Dylan smiled and held her badge up so there was no mistake about what was happening. “Good morning, Benji.”
Benji leaned back against the door and pressed his hands to his forehead. “Fuck,” he said in a low defeated tone. He pounded his temples angrily before stepping to the side to grant access to his home. “You guys coming in or what?”
Dylan had always expected Benji would be the weak link—she just didn’t think he’d fold so willingly. He almost seemed eager to be taken into custody as he dressed quickly and never shut up. He was so chatty, in fact, that Dylan felt compelled to repeatedly remind him of his rights.
Everything was going smoothly as she reread him the Miranda warning, going nice and slow to keep him at ease. But then a series of distinct pops sounded in the distance. It was gunshots, for sure, and Dylan had not one doubt they were coming from George Rivas’s house. On autopilot she slapped cuffs on Benji just as the frantic cries came over the portable.
“10-13. 10-13.”
It was Ahmed screaming out the code that an officer needed help. Unmistakably she heard him yell repeatedly, “Shots fired. We have an officer down.”
Dylan’s radio crackled to life as dispatch went over the air asking for details.
There was a ton of commotion and radio traffic, more cries for help, the sense of chaos unfolding nearby. In the distance sirens whirred and tires screeched. In a blur, Dylan let her instincts take charge. She ordered the supplemental cops from Team 4 to take control of Benji while she grabbed Shawn and Karrakas and sprinted to George Rivas’s house.
They arrived ready to draw down and take action. But Rivas was already disarmed and cuffed up. Chris Conroy hovered over him panting and sweating.
Dylan touched his arm. “Hey, Chris. Chris,” she repeated. “You okay?”
He had tunnel vision fixated on the perp beneath him.
“Where are you hurt?” she said, trying to snap him out of shock.
“It’s not me,” he said, still not making eye contact. “It’s Trish. This motherfucker shot Trish.”
Dylan spun around to see Shawn crouching next to Trish just as paramedics and uniformed cops flooded the scene and pushed him aside. In a flash, the medics had her up on a gurney and whisked her out of the house.
In a corner Ahmed was talking to Miri Hollander.
“What happened?” Dylan barged into the conversation.
Ahmed shook his head and seemed dazed. “He answered the door in a bathrobe. The lunatic blew off a few rounds before we could even pat him down.”
“No one else was wounded,” Miri said before she could ask. “Chris tackled him immediately.”
“Wow.” Dylan shook her head in disbelief. She surveyed the crime scene, which was already overloaded with emergency response. “You need us here?” she asked.
“I think it’s under control,” Hollander answered.
“Okay. I have the detectives from Team 4 transporting Benji to intake and processing,” she said as she looked over at Shawn. “We’re going to follow the ambulance to the hospital.”
“Be careful,” Miri said, granting permission in the kindest way. “We’ll be there as soon as we can. Dylan, keep us posted, okay?”
“Of course, Boss,” she said, backing away to grab Shawn.
Dylan went full lights and sirens to the hospital, but by the time they got there, Trish was already in surgery. That was good news, she supposed. And by all accounts, Trish’s wounds were likely non-life-threatening. But since they’d been directed to a waiting area loaded with uniform cops who’d arrived in support and monitored by hospital staff who hadn’t triaged Trish, it was difficult to get an accurate account of her injuries. Everything had happened so fast that Shawn couldn’t even remember seeing where she’d been hit. Dylan set him up with fresh coffee and went in search of some real answers.
She tinned her way up to the charge nurse on the surgical floor who clearly took pity on her and used her position to confirm that Officer Patricia Suarez had sustained two gunshot wounds—one to her upper arm, one to her abdomen. The nurse made no promises but swore Trish was in excellent hands.
Dylan was hyperaware of the nurse’s hand on her forearm, expressing her gratitude for the collective bravery of police officers everywhere. The mild flirtation was flattering, but only that. A year ago, she would have pursued the advances on the spot. But that was before Briana. Before love. Before her whole world changed. Before she lost everything.
Enough. She internally scolded herself for getting lost in her own drama.
But even as she walked back to the lounge, her mind drifted to Briana. Dylan couldn’t help but wonder what she would think about the takedown, about Benji’s eagerness to talk, George’s unexpected violence. Rolling in right behind those queries were the questions she had about Briana personally. Was she content working for JJ? Was she dating anyone? Did she miss her?
Pacing through the sterile hospital, she let her mind sift through better times when she and Briana were together. Those memories made her feel safe and happy. It was a therapy she indulged in every night. Escapism as a reward for surviving each day. Right now she needed a dose, so she allowed her mind to slip into her secret comfort zone. It was a self-defense mechanism but one she needed desperately.
“Oh my God, Dylan.” Out of nowhere, Briana’s soft voice was in her ear. She’d been so deep in the rabbit hole that she didn’t even see the love of her life standing in the waiting room. “Thank God you’re okay.”
For a second she thought she was dreaming. Like her fantasy life had taken over and morphed into the most unpredictable reality. But before she could make sense of what was happening, Briana’s arms were around her, her face buried in her neck. If this was some kind of PTSD delusion, Dylan never wanted it to end. She let her whole being sink into Briana as she held her close, every part of their bodies pressed together.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
Briana pulled back, and Dylan could see her anguish. “I heard there was a shooting. The report came out that it was a female plainclothes police officer. My mind went crazy. I just…I feared the worst.”
“It was Trish,” she said, even though she was sure Briana knew the details by now.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s in surgery. The nurse I spoke to said her injuries appear to be non-life-threatening.” Dylan realized they had a small audience anxious for an update. She squeezed Briana’s hand and looked into her gorgeous puffy eyes. “Will you give me a second?” she asked.
“Go.” Briana wiped her cheeks, even though her tears had already dried. “I know this is a crazy day for you. I probably shouldn’t have come. I just needed to know you were okay.”
“Wait here?” Dylan’s request came out like a plea, because it was. “I’ll be right back,” she said, hurrying over to pass along the few details she’d acquired. But damn if everyone didn’t have four thousand questions. By the time she was in the clear, Briana was gone.
Dylan scanned the crowd to see if she was anywhere, but all she saw was mayhem.
A swarm of officers buzzed the hallway waiting for word on Trish, rank hovered in their own section, humblebragging about their own FUBAR experiences on the job, and news outlets brushed the fringes, fingers crossed some rookie might break the gag order.
But in all the hustle and bustle, the commotion over the case, the shooting, the media blitz, the drama, one fact stood out.
Briana had come to find her. To make sure she was okay. In person. Okay, so she didn’t profess her love. Not in words anyway. She didn’t need to. Dylan saw it in her eyes. At least she thought she did. Dylan tried not to overthink it, but she couldn’t help it. Her mind was racing. She wanted to rush to Briana. To hold her. To kiss her. To admit she’d made a mistake. To beg for another chance.
“Hey, Dylan.” Trevor’s deep voice brought her back to the present. “How are you holding up?” he asked, thumping his hand on her shoulder.
“Yeah, I
’m okay.” She turned and hugged him good and tight, so grateful he was here. “How’d you guys make out with Paul?”
“Fine. Straightforward. He went willingly and said nothing.” Trevor nodded toward the corridor beyond the waiting area. “Nothing like this craziness.”
“Insane.”
“I heard you guys raced over to the scene when it happened.”
“Benji was in custody. Without incident,” she added. “It was a no-brainer.”
“You did the right thing,” he said with an affirmative nod. She couldn’t help but notice his affect held a mix of satisfaction and pride.
“Thanks, but things were basically over by the time we got there.”
“Not the point.”
She folded her arms and nodded in acknowledgment of his heartfelt sentiment.
“What’s the word on Trish?” he asked. “Miri said you got some intel from a doctor.”
“It was a nurse,” she corrected. “She said Trish was in surgery, but her wounds were not life-threatening. She’s gonna make it.”
He breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Thank God.” He hung his head, and Dylan wondered if he was praying.
“It’s all good, buddy.” She rubbed his shoulder for comfort.
“I know, I know.” He rolled his neck and his shoulders to release the tension. “Hey,” he said, switching gears, “I heard Benji was quite the motormouth already.”
“The guy would literally not shut up. I think he was bummed when we left.” She smiled, thinking about the bizarre turn of events and how ready Benji was to talk. “He’s gonna sing like a canary.”
Trevor laughed at the old-school expression. “The Team 4 guys said on the way to central booking he asked for two people. His lawyer and Dylan the cop.”
“Stop it.”
“I swear,” he said with a smile. “Goldenballs is going to be the key to everything.” Hot damn, if that didn’t make her feel great. “That’s all you, Dylan.” His nod was downright proud. She thought he might cry.
“Well, you trusted me right from the start. You get credit too.”
“We are going to have our hands full once the dust settles. I spoke to O’Rourke briefly. He’s already angling for a spinoff investigation.”
“That guy.” Dylan sighed at O’Rourke’s meddling, even though she was on board with the plan. “He’s always seventeen steps ahead, and not necessarily in the good way. Not everything needs to be rushed.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Trevor threw his arm across her shoulder. “They can’t all be Briana Logan, you know?” His smile was telling. “Let’s grab coffee,” he said, steering them toward the cafeteria. “I think it’s time we had a real talk about you and the good prosecutor.”
She laughed out loud at his direct approach. “My treat,” she said, not bothering to put up the semblance of a fight. She was beyond ready for this conversation.
“No argument here.” His shoes squeaked when he turned the corner into the caf. “So let me just cut right to the chase,” he said, handing her a large coffee cup. “Are you going to win her back or what?”
Dylan wondered if he’d been onto them from day one. She filled her cup and considered both his question and how the heck she was going to convince Briana she’d panicked when she called it quits. “I am,” she said, reaching for the half-and-half. “At least I’m going to try.”
“Awesome,” he said, stealing the cream from her. “Tell me what you need from me. Whether it’s scheduling changes or just someone to talk to. You don’t have to go through anything alone, you know.” As he put a lid on his coffee, he ticked his head in the direction of the waiting area, and she knew he was paying homage to their entire crew. “We’re family.”
Dylan was more than choked up, and his words gave her an idea. It was so right in front of her that she was almost mad it hadn’t come to her sooner. “That means so much to me—you don’t even know.”
“I mean it,” Trevor said. “Whatever you need, say the word.”
“There is something you might be able to help me with. Or at least I can pick your brain for options.”
“Oh?” He looked genuinely intrigued.
“Let’s see if there’s any news on Trish,” she said, leading the way back. “Then I’ll fill you in on my master plan. You know, the one I just came up with right now.”
“Better late than never,” he said.
Better. Late. Than. Never.
Chapter Thirty
Dylan found a parking spot across the street from her brownstone and paralleled in sloppily, too rushed to care about getting the alignment right. The day had taken on a life of its own, which was expected, but Jesus, she had stuff to do. Namely, track down the woman of her dreams and beg for another chance, convince her she wouldn’t panic again. From the second she’d spotted Briana in the hospital hallway, her whole future came into focus with absolute clarity. Briana was who she wanted, who she needed, and she was willing to do just about anything to make it so.
She’d even concocted a silly shtick to make her pitch cute. Between the takedown and the shooting, the aftermath, the mandatory debriefing, and the brainstorming session that followed, the day had stretched on forever. Dylan made sure she stayed sharp, but in the background her brain worked on the plan to win Briana back. On her ride home she laughed out loud when she realized while it centered mostly on professing her feelings, it also featured Sour Patch Kids, Keurig crème brûlée, possibly even a harmonica just for good measure.
How the hell she was going to acquire all those items tonight was to be determined. It was a tiny problem, but one she could solve while she was in the shower washing off the day’s grime.
At the front door, she fiddled with her keys and almost dropped them before getting it open. It was all excited energy as she bounded up the stairs to her apartment, ready to set the wheels in motion.
“Hi.”
Briana’s perfect voice hit her like a ton of bricks. For a second Dylan thought she might be hallucinating, and she stopped mid-staircase to peek back at the front door just like people did in the movies.
“I’m sorry,” Briana said from her seat on the top step. “I realize I’m ambushing you. Again.” Her voice held a fair amount of nerves, and all Dylan wanted to do was hug them away. Hold her and kiss her, assure her everything was going to be okay. They could fix this.
“Do not be sorry. It’s fine.” What was she saying? It was so much better than fine. It was perfect. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Marie let me in. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course,” she said. “Have you been here long?”
“I don’t know.” Briana checked her watch and seemed to laugh at herself. “A while.”
“I am so sorry. Work was…crazy. As you obviously know.” Dylan shook her head, still in disbelief over everything.
“How is Trish?” Briana asked.
“She’s fine. The doctors say she’ll make a full recovery.”
“Thank God.” Briana touched a hand to her forehead. “Dylan, I don’t know what I would have done if it was you.”
“I’m right here.” Dylan leaned forward and rubbed Briana’s knee delicately, their awkward staircase positioning getting in the way of real intimacy. “I’m okay.” She brushed her finger over Briana’s hand. “Hey, look at me.” She leaned slightly back. “No cuts or bruises.”
Briana reached forward and touched her stomach as though she needed proof. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“What? Not get shot?” Dylan chuckled and Briana laughed with her. She forgot how sweet it sounded even underneath the tears. “No problem.”
“I just mean…I hate that your job is always so dangerous.”
“It’s not always. Today was a fluke. You know that.”
“But, Dylan. Crazy stuff happens all the time. I hear stories. I know at least some of them are true.”
“Cops exaggerate. Grossly,” she said. “Anyway, I’m careful. I swear to you.”
/> “I know I’m being dramatic.” Briana pressed her temples. “I could have called instead of just showing up here. I suppose I’m using what happened today as an excuse, as messed up as that is.” She licked her lips, seeming a little nervous still. “I wanted to see you. Yes, to know that you’re okay. But also just to see you.”
“You never have to call. You are always welcome here. Day or night.” Dylan looked from Briana to the door of her apartment a few feet away. “Preferably both,” she said in a whisper. “Should we go inside?”
“In a minute. Let me just talk before I lose my nerve.” Briana looked so wrecked that Dylan thought she was going to cry. “Dylan, when I heard the news today, I lost it.” She covered her mouth, and Dylan saw tears on the verge of spilling over. “I can’t even imagine my life without you. I don’t want to.”
Briana had been the first person Dylan thought about when everything went down. Both during and after. Not because she envisioned her own death. Far from it. It was simply that in the face of mortality, the important things in life had a way of prioritizing on the spot. And Briana was at the very top of that list. Nothing else was even close. “Me either.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Yes.” She wished she had time to organize her thoughts. There was so much she wanted to say, and she wanted to get it right. She needed to make amends for her mistakes, own up to her denial of their conflict over the case and her reluctance to discuss options for dealing with it for so long. And she needed to accept her role in the sequence of events that unfolded as a result. But right now, she just needed to tell Briana how she felt. “I love you. So, so much.”
“I love you too, Dylan.”
Even though she knew it, hearing Briana say the words made her relax.
“I made a huge mistake. I panicked.” It was the absolute truth, and she planned on showing Briana, but for now she hoped her words sufficed. “I was selfish and so scared of losing you that I eliminated us as an option. It was stupid.”
“It was human.” Briana rubbed her arm softly, and Dylan felt it all over. “But you weren’t going to lose me. I’m not going to let that happen. I need you in my life. It’s that simple.”
Bulletproof Page 26
