Lena Diaz - Swat Standoff

He scanned the front of the barn again. The suspect took off, sprinting across the clearing toward the woods. Blake jerked up his rifle. The man looked right at him, his eyes wide with panic. He lunged for the cover of some pine trees.

Pop, pop.

Missed. The man disappeared into the dark gloom of tree cover.

Blake cursed and straightened, knees popping from crouching so long, and took off in pursuit. When he reached where the man had entered the woods, he shook his head. The guy was about five foot five and probably weighed a buck thirty, if that. He should have been light on his feet, easily weaving his way through the thin early-spring vegetation without leaving much of a trace. Instead, he’d plowed through like a linebacker, heedless of breaking small branches and leaving clear footprints in the dew-laden grass. He might as well have put out a sign saying Bad Guy Went This Way. Either the guy was an idiot, or he was extremely clever, trying to lead Blake into an ambush.

Another birdcall chirped behind him, this one the not-so-convincing squawk of a blue jay. There was no mistaking SWAT team member Randy Carter’s signal. Blake rolled his eyes. He doubted even a novice in the woods would think that was a real bird. He paused and glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, Randy stood in the same copse that Blake had left just moments ago. Randy motioned for him to come back and made another motion toward his left.

Blake shook his head, held up one finger and pointed down the path where the suspect had disappeared.

Randy insistently pointed to his left again.

Blake tightened his hand on his rifle in frustration. If Randy couldn’t understand a simple signal, then that was his problem. Blake refused to put the team in danger by breaking off pursuit. The suspect could circle back around and sneak up on one of them, or he could escape altogether. Ignoring Randy, Blake headed into the woods.

Ten minutes later, he found the suspect. The man was holding his rifle above his head to keep it dry as he waded across a waist-deep stream.

Blake brought his rifle up and stepped from the cover of trees. “Police. Freeze.”

The suspect whipped around.

Blake squeezed the trigger. Pop.

The suspect let out a blistering curse. A dark red stain covered his right shoulder. Blake took another shot, giving the man a matching stain on the left.

“I give up! Stop shooting!” The man held his gun over his head and glared at Blake.

Blake kept his rifle trained on him. “Work your way back to this side of the river. If you make any sudden movements, I’ll pop you again.”

The man’s eyes narrowed with the promise of retribution, but he started forward as ordered.

After taking the man’s gun, Blake pulled a set of handcuffs from the holder on the back of his belt.

The man’s brows shot up. “Really? You’re going to cuff me?”

“It’s all part of the game, my friend. Turn around.”

“You don’t play fair. That second shot was completely unnecessary.”

“I play to win. That’s all that matters.” He clicked the cuffs into place, slung the straps of both rifles over his shoulder and marched the man back toward the barn. Now that it was safe to break radio silence, he pulled the two-way off his belt and opened a channel.

“Blake to base. SWAT two, suspects zero. I got both of them. The first one in the barn, the second at the river. I’m on my way back with the second one.”

His prisoner glanced over his shoulder, aiming a frown his way.

“Keep moving.”

The man gave him a look that should have made him burst into flames.

The radio remained quiet as they strode toward the barn. No one answered Blake’s call. He pressed the button again.

“Blake to base. Copy?”

No answer. Maybe they were in a communication dead zone. Cell phones were virtually useless out here. He supposed the same thing could happen even with their powerful radios. Or the equipment could be malfunctioning. Destiny was a small town with an equally small law-enforcement budget. Their equipment wasn’t exactly top of the line and was rarely purchased new. The only reason that Destiny could even afford to have their detectives operate in a dual role as a SWAT team was that neighboring townships augmented the Destiny Police Department’s budget. In return, Destiny SWAT responded to calls across several counties, when needed. But even the extra money never seemed to be enough.

When they moved into the clearing by the barn, Blake jerked to a halt and drew in a sharp breath. There, lying on the ground, were his teammates—everyone except their leader, Dillon. They were all dressed in green camouflage uniforms, covered with red splotches.

Chapter Two

Blake’s prisoner started laughing. He was tempted to shoot the man again.

“I see you got your suspect,” someone snarled close by.

He whirled around to see Dillon Gray striding toward him. Beside him, Chief Thornton’s white puff of hair lifted and fell with every step he made. Both of them looked mad enough to wrestle hornets.

A sinking feeling settled in Blake’s gut. What had he done wrong this time? He looked to his teammates for support. But they were all lying motionless on the ground. He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders as Dillon stopped directly in front of him, the chief a few steps back.

“What happened?” Blake waved toward the team. “I don’t understand. I took out the first suspect in the barn. I know he didn’t get off any shots. And I followed this guy to the river.”

“There were three suspects,” Dillon snapped. “While you were off gallivanting alone, the third suspect ambushed the rest of the team.”

Blake’s gaze dropped to the red splotches on Dillon’s chest that added weight to his accusation.

“But our intel said there were only two.” Blake motioned toward his prisoner, who was still laughing, but was now sitting on top of a rotting log. “This guy took off, so I—”

Bam. White-hot pain exploded through Blake’s jaw and he slammed back onto the ground. He glared up at Dillon, whose fist was still clenched as if he were ready to punch him again.

“What the hell was that for?” Blake snarled. “I got two of the bad guys.”

“Yeah. You did. But you ignored the signals from both Randy and me and went all Rambo on your own.” Dillon waved toward the bodies on the ground. “You weren’t here when the team needed you.”

Blake shoved to his feet. “I don’t know what has you so fired up. If an entire team can’t handle one bad guy without my help, you should be mad at them, not me.”

“You idiot.” Dillon took another step toward him.

The chief grabbed his shoulder. “Easy,” Thornton said. Then he let Dillon’s shoulder go and moved back, making it clear that he trusted his most senior officer to handle the situation. But he’d rather it not devolve into a fistfight.

Blake wanted to punch both of them. He’d done his job. It was the rest of the team who’d failed.

Dillon’s jaw clenched and unclenched several times before he spoke again. “You can get up now,” he told the team. “Everybody reload your paint guns and get fresh camo. We’re doing this again until we get it right.”

A chorus of grumbles sounded from the others as they stood. But they dutifully headed toward the stacks of supplies on the other side of the clearing, where their gear was laid out for the day’s training exercises.

“Tim, you okay?” Dillon asked the man who’d played the suspect that Blake had “killed” in the river.

“A bit bruised. He shot me twice . That second one was out of pure meanness.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. You didn’t go down,” Blake said. “I had to make sure you were dead.”