“What the fuck is going on in here?” The man Whitney assumed to be the ringleader strode back into the lobby. “Put that girl down, and get in here. There’s a shitload more cash than we expected. Armored car was late for pickup.”
The almost-rapist roughly shoved Whitney forward and then kicked her in the back. She oophed as she fell forward on her face. Pain radiated up her spine and into her shoulder. She was sure he’d bruised a kidney…or worse.
As Whitney fought for breath, the gunmen took turns carrying duffel bags of cash into the middle of the lobby. She placed her shaky hands on the back of her head as ordered earlier and prayed they would leave her alone. She hoped they would just take the damn money and get the hell out.
But her prayers weren’t to be answered.
One of the robbers headed to the front doors and let out a string of expletives. “Fucking cops, man,” he said finally. “Cops fucking everywhere.”
A gunman grabbed one of the tellers and shook him wildly. “Which one of you pricks pushed the silent alarm? Was it you?”
“No,” the teller quickly denied.
“No?” The gunman threw him down and grabbed the back of another teller’s shirt. “Maybe it was you?”
The woman shook her head and sobbed.
“Who gives a shit?” The ringleader snarled. “The cops are here now. We got to deal with them.”
“Out the back, boss?”
“Yeah. Plan B.” He kicked a bag of cash at one of his cohorts. “Grab what you can carry. I’m going to blow the back wall.”
Whitney didn’t like the sound of that. Her mind conjured up visions of explosives. She supposed they had some kind of underground access planned. A sewer or even an abandoned subway line. She didn’t know and didn’t really care. The sooner they were out of here, the better.
“Shit!” The robber manning the door sounded particularly agitated. “Fucking SWAT, man.”
SWAT? Whitney’s heart leapt. Eddie? She experienced a wild mix of emotions. On one hand, she was relieved, but on the other, she was afraid for him. Sure, he’d probably walked into crazier situations than this, but she’d never had to witness it firsthand.
A loud explosion rocked the back of the building. Whitney covered her neck with her still-trembling hands and hoped to god the building wouldn’t fall down around her ears. Not twenty seconds later, a louder, brighter explosion ripped through the front doors. Stun grenades followed quickly.
Whitney shielded her eyes and tried not to breathe the acrid smoke too deeply. She assumed tear gas would follow. Suddenly she wished she’d asked Eddie more questions about his work. She had no idea what to expect in a situation like this. The fear of the unknown just made everything worse.
A gunfight broke out above her head. Whitney’s entire body went stiff as she listened to bullets whiz and pop. This didn’t seem right. Why in the hell were the people meant to be rescuing them firing over the heads of the hostages?
Whitney flattened her body to the floor. She cried out as a heavy boot smashed her fingers. One of the robbers had backed up onto her hand. She tried to pull it free but couldn’t budge the man’s weight. Rolling onto her side, Whitney tugged hard.
And then she felt it, the searing pain of a bullet ripping through her shoulder. A second bullet slammed into her stomach. Amped up on adrenaline and nerves afire from the damage caused by the first two bullets, Whitney hardly felt the impact of the third. The crushing blow of the gunman’s limp body, however, she felt fully.
As Whitney struggled to breathe under the weight of the dead man’s body, she experienced the worst kind of regret. Mick and Eddie would never know just how much she loved them.
Eddie leaned back against the hood of the black SUV and watched the narcotics guys lead the cuffed subjects out of the house he’d just stormed with his SWAT team. Like most well-planned ventures, it had gone off without a hitch. He prided himself on preserving the safety of his men while performing their tasks at the very highest caliber.
“Another good bust, Eddie.” Santos, arguably LAPD’s best narcotics officer, smacked him on the back. “In and out. No fatalities. This is why I always request your team over that pinche O’Halloran.” Santos shook his head. “Thinks he’s a fucking cowboy with a gun.”
Eddie caught himself before he agreed with his colleague’s assessment. Although he had strong feelings about O’Halloran’s team, it wasn’t a good idea to air SWAT’s dirty laundry with the drug guys. O’Halloran tended toward recklessness, but as of yet he hadn’t made any fatal mistakes. There had been some close calls, too close for Eddie’s comfort, but then he wasn’t that team’s leader. Clearly they were more comfortable with that level of risk.
“Every team has a different method,” Eddie said finally. “We prefer to keep things low risk and plan for the worst.”
“And that’s why we all want you guys doing our entries.” Santos elbowed Eddie and gestured with his chin to the petite brunette hauling one of the gang members out of the house. “Look at her, man. Doesn’t take shit off anyone.”
Eddie thought she looked familiar. He tilted his head and studied her features. “Holy shit! Is that the Chief’s daughter?”
Santos laughed. “With his second wife. Sadie is tough. Damned good officer.”
Eddie figured she was something else to get that kind of high praise from one of LAPD’s senior officers. A man like Santos, who had seen and done it all in the name of protecting and serving, didn’t give out compliments like that unless they were earned. Eddie made a mental note to keep an eye on the girl. She had the look of a SWAT officer. Might be time to do a little headhunting, Eddie thought. After all, his team could use a little diversity.
“You going to the softball tournament this weekend?” Santos pulled his vibrating cell phone from his pocket.
“Hell yes,” Eddie answered quickly. “We’ve got to defend our title.”
Santos rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, man. We got some fresh talent on our team.”
“Let me guess,” Eddie said with a laugh. “Chief’s daughter played softball in college.”
Santos nodded. “We’re going to wipe the field with you guys.”
Eddie grinned at the good-natured taunting. “We’ll see.”
“Did I tell you that old Rico-”
Santos was interrupted by the static of the radio. Eddie only heard the last bit of the transmission.
“…211 in progress. Shots fired.”
Eddie leaned over and stuck his hand through the open window of the SUV to hit the volume on the radio. All around him, fellow police officers did the same thing. The transmission was repeated again by the dispatcher who asked for response from all available officers in the area. Not two seconds later, a separate call for his team as SWAT backup for O’Halloran’s team came through.
Training kicking in, Eddie and his guys jumped into their vehicles and sped out of the gritty neighborhood. As Eddie buckled his seat belt, he queued up the incident commander for more info. Five guys, heavily armed and loaded for bear, entered the bank. Multiple shots were heard by bystanders outside the bank. Guard was killed. Unknown number of hostages inside the bank.
“Our ETA is ten minutes, at least,” Eddie informed incident command. He made contact with the SUV behind them and made sure everyone was on the same page. They’d probably be assigned rear entry once on scene. “Anyone familiar with this bank?”
Craig piped up from the backseat and told Eddie what he knew about the branch. He’d only used it once, popping inside to hit up the ATM before going to that big new IMAX theater a few blocks down.
Suddenly Eddie realized why the address sounded so familiar. He’d driven past that bank a few days earlier on his way to meet Whitney at her office. That was her bank, wasn’t it?