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Stacy Tavitt secured the second strap of the bulletproof vest around her back and took a final look at the Glock 22 in her hand.
She loved its design, admired its strength and durability, and the bind-free action it provided, especially for dangerous assignments like this.
Her partner, Austin Cerrera, approached. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
Stacy’s belt held a .40 Glock hanging from a strap and a P226 pistol secured on the other side.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m ready. I want to get this guy.”
Austin double-checked with the rest of the team. Eight men, all members of the Cleveland Police Department SWAT team. Some of them had been with Stacy and Austin on dangerous assignments before, but some of the men were new, and Austin barely remembered their names.
“It does matter, Stacy,” Austin said. “We can handle this. I don’t think you being here is necessary.”
The sun was coming up over the city’s eastern side, throwing streaks of silver and gold over the clearing where the police had established a command center.
“I need to be here, and I want to be here,” Stacy said. “Brandon Deerfield was the last person to see my brother. He and Chance were the only ones in that cruiser that got T-boned by that truck.”
Austin sighed.
“He wouldn’t talk to me about it. Remember when we questioned him?”
“I do.”
“He didn’t talk because he’s dirty. Maybe the threat of going to prison will get Brandon to talk—plus, there is nothing worse than a dirty cop.”
Stacy lifted her head and held a steady stare on her partner. “I want to end this. Once and for all.”
Austin sighed and put a hand on Stacy’s shoulder. Stacy frowned. “What about your breathing?”
Stacy blanched. “What about it?”
“What if we get close and you start coughing or can’t breathe? It could put all of us in danger.”
Stacy, appearing hurt at the assertion, shook her head. “Thank you, doctor, but I know what I can and can’t do.”
Austin remained silent.
Stacy placed a hand on Austin’s chest. He stumbled back a step.
“I don’t want to be treated differently because of the injury. I’ve been dealing with it now for over a year, and it hasn’t affected my ability to do the job.”
Austin’s face went red and then pale. “Really? How about that shooting we went on last month in East Cleveland? I can remember you leaning against the wall of that alley sucking wind. We had plenty of backup, but if you’d been alone...” Austin paused, then waved off the comment.
“That guy who was killed was a drug runner for Deerfield. That murder led us here, remember?”
“Forget it. I should know by now that if you want to do something, you’re going to do it.”
Stacy gripped the Glock tighter with one hand and tapped Austin under the chin with the other.
“Austin, I would never allow it to put any of us in danger. I know myself and how I operate better than anybody. And you were the one that asked me if I wanted to be a part of this operation. You asked me to come along, remember?”
“I did. But in a support role.”
Stacy huffed.
“And what about Diana?”
Stacy arched an eyebrow. “What about her?”
“She thinks your part in this is in a supportive role.”
Stacy shrugged off the comment. “I can handle the captain.”
Austin set his jaw. “Fine. Let’s move out before daylight arrives.”
Austin turned his back to Stacy and made a circular motion with his hand. The rest of the men, clad in dark camouflage attire along with goggles and bulletproof vests, jostled their weapons. The team carried a mix of M4 carbine guns, MP5/10 submachine guns, and .40 Glock pistols close to their bodies. The weapons were heavy, deadly, and needed to take on a situation that might turn lethal quickly.
As the group huddled together, Stacy whispered, “Be careful and expect anything. At least one of these guys is a cop, and he knows that we’re good at surprises.”
The men refused to look at Stacy. Austin moved ahead of the group first. The solid-built, full-blooded Hispanic with stocky legs and broad shoulders like slabs of granite offered a figure that was easy to follow. They moved away from the clearing by Shady Lane Road and headed into the wooded expanse.
Austin gave a signal, and half of the team fanned out to the right. Austin moved straight ahead, and Stacy veered to the left.
Everyone tested the radio equipment attached to their headsets and then went silent. A chill coursed through Stacy. Her body shivered. Early May in Cleveland had been mild but chilly.
Stacy watched as the urban scene around her changed. An embedded and untouched trail ran down the middle of the clearing. She followed it cautiously.
As Stacy walked down the footpath, a pink layer of light dappled the sky above her, reducing her need for a flashlight. A cold wind tore aggressively in and around the twisted, naked tree branches.
Each person on the team remained silent.
Pockets of standing water puddled together, resembling small, cloudy pools. Where there was no ponding, the ground was soft and muddy, and Stacy could feel her boots sink and grow heavy.
Austin had led the team through the surveillance work on the property. The safe house was two hundred yards into the wooded clearing from the main road. Thugs like them love places in the woods, Stacy thought upon hearing the information, like the snakes they are.
Stacy hadn’t counted his steps, but she figured he was about seventy-five yards in.
As daylight continued to burn off the night overhead, Stacy noticed an interesting track of disturbed earth, just off to the right of the path. She pulled out her flashlight and shined it up ahead. The streaks broke like tentacles off the path, with smaller piles of dirt humped over them. The long lines looked fresh, and Stacy stopped.
“Unit 1, hold up for a minute.”
A beat passed before Austin’s hushed voice came back over the earpiece. “Why, what is it?”
“I’ve found some tracks and a mound of mud in the ground,” Stacy said. “I want to check it out before moving forward.”
Another voice came over the line, this one sharp and irritated. “Lieutenant, we’re ready to close in. We see the outline of the house.”
“It could be animal tracks,” Austin said. “Stacy...”
Stacy didn’t wait for approval. She crouched down and shined her light on the tracks. She checked around and behind her, making sure the flashlight wouldn’t draw attention from unwanted company. Stacy flicked away some of the mud. She shined the light closer to find a thin, white wire encased in dirt and snow. The wire resembled one that would be used in an explosive.
Stacy felt her heart race and her throat clench. She brushed aside a little more mud and saw that the wire extended along a narrow trench, leading to the mound.
“Shit.” Stacy pressed the helmet mic close to her mouth. “Austin, what I’m seeing isn’t animal tracks.”
“Okay, stop, everybody,” Austin hissed. “Let’s wait for one minute.”
Stacy tried to speak, but she was cut off. This time, the tone that came across the earpiece was rushed and panicked.
“Shots fired, shots fired,” the voice hollered, and Stacy could hear the pop of sprayed bullets through the earpiece and in the open space.
The communication went silent for a moment before Stacy broke in. “Austin, call those guys back!”
Before anything else was said, a large explosion rocked the clearing. As the earth shook beneath her feet, Stacy dropped to her stomach as the right side of the wooded clearing illuminated in deep hues of orange and red, and thick gray smoke billowed into the skies. A veil of darkness now shaded the once-pale-pink sky. Smoke poured up, and thin, bright orange flames snaked their way between rows of trees.
“Christ!” Stacy made a fist and pounded it on the ground.
A strained voice croaked from Unit 1, “Man down, taking fire. Smoke and flames...”
Static filled the line, and the sound cut off. Stacy winced and tried to hold back a tear. She knew that the likelihood of anyone standing near the blast zone surviving the explosion would be low.
Stacy pulled herself up and clutched her gun. She charged across the clearing, moving quickly, scanning the area from side to side, prepared for anything.
Stacy felt like she was moving in slow motion. Eventually, the outline of the safe house appeared in the distance. The roof of the house was brown with decayed moss and caved in near the back. The place looked like it had grown up from the earth and pulled all the vegetation along with it.
Stacy could hear the sounds of bullets whizzing through the space between the house and the clearing. The loud pops and the repeated thrum of gunfire created a dull hum over the scene, masking the danger.
As she moved closer, it appeared the shots were fired from the front of the house and into the midst of the clearing. Stacy assumed the thugs would be expecting a frontal assault from the police but did not anticipate someone moving in from the flanks.
Then, it happened. A slow, residual burning began to swell up in her chest. Stacy stopped and swallowed. Her breathing became shallow, and she closed her eyes, clenching her teeth and breathing heavily through her nose.
Not now!
The burning detonated inside her chest with an explosion of pain, and Stacy crouched down to one leg. She instinctively pressed a gloved fist to her chest and pushed into her breastbone. Nothing worked. It never did. All she needed was time, and amid a botched manhunt, there was little of that.
Stacy took in a few deep breaths. Finally, the palpable pain that roiled her chest and staunched her breathing began to subside. Stacy paused again for a moment and then let out a long breath. She managed to survive another episode.
Collecting herself, Stacy pushed through into the clearing. Looking to the left, she saw one of the SWAT team down, lying on his side, resting against a partially collapsed wooden fence to the house’s right. His body was a blackened mess that shook and lunged from injuries and trauma. Fresh mud marks indicated that he’d been pulled away from the shooting. Another SWAT member huddled over the body, supplying cover from the gunfire.
Stacy scanned the house, looking for a way in. Three more SWAT team members, led by Austin, inched closer to the house’s front, weaving in between the rotted bushes and naked splintered trees.
A lull came in the shooting. Stacy could make out a cellar door near the back corner of the house.
Her instincts kicked in. The gunshots coming from the front of the house were a diversion to keep the police from gaining entrance. Stacy knew that if Brandon Deerfield oversaw his crew, he knew that the way to catch the police by surprise in these situations was to hide in the shadows and use deceit whenever possible.
Stacy moved around the house. Someone from above caught sight of her movements and fired a shot, clipping her boot. She rushed ahead.
When Stacy approached the cellar door, she found it padlocked. She didn’t waste any time on pleasantries. Stacy lifted her Glock 22 and fired, splitting the lock in half. She took in a deep breath and pulled back one of the doors.
A blast of cold, stale air escaped through the open door.
“Police!” she shouted. The darkness in the space was lit briefly by the soft orange light that cascaded down from overhead. Stacy aimed the gun and took a small step into the cellar, and then another.
To the right was a light switch. Stacy tapped it twice to check for frayed wiring or some other type of booby trap and then flipped it on.
When the single-blub light overhead bathed the room in a faint yellow, Stacy was greeted by Brandon Deerfield, pointing a gun at her, his other hand holding a square box with a trigger.