Lena Diaz - Swat Standoff

“No, I’m not saying that at all. I’m just throwing out the facts as we know them. The team drove up but didn’t drive back down. They aren’t answering their phones, radios or us yelling at the top of our lungs. Something bad must have happened.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper the next time she spoke. “I think we may be in over our heads. We should call the station, get some volunteers out here to help us conduct a more thorough search. Even if they’re not lost, they could be stranded somewhere, maybe in a cell phone and radio dead zone. Obviously something happened to them or their vehicles wouldn’t still be here.”

“Agreed. We need to get some help out here.”

He raised his flashlight beam, training it straight ahead, slicing a path of light through the darkness of trees and bushes about twenty feet away. “While you make that call, I’m going to go deeper in to check that barn and the clearing in front of it. There have to be some footprints there, maybe a piece of torn fabric caught on a branch. I’d like to find some tangible proof that might show us where the team was last. The trackers will want to start from the last known position.”

She shoved her cell phone back into her pocket. “We’re not splitting up. I’m your partner. We’ll check it out together. Then I’ll call this in.”

The wobble in her voice had him hesitating. He looked down at her, noted the intensity in her expression, the shine of unshed tears sparkling in her eyes. He’d been with Destiny P.D. since late fall of the previous year and had been her partner for over four months. In all that time, she’d always been decisive, in control, never breaking down no matter how tough things got. He’d never once seen her rattled. But right now she seemed...fragile, vulnerable. And he’d bet it wasn’t just because she was worried about her friends. There was something else going on here. And he thought he knew what it was.

“Donna?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s not your fault.”

She frowned. “What’s not my fault?”

“Whatever happened, whatever is going on with the team. I think you’re second-guessing yourself, feeling guilty. But if anyone’s to blame, it’s me. If I’d been a good partner to you, we’d have both been here with them when—”

“When what? When aliens beamed them up to the mother ship? Come on, Blake. This is crazy. Four highly trained SWAT team members and the chief of police don’t just disappear off the face of the earth. You know what I’m starting to think is going on? Group hysteria, or mass hysteria, or whatever psychologists call it. We’re both feeding off each other’s fears and making this into something it’s not.”

“I honestly hope you’re right.”

“But you don’t think I am.”

“I didn’t say that.” Before she could interrogate him about what he really thought, he said, “How about we finish our due diligence and get this over with? This whole place is giving me the creeps.”

“You won’t get any argument from me about that,” she mumbled, scanning left and right with her flashlight, before training it in front of her again.

They headed into the woods, side by side. The truck’s headlights didn’t penetrate more than a dozen feet in, because trees blocked the light. Forced to rely solely on their flashlights and the moonlight overhead, they studied the ground, the branches and the bark of trees they passed.

When they stopped by a tree with red and blue paint splotches on it, Donna gave a small smile. “So much for Dillon’s claim that our biodegradable paint will fade in the first rain. He’s not going to be happy about that. He’ll probably drop the vendor and start researching a new one.” Her smile died a quick death as fears for her friends obviously invaded her thoughts. She stalked past the tree, and he rushed to catch up.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the law-enforcement family cruise?” he asked, trying to steer her thoughts to more innocuous ones while they performed their search.

She hesitated, then continued forward, sweeping her flashlight across the ground. “Honestly, I guess it never occurred to me to bring it up in conversation. It’s not like you ever socialize with the rest of us after work. Not very often, anyway. I’m not even sure you’ve ever met Chris’s wife, Julie. And you probably only know Max’s wife, Bex, from your first real case with us last year, when someone was trying to kill her. Dillon’s wife, Ashley, of course, everyone knows. The station would probably riot if she ever stopped dropping off her homemade treats.”

“She does bake a mean oatmeal raisin cookie.”

“Banana nut bread. That’s my favorite. Her recipe is to die for, and she refuses to share it. Trust me, I’ve asked. Many times. That stuff is amazing.” She pressed a hand to her heart as if paying homage.

“Yuck on bananas,” he said. “Not my thing.”

“No banana pudding?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Not even if I was starving.”

“No wonder you don’t fit in with the team,” she teased. “Banana pudding is a staple of any well-balanced diet. Especially in the South.”

“And yet somehow I’ve survived all these years without it.” He stopped and looked around. “This is about where I first spotted the guy I ended up shooting in the second floor of the barn.”

“Larry. The second guy, the one you caught at the river, was Tim. Mike was the third guy. I don’t think you ever saw him though.”

He supposed he should have known the first two men’s names. Maybe she and Dillon were right, and he really wasn’t making enough of an effort to fit in. He’d really never accepted the blame for how things were going, always thinking it was everyone else’s fault that they refused to accept an outsider. The truth, as with most things, was probably somewhere in the middle.

“Were Larry, Tim and Mike with the team when you left?”

She put her hand on his arm, her eyes widening as she pulled him to a stop. “Mike had to leave early. But Larry and Tim were still there. I didn’t even think about calling them. If one of them answers, maybe they know where the guys went. Or, heck, maybe for some reason, they all piled into Tim and Larry’s trucks and went to a bar somewhere, and it’s too loud to hear their phones. With the wives out of town, it makes sense. They’re having a guys’ night out. Why didn’t I think about that? Maybe Tim and Larry are the designated drivers. I bet we’re going to feel really silly in about one minute. I just know it.”

“I’m all for silly. It beats the alternative.”

She checked her watch and winced. “If they’re not in a bar, if they’re back at Larry or Tim’s house, sleeping off a binge, someone’s not going to be happy about being woken up at one in the morning. But no way am I waiting until a decent hour to call. Which unlucky soul gets woken up? Larry or Tim?”

“I think Tim suffered enough being shot twice. I vote for Larry.”

“Larry it is.” After tucking her flashlight under her arm, she scrolled through her contact list and punched the send button.

A few seconds later, she crossed her fingers in the air and spoke into the phone. “Larry? Yeah, hi. This is Detective Waters. Donna, that’s right. Hey, I’m really sorry to call so late, but it’s important. What? Oh, yes. I’m fine. Sorry. You?”

She made an impatient rolling motion with her hand as she waited for Larry to finish whatever he was babbling about.

Blake didn’t wait. If it was taking this long to get anything out of Larry, and she had to call Tim, too, he could at least check the barn out, since it was visible through a gap in the trees up ahead. He motioned toward the gap, and she gave him a helpless gesture, pointing at the phone. He smiled and headed toward the barn, sweeping his flashlight back and forth.