Called to Protect Read online

  “Where do you think you’re going to go? You’re trapped right now.”

  “I can push through with the truck if you’ll just get everyone out of the way.”

  Chloe shook her head. What an idiot.

  He spotted Hank and Chloe heading his way and his eyes went wide. He shoved Olivia into Josiah, climbed back into the seat of the cab, quick as a monkey up a tree.

  Olivia grabbed the door handle and yanked. It was locked. She jumped up onto the step board and yelled that the passenger had scrambled out of the other side.

  Chloe crouched to see the man’s legs underneath the trailer, then she and Hank sprinted back toward the minivan to cut him off.

  “Hank, apport!” The command to get him. Chloe pulled her weapon.

  Hank shot away from her, his sleek brown-and-black body a blur as he easily caught up with the fleeing man, who held a pistol in one hand. The dog lunged and latched onto the arm with the weapon, and the two of them went to the ground, with the man screaming his agony. “Get him off me! Get him off!” And yet he still clutched the gun. Victims screamed and ducked.

  “Drop the weapon!” Chloe raced toward them. She was joined by two other cops, Greg and Sharon. All three of their voices blended as one. “Let go of the weapon and I’ll call him off! Drop it! Now!”

  Their perp stilled and Chloe slammed her foot down on the hand that held the gun. Sharon dropped a knee into his upper back and grabbed his left arm.

  He let out another howl as Chloe leaned over and yanked the weapon from his now slack fingers. “You broke my hand!”

  “Hank, los, laat los!” The order to let go.

  Hank released his bite and moved back to sit, tongue lolling as he watched the action.

  Greg shook his head. “We’ve got a genius on our hands. Thought he was going to outrun Hank. Who really thinks that’s possible? What a dumb . . .” He continued to mutter his poor opinion of the idiot on the ground while he held him there.

  Sharon removed her knee and jerked the man’s wounded arm behind him.

  He screamed again. “I need a doctor! That dog nearly killed me! I’m going to sue you. I’m going to sue the whole department! I’ll have your badges. I’ll . . .”

  Chloe turned a deaf ear to the threats and the stream of curses that spilled from him while she and Greg held him down. Sharon fastened her cuffs around his wrists.

  And then a gunshot rang out.

  Chloe ducked and spun. More screams rang out around her.

  “Go,” Chloe told them. “I’ll hold on to this joker until you can put him in the back of your car.” She didn’t have room to transport a prisoner.

  They took off. She pulled her charge to the back of the trailer and shoved him next to the large tire. Pulling her cuffs from the case on her belt, she attached one cuff to the pair around his wrists and the other cuff to a metal rail running along the bottom of the trailer. “Stay there unless you want to get shot.” She glanced at Hank, who hadn’t taken his gaze from the prisoner. “Or bit.”

  The man planted his back up against the rubber and glared at her as he yanked on the cuffs. “Where do you think I’m going to go?”

  She ignored him when she caught movement in the passenger side mirror and her heart thudded. He hadn’t been there only moments before when her prisoner had scrambled out of that very door. So, a third one had been somewhere inside the cab? Chloe grabbed her radio.

  Pop. Another shot. Then two more. Chloe flinched, even though none of the bullets came near her. But she couldn’t help wondering whom they might have hit. Saying a prayer for her fellow officers, she kept watch, her senses on hyperalert and her gaze never resting.

  Another loud crack.

  The bullets were fired from the truck. Chloe glared at her prisoner. “You know who’s shooting?”

  “No.” He scowled, his expression conveying his disgust for her and anyone who wore the same uniform she did. “This is ridiculous. I need a doctor. Take me over to that ambulance.” He jerked his chin toward the vehicle sitting ten yards away on the side of the highway. The paramedics were bent over a patient and still working in spite of the gunfire, and using the ambulance as a shield.

  Chloe kept her weapon ready and her head down. “We’ve got a live shooter and you want to cross that wide-open expanse? How stupid are you?” Big-time stupid. She mentally dubbed him Stupid Man.

  He winced. “At least put my hands in front of me. My arm is killing me. That beast about took it off. I need stitches. Probably gonna bleed to death.”

  “I’m really worried about that,” she muttered as she scanned the area. She kept up the running dialogue absently, while most of her attention was focused on the action going on around her.

  He called her a name she didn’t consider flattering, and she flicked a glance at him. Still secure and not trying to get away, in spite of his mouthiness. Good. Maybe he was slightly less stupid than she originally thought.

  Chloe peered around the edge of the truck again, letting her gaze take in the scene before pulling back. People hiding, cops planted with guns aimed at the cab of the truck. Her radio crackled with rapid-fire calls and codes. She kept one ear on it while she kept an eye on the man attached to the truck. “Who else is in there?”

  His nostrils flared. “No one.”

  “Of course not.” Liar.

  As if to prove her right, the truck’s engine rumbled to life. Where did they think they were going? With the front tucked into the headlights of a cargo van and a minivan slammed into the rear left corner, they couldn’t go anywhere.

  However, Chloe released Stupid Man from the truck and hauled him to his feet by his non-wounded arm. She led him around to the back of the trailer, away from the side mirror, wondering if the occupants of the truck’s cab realized she and their accomplice were right there. If they did, they didn’t care. If they didn’t, she’d feel much better out of sight of that side mirror.

  Once at the back of the trailer near the two large doors, her prisoner tried to run. Chloe tackled him, and she didn’t even have to give the order for Hank to jump at the man’s face, snapping and snarling.

  Stupid Man curled into a fetal position. “Get him away! Don’t let him bite me again!”

  “Hank, stil.” The dog backed away, his eyes still on the quivering man. “Get up and try to engage your brain,” she ordered.

  He complied and she refastened the cuffs to the handle of the trailer’s door while she listened for more shots. And although she still heard screams and cries and harsh orders from law enforcement, she hadn’t heard any more pops of gunfire.

  The truck inched forward. Chloe stayed with the truck, using it as cover. Screams sounded. More shots rang out. None in danger of hitting her or Stupid Man, though, since the bullets came from the truck’s cab.

  The truck surged and rolled forward a good three feet.

  With horror, Chloe knew the cab had to be pushing the vehicle in front of it. Along with any victims in its path. “Stop!”

  Another lurch and the trailer separated from the minivan crunched into its rear. Chloe ordered Hank to guard Stupid Man, then raced to the front of the cab on the passenger side, away from any bullets that had been flying on the other side. “Police! Stop!”

  The passenger looked at her and yelled something to the driver. And then she heard, “Shoot her!”

  The man in the passenger seat turned and met her gaze. She held her gun on him. “Tell him to stop right now!”

  In one fluid motion, he lifted his weapon, aimed it at her . . .

  . . . and pulled the trigger.

  Through the high-powered scope on his Colt M4 carbine, Derek St. John saw the passenger in the cab fire his weapon right at his sister’s head.

  And Chloe had dropped like a rock. Or had she dropped before the crack? He couldn’t be sure.

  Terror beat at him, his finger hovering over the trigger. Just before Chloe had appeared in his line of sight behind his target, a cop trying to get into position h
ad run across his line of fire, causing Derek to miss his chance to pull the trigger. He wanted to punch something. Instead, he ordered his heart to slow and his mind to focus.

  He’d been given the green light. The call had gone out over the radios and no one was supposed to move. And now Chloe might be dead because an officer had blown the shot for Derek. Had the man not heard the order?

  At the moment, it didn’t matter.

  What mattered was Chloe.

  Derek wasn’t exactly in the most ideal position to make the shots, but it was the only one he had.

  He drew in a steadying breath. He had to focus, to be cool, be steady, and return to the zone.

  Looking through the scope once more, he saw the driver raise his weapon and aim it at an innocent victim. A woman not quite hidden behind her car.

  Derek pulled his trigger and a nanosecond later the bullet hit its mark. The driver’s body went slack. The passenger next to him jerked and turned, aiming his weapon at the cop now hovering at the edge of the driver’s door, hand on the handle, ready to yank the door open in a heroic, if dangerous, possibly stupid, move. Derek could see the cop’s plan as clearly as if he’d written it out with full illustrations. He was going to open the door, pull out the dead driver, and shoot the remaining passenger.

  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 poin
t.

  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.”

  “Good,” she whispered. “Good.” Thank you, God.