Fortunately, the passenger moved and Derek had a clear shot. A second pull on the trigger and the threat was over. The officer dove out of sight, hopefully appreciating how stupid it was to get into the line of fire from a sniper. Idiot.
Derek lowered his rifle and swiped a hand across his eyes. Two lives. He’d ended two lives. Two more faces he’d see in his dreams. But they’d made their choices, and if Derek hadn’t made his, innocents would be dead instead of the two men bent on destruction.
And now . . .
“Chloe,” he whispered.
2
Chloe rolled to her feet, her weapon still clutched in her hand. The bullet had missed her, but not by much. As soon as she’d seen the weapon turn her way, she nose-dived into the concrete onto the walkway that bordered the road.
Two cracks later and the truck came to a grinding stop.
“Shooter’s down! Shooter’s down!” She heard something about SWAT and figured one of them had ended the situation. Probably Derek—or one of his unit members.
Officers descended on the truck and Chloe went back to her prisoner who’d been dragged a couple more feet but hadn’t suffered any damage other than a possible coronary from his fear.
Hank whined, then shifted at her side. “What is it, boy?”
He paced, sniffed, paced some more. Then he sat and looked at her. He smelled drugs in the trailer.
“Good boy,” she said. “We’ll take care of that in a few minutes.” She shifted her attention to the man cuffed to the truck and lasered him with a look. “Stay put. If you try to get loose or get away, Hank will stop you again, you understand?”
His eyes shifted to the animal.
“Hank, bewaken.” She pointed to Stupid Man. At the Dutch command to stand guard, Hank’s ears went up and his eyes locked on the man.
Stupid Man jerked and Hank growled.
Panic blossomed on his face and Chloe figured he wouldn’t be going anywhere. She tried the door to the trailer and found it locked.
Losing patience, she grabbed the prisoner by his shirt and hauled him closer. “Where’s the key?”
He snarled.
“Hank, attack!”
The handcuffed man’s snarl turned to terror. “No, no, no, no, no.”
“The key!”
“In-in my front left pocket.”
Chloe glanced at Hank as she dug the key from the man’s pocket. He sat, watchful, but definitely not in attack mode. “He only understands the word ‘attack’ if I say it in Dutch.”
His face flushed and his eyes hardened with hate and pure rage. It was a good thing his hands were out of commission.
Chloe opened the door. “Hank, find the dope!”
“There’s no dope in there,” he said.
“Hank says there is.” She turned to the officer approaching. “Get him out of here, please.”
“With pleasure.”
“Chloe!”
She turned. Derek. “Hey.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
He hugged her. “I could see the guy pointing the gun at you through the window. I saw him pull the trigger and then you dropped.”
“I ducked when I realized he had a gun and I didn’t have time to aim and fire. The bullet missed.”
“Good. Good job.”
Hank barked. Once. Twice.
“Derek?”
“Yeah?”
“I need you to let me go,” she mumbled into his chest. “I need to breathe and let Hank work. He’s getting restless.”
Derek gave her another bone-crunching squeeze. “I thought he shot you, Chloe.” His hoarse voice resonated within her. He’d had a scare.
Frankly, so had she. The bullet had whizzed past her cheek, coming as close as it could possibly come without touching her. Her adrenaline still gushed. “I’m fine. I promise.” She’d keep the details to herself of how close to death she’d come. She didn’t want to think about it or talk about it. It was over and she was alive, she’d focus on that—at least for now.
“I know.”
He finally released her, and she realized the others were waiting for her to take the lead. Chloe cleared her throat and let Derek help her into the back of the trailer. Hank hopped up beside her. It was packed floor to ceiling with furniture. Only a small path led down its center.
Hank twitched and shifted, anxious to get to work.
“Waiting on me, huh, boy? All right, then, find the dope.”
He nosed the floor, from back to front, came back, circled, then sat. “Hank’s got a hit.”
“What’s he got?” Derek asked.
“There are drugs in here, just not sure—” She tapped the floor. “Wait a minute.” She rapped again. “Hear that?”
“It’s hollow.”
“We’ve got a fake floor here.”
“Let’s get this furniture unloaded.”
“What about the guys in the cab?” she asked.
Derek scowled. “Not a problem any longer.”
“Did they hurt anyone?”
“Winged a kid who’ll be fine with a cool scar later and got Ralph in the leg. But they didn’t kill anyone.” Ralph Jamison was due to retire in less than a month and was one of Chloe’s favorite people.
“Will Ralph be okay?” she asked.
“Yes. The bullet was through and through and didn’t hit anything too vital. Paramedics are working on him now.”
Chloe blew out a breath. “And Izzy?”
“Back here waiting on you two to tell us what we’re doing,” her sister called.
“Waiting on the rest of OCN to get here,” Derek said. Organized Crime and Narcotics.
“They’re here,” a new voice said. “Had trouble navigating the chaos out there.”
Chloe recognized Vincent Adler, a detective on his way up. At six feet four with the build of a linebacker, his presence shouted authority. As far as Chloe was concerned, he was tailor-made for the job. He stepped up into the trailer and Chloe backed off, although Hank kept trying to get to the front of the trailer. “Hank, zit.” He sat, but she could tell he didn’t like it.
“We’ve got to get this furniture out of here to get access to the floor,” Derek told Vince.
“Where are we going to put it?”
“Any place you can find a spot,” Derek said and heaved a chair to his shoulder to carry out the back.
Vincent gave the orders to his team and they went to work. Chloe called to Hank and waited outside, still aware of the accident scene. Ambulances leaving, loved ones arriving, paramedics still working. The coroner weaving his way to the truck’s cab to the men Derek had shot.
Chaos, yes. But it was organized chaos at this point.
Izzy stepped up to her. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Her sister, dressed in black pants and a white T-shirt with the city’s CPD emblem on her left shoulder, placed her hands on her hips. “That was a close one.”
“Close enough. But I’ll take the miss.”
“Absolutely.”
“How’s being a detective treating you?” she asked like she did every time she saw her sister at a scene.
Izzy gave her the same tight smile she always gave her at the question. “It’s everything I thought it would be. And more. And less.”
“Thanks for clearing that up for me.”
“Any time. How are you and Crestwood?”
Chloe scowled. “We’re not.” Jordan Crestwood had been her boyfriend for the past six months, and she’d thought they might be heading toward a lifetime commitment. Apparently, Jordan was just a good actor and had decided dating the chief of police’s daughter would be good for his career. She’d figured that out when she caught him in a lip-lock with another woman. She hadn’t shared the details of their breakup with her family and didn’t feel inclined to do so at this moment.
“Oh. Sorry?”
“I’m not.” Time for a subject change. “Ryan around?” Ryan Marshall, Izzy’s husband and Chloe’s brother-in-law, also a detective with the city of Columbia.
“No, he got called away to a homicide over on Academy.”
“Lucky him.”
“Yeah.”
“Have you seen Brady?” Chloe asked, looking around. “I caught a glimpse of him earlier, I think. In the water.” Brady, their brother and a former Navy SEAL, now worked with the Underwater Criminal Investigation division and was on the dive team when they needed him.
“Saw him just a few minutes before the shooting started. He’s already pulled two children and a mama from one of the cars.”
“Alive?”
“Yep.”