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Stacy closed her cell phone. “That was Charlie Harris. They have established the perimeter. No traffic will be coming down Grand Boulevard in either direction for a while.”
The wooded area that framed the road and the driveway leading to the house at the top of the driveway was still. Utterly still. With no car traffic passing by, the grass was straight and silent, and the tree branches dangled in place. Stacy imagined that if birds were in those trees, she’d be able to hear the beating of their hearts.
This scene was much more pleasant despite what would transpire in a few minutes. Stacy appreciated this taking place outside of downtown Cleveland, with its web of towering spires, bridges, and expressways planted in away in the distance.
Stacy had changed into a pair of black pants and a black blouse. Her blue windbreaker jacket was a dark blue emblazoned with CPD and an embroidered police shield, jutting out from the right breast pocket. Austin stepped behind her and buckled the clips connecting both sides of the bulletproof vest.
Austin, clad in jeans and a dark polo shirt with the same jacket style, reached into a pocket. “I got the warrant from Gavin. He was able to get a judge to sign it around three this morning.”
Stacy made a face as she tugged the front of the vest around her breasts. “Thank you. I know I’ve been a little distracted.”
“Yeah,” Austin said, unfolding the search warrant. His lips formed into a grim line, and he shook his head.
“Listen,” Stacy said, studying his face. A sudden rush of combativeness overtaking her. “I overhead the argument with Gavin.”
Austin feigned innocence, his dark features washing blank with confusion.
“Stop denying it,” Stacy retorted. “I was in the hallway after the Miguel Olivo interrogation and heard the two of you arguing. It has to stop, Austin.”
“He’s taking advantage of the situation and crossing a line in the relationship.”
Stacy’s eyes flared with anger. “And as I’ve said many times, the relationship is purely professional, and that’s all it will be. I don’t need you to protect me. Gavin is assigned to our unit. Get used to it or ask Diana for a transfer.”
Stacy felt a surge of guilt spike in her gut. She tried to take it back, but the words left her. She stared into his dark eyes, burning with hurt, and her heart sank. His eyes desperately searched hers, waiting for an explanation. When none came, Austin stuffed the crinkled warrant in his pocket.
He swallowed and pursed his lips. “Three of Brandon Deerfield’s posse arrested in that safehouse will be arraigned this afternoon.” His voice was low and wounded. His words seemed to come out slow and warbled.
Stacy blanched. A lump formed in her throat, and she pulled harder on the vest padding near her waist that would protect her from any potential stray bullets. She wanted to tell Austin more about Brandon and Chance and a brewing scandal that might roil the police department, but she bit down on her lip.
“I know that you went to see Deerfield.”
The shock registered on Stacy’s face before she could hide it. “I’d meant to tell you about that.”
“It doesn’t matter. One of the guards inside the visiting room, Stuart, was in the academy with me several years ago. I ran into him downtown at Bar 32 last night. He’d had a few and was quite forthcoming.”
Stacy felt her face flush. “I needed to find out—”
Austin held up a hand. A loose frown danced against the creases in his mouth. “I don’t need to protect you, remember?”
Stacy closed her eyes and sighed. “Austin—”
Someone bumped her from behind. Chad Means, one of the members of the SWAT team, spoke behind a protective plastic shield that covered his beefy face. His short, muscled neck was dappled with sweat as he clutched both hands around an MP510 submachine gun. Two Sig Sauer 9mm pistols jutted out from his belt as the rest of his protective gear covered his chest.
“We’re ready, Lieutenant.”
“Good.”
“I told the men that some high-powered assault rifles, possibly AR-15s, were seen on the property and to be ready.”
“Excellent. Thanks, Chad.”
He stepped past Stacy and held up a hand and made a wave. Five other men dressed in protective gear and dark clothes huddled around Chad when he did. From behind him, a thin, waifish kid with dark curly hair and acne splotched across his face and arms emerged from behind the wooded area. Stacy heard his steps and watched him emerge, the shadow of the boxy SWAT van framing his features. He wore a red shirt with a red jacket that had Vincenza’s Pizza and Pasta splayed in white on the pocket. His red hat matched the uniform and complemented his faded jeans with scuffed white sneakers. He looked terrified.
“Uh. Am I in the right place?”
Austin grimaced. “What the hell is this?”
“I ordered pizza this morning,” Stacy said, “just like you like it. Extra pepperoni and sausage.”
Austin’s eyes darted back and forth between the kid and his partner. Stacy handed him sixty dollars. “I need the jacket and hat. Austin, hold the pizza.”
The kid did as he was told with wide-eyed amazement. Austin clutched the pizza box as if it would break apart in his hands.
“Okay.” Stacy zipped the jacket up. “Thanks. Give Mickey the extra twenty bucks and tell him I owe him one for opening up early for me.” She chinned back into a clearing behind the trees and to the left of the SWAT. “Head back there now and ask for Officer Harris.”
The kid shuffled off. Austin flashed her a perplexed look.
“It’s part of the plan,” she said, taking the pizza from her partner.
Austin shook his head. “I guess so.”
Stacy pushed ahead and made her way from Grand Boulevard, clutching the pizza. She took in a deep breath and then exhaled as she scaled the small incline leading from the road to the driveway.
The SWAT team pushed ahead in two small groups of four. They flanked into the thickets and dense brush that bracketed the driveway and faded away. Austin, with his Glock drawn and down at his side, trailed several feet behind Stacy.
The coolness of the early morning was deceptive. The sun had barely risen. The sky wasn’t gray, but the emerging colors of morning contrasted with fading colors of the night to merge the skyline into neon pink and peach bands. The air was clear, and the lingering shadows of night began to withdraw.
A chorus of birds overhead chortled and squawked in between the tree branches and served as a nice contrast to the passing car traffic from earlier in the morning, now rerouted as part of the road closure.
Stacy strode confidently up the driveway. In the wash of new light, the house looked garish, standing at the top of the driveway. The white brick façade looked like it was streaked with lines of gray and soft yellow. Stacy cut a look at the overhang on the house’s left side, where she had seen the assault rifles perched against the wall. They were gone now, but that didn’t mean they weren’t inside the house, ready to be used by someone. The grass, now dew-drenched, still looked regal and stately.
Stacy walked up to the front door and sucked in a breath. She could feel rivulets of sweat running down her breasts under the vest. She pulled her right leg slightly behind her as her Glock 22 bulged from her small-of-the-back holster, and anyone with a downward gaze would be able to see it.
Stacy rang the doorbell. It let out a gong and echoed for several seconds. Not waiting for the chime to reset itself, she pressed the round, white knob again. She leaned an ear against the door and heard the heavy, uneven footfalls of someone coming to the door.
The door groaned and heaved back. A balding college kid with a dark mustache, glasses, and a runner's physique filled the space.
Sleep-smeared, he smacked his lips and squinted through eyes that were narrow slits as they tried to adjust to the light.
Stacy dropped her voice an octave. “Somebody ordered a pizza.”
The kid made a face. Rubbing the back of his neck, he frowned. Stacy could feel the still air moving behind her. The SWAT team was approaching.
“Fuck, it’s like, morning. Nobody delivers pizza that early.”
Stacy held a firm gaze on the kid. As if the details of the situation finally connected in his mind, his eyes widened. Stacy watched as he looked over her shoulder and saw the SWAT team approaching.
“Oh, fuck,” he screamed.
Stacy shoved the pizza box at him. He stumbled back, not sure of whether he should catch it or not. When Stacy tried to push her way in, he hollered out again.
“Fuck!”
At that point, a piercing scream echoed from the top of the stairs behind them, and a gunshot rang out.