold a siege, and never stop until he ran out of ammo. That could take weeks. Shiloh didn’t have weeks. She was living on borrowed time already.
Then the terror was accompanied by white hot rage. What kind of man would hold a woman hostage? For Shiloh to be there in the first place, it also meant that there were children involved. Which only added to the complications that were already arising.
“Someone needs to contact Shiloh’s boss, Lillian McBride. See if they can drag up any information...” I started to say before Luke interrupted. “I already did that.”
I nodded. My mind was flying in a dozen different directions. What kind of structure were we looking at? How many guns did he have? What were the access points? How many children were in the building? Every single aspect of how it could go wrong. What do if a certain situation arose and how to get Shiloh out with her life still intact.
“We’re here.” Luke’s voice jarred me out of my head, and I focused.
A calm settled over me, and I no longer felt the emotions. They were buried deep, pushed inside a tiny closet in my mind, where they would stay for the duration of the altercation. If they didn’t, I couldn’t perform my job. And that was not acceptable.
I wasn’t surprised in the least to find one of Silas’ MC members at the end of the street. He was surprised to see the armored truck, though. Which meant he’d been following Shiloh, watching the surroundings, but was completely unaware of what was going on inside the house itself.
Which was sloppy.
I fully expected the man to be chastised within the next few minutes, but I wouldn’t be sparing him the time. He’d figure out that he fucked up here shortly. Then I’d have Sam and Sebastian here within the next ten minutes. Not that I minded in the least. Especially Sam. I trusted him with my life, and felt the same way with Shiloh’s life as well.
When we pulled up about four houses down from the suspect’s house, we were met with two other police officers. None other than Detective Pierson Howell, and his junior detective that couldn’t kiss anymore ass even if he tried, were lead on the scene. Oh, joy!
They were both standing, leaning against their unmarked, dressed in wrinkled button down shirts, wrinkled khaki slacks, and ugly ties that had long since been loosened from their necks. They could’ve been twins if you didn’t count the age difference between the two. Both had short, stylish brown hair. The same scrawny build, and dark brown eyes.
As we pulled up alongside them, they straightened, and scowled.
“Guess we get tweetle dee and tweetle dumb for first on’s. Joy to the world.” Luke drawled sarcastically.
First on’s were known as first to arrive on scene. How they managed to finagle that, I didn’t know. Normally they were trying to ruin innocent people lives who worked hard for a living. Why they were here, when any other uniform in a police car would’ve sufficed was beyond me.
We all made our way out of the armored truck, and stood to the side, surveying the scene. Luke, who was now head of the SWAT department, stopped to speak with Detective Howell.
“Anybody come in or out since you arrived?” Luke asked Howell.
I ignored the conversation, and scoured the nearby area for the best place to set up my rifle. Normally, when choosing spot to use your sniper rifle, you’d choose a place that was high up, with a basic amount of cover.
There was nothing of the sort here. Only rows and rows of mobile homes. Not even a damn tree in sight.
“Looks like you’ll be on a roof.” Downy said from my left.
I nodded, but didn’t say anything else, still surveying. My eyes caught on Shiloh’s company vehicle. The door that was slammed shut on my emotions threatened to burst open, but my strength won out, and I was able to keep it firmly closed. Good thing, too. I didn’t want to be responsible for the death of my girlfriend, that’s why I wasn’t taking any lead on this op. My emotions were too close to the surface. I would never be able to make a hard decision that could potentially harm Shiloh, and I wouldn’t.
“Luke!” Michael, another member of the SWAT team called from the side of the truck. “Lillian McBride is on the phone. She says there are two children in the household. Ten months and five years. Both boys.” Michaels said.
“Who has the blueprints?” Luke called back.
“I do.” Detective Howell said mildly, as if he had all the time in the world to just relax and wait.
My eyes turned hard when Luke held out his hand for them, and the detective shook his head. “No. I think you better tell me what you’re doing here first, then I’ll show you the blue prints.”
“Detective,” Luke growled. “I can’t tell you a goddamn thing if I don’t know the layout of the house. It has a lot to do with what’s chosen, and how we go about doing our job.”
Knowing that he had it under control, I made my way across the street, climbed up the closest tree to the house on the corner lot, and stepped gingerly onto the roof of the mobile home. From there, I laid out my rifle case, popped the sides loose, and started to assemble my rifle.
Even if it was department issued, it was one hell of a rifle. I’d sighted the bolt action M24 the day I’d been issued it. It’s checked for precision twice a week, and cleaned after each use. Although it didn’t have the same specs as my own rifle, it suited the job that it was designed for, and was an incredibly reliable weapon.
Laying down flat on the roof, I brought the scope up to my face, and reviewed the area with a practiced hand.
“Wind speed is ten miles an hour to the Southeast. Distance is 54.86 meters. Temperature is seventy eight degrees.” Michael said from beside me.
Making the necessary adjustments on my scope, I continued to watch. The blinds were drawn, but I could just make out a man crossing back and forth from one side of the living room to the other through a part in the pulled blinds.
“Subject one in the living room. I can tell it’s a man, but that’s it.” I called into my mic.
“Clear shot?” Luke rasped.
“Affirmative.” I confirmed.
“Stand by.”
Downy’s voice came over the line. “Movement in the backyard.”
“It’s the boy.” Diablo, another member of the team confirmed.
“Can you get him?” Luke asked.
“Affirmative, stand by.” Diablo acquiesced.
Moments turned into a minute. A minute turned into minutes, and just as we all started to get anxious, Diablo came back on the line.
“Got him.”
I let out a breath. One down, two to go.
The distant sound of loud pipes coming closer and closer confirmed that Sam did, indeed, get appraised of the situation. And by the sound of it, there was the rest of the team with him as well.
Once the sound died about half a mile away, I waited, eyes never wavering, for the next set of instructions.
“The negotiator is twenty five out.” Luke said.
Fuck.
My thought was seconded by nearly the entire team, minus Luke. Which wasn’t surprising. We depended on the nearest town, Longview’s, hostage negotiator. Our
town was just too small to warrant such an expense. When Luke had come on four years ago, he’d started working on the captain to start a SWAT team of his own instead of relying on Longview’s SWAT team as well. He’d agreed, but some things, such as a negotiator of our own, just cost too much for such a small city.
“Guess we’re in for a wait, boys.” Luke commanded.
***
Shiloh
“I’ve got her here, sir.” Frank said into the telephone at his ear.
The baby behind me was still just as silent as he’d been when I was secreted to the corner over thirty minutes before. I could tell by placing my hand on the child’s chest that he was breathing, and I wondered if he’d been given something to make him sleep. It wasn’t normal for a child to sleep this much in the middle of the day. Nor was it normal for the child not to stir when I’d purposefully tried to wake him when Frank had left the room only moments before.
“No, sir. She’s alone.” Frank said, nodding his head.
He drew up to the window, and drew one of the blinds down. Not being able to get a good view, he pulled on the cord, and raised the blinds up to their highest height. Once he looked around, he withdrew from the window, leaving the blinds open as he went.
“Frank! The boy went outside.” Mrs. Newman rasped from the front room.
My nose was itching, and I could smell the distinct smell of pot wafting from the direction of the voice. Just wonderful. That’s exactly what I needed. A stoned old woman in the back room, and a psychotic old man in the front. What the fuck?
“Leave him. He’s feeding that mutt in the backyard like he was told to do on his next shitter break.” Frank bellowed back before returning to his phone conversation.
Good. I knew that meant that the boy would be in safe hands. I knew that James was out there. The man that was now on the other end of the line was relaying what was going on to me. Talking to me, reassuring me. Which meant a whole lot. I’d be a nervous wreck right now without him. When I got out of here, I’d give him a kiss smack on the lips.
Well, maybe not on the lips, but he’d for sure be getting a hug.
“She’s five ten, one hundred and fifteen pounds. Brown hair. Wavy. Good boobs. Nice hand full. Pasty white skin. Her legs look a little chunky. Ass is nice and round.” Franks said from across the room.
Texas Tornado (Freebirds Book 5) Page 20
