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Tactical Pursuit

Page 8

by Lynette Mae


  “Not right now.” Jessie bit her bottom lip.

  Devon stared as she released it, noting the perfectly full shape and a slight indentation at the center. She swallowed hard, feeling the urge to touch her tongue to that very spot. Their breath mingled. Devon waited until she recognized a welcoming expression and Jessie gave a brief nod. Dipping her head ever so slowly, she brushed a whisper of a kiss tenderly on Jessie’s mouth before drawing back to gauge her response. Jessie’s pupils dilated, nearly obliterating the green, her lips slightly parted and welcoming.

  The second kiss was still gentle but more thorough than the first. Devon took Jessie’s lower lip into her mouth, sucking lightly before releasing it to dance her tongue playfully along the smooth warmth inside. Jessie responded with her own teasing strokes matching the movements of Devon’s tongue, while she hooked her fingers in the belt loops of Devon’s jeans to pull her closer. She wrapped her arms around Jessie, taking the kiss even deeper, empowered by the realization of Jessie kissing her with equal intensity. A low moan came from deep in her throat as Jessie’s body moved against hers. The taste of her kiss combined with the smell of Jessie’s perfume and the press of her body blissfully assaulted Devon’s senses and she lost herself in the wonder of it all.

  When they came up for air, Devon’s head was swimming and her body was on fire. With their lips still a breath apart, she searched Jessie eyes, finding only the reflection of her own growing attraction. This woman was unique in so many ways, made her feel things she hadn’t experienced in so long. She felt an overwhelming need to protect and care for Jessie, and the intensity of those emotions scared the hell out of her. Devon drew a shaky breath and forced herself to step back, afraid of giving into her body’s physical responses and pushing Jessie too far too soon.

  “I should walk you back,” she managed to say, dragging her eyes away from the hypnotic emerald gaze.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I should help clean up,” Jessie said as if to herself. She took Devon’s hand and threaded their fingers together as they went back to where Devon was parked to say their nervous goodnights. Devon didn’t want the evening to end and it was pretty clear that Jessie felt the same way.

  “Thanks again for the invite. I had a great time.” She took Jessie’s other hand, leaning back against the Jeep and pulling Jessie close again.

  Jessie said, “Thank you for the card. I’m really glad you came tonight.”

  “Listen.” Devon hesitated. “About earlier.” She plunged ahead desperately, “I didn’t mean to come off like some thug. It’s just when I saw her hands on you, I—”

  Jessie placed her fingertip lightly on Devon’s lips to silence her, and then leaned in to replace her fingers with a light kiss. “I think you’re chivalrous.” She kissed Devon again to reaffirm the statement. The kiss was a tender absolution, and for a fleeting moment Devon felt the possibility of redemption in this woman’s touch. Jessie’s eyes held hers, quietly reassuring when their lips parted.

  She took Jessie’s hand again, wanting to keep that connection as long as possible. “I leave Monday for SWAT school in Orlando. I’ll be gone all week, but would you have dinner with me when I get back?”

  “I’d like that very much.”

  Devon didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until she exhaled in relief. She climbed into the Jeep and started the engine. Jessie recited her number and Devon plugged it into her phone. “I’ll call you Friday, then—if not sooner.” She grinned.

  “Sooner sounds nice.” Jessie remained next to the driver’s door, apparently not wanting to walk away. “Thank you for coming, and…for the walk.” They smiled at each other. Devon reached out and pulled Jessie in for another kiss that ended too soon. A voice called to Jessie from the house.

  Devon put the Jeep in first gear and said, “Goodnight Jessie. Happy birthday.”

  Chapter Seven

  DEVON AND NATE crept through the bushes at the rear of the property, stopping for cover behind a large blue and white trailer near the back fence. They hunkered down to wait in the tall grass of the overgrown yard with the shadows of two hulking trees blocking the moonlight, making the darkness even blacker. A dog’s deep bark echoed from somewhere in the distance.

  A murder suspect was barricaded inside the house. An hour earlier, street officers had cordoned off the area in preparation for the SWAT team’s arrival. The hostage negotiators had established phone contact with the suspect, but were nowhere near resolving the situation. Kelsey Sinclair was the lead negotiator tonight. Devon preferred Kelsey’s style because she was sharp and didn’t play around. As a member of the team, Kelsey, like Devon and Nate, performed her specialty duties in addition to the daily responsibilities of her job. They all had a monthly training day and were paged out whenever situations like tonight’s warranted their unique skills.

  “See anything?” Devon asked Nate as he peered around the side of the trailer at the house.

  “No movement that I can tell.”

  In her earpiece the negotiator’s supervisor advised SWAT to continue holding their position.

  “Jesus,” Devon said, “how much longer are they gonna piss around with this guy? He’s bluffing. His wife’s not in there. Kelsey already said so. We can toss a few flash bangs through the windows on the north side to draw his attention and then Scott can ram the back door here. Easy entry and we take him.” Devon leaned out slightly to view the house.

  “I’ll let the captain know we have a good entry point back here. Maybe he’s getting tired of waiting too.” Nate stepped back, keying his mic to talk to the SWAT commander.

  Devon checked her watch. Two-forty. Damn. At this rate, she could forget getting any sleep. In fact, if this went on very much longer, she’d barely have enough time to make it to Orlando for the start of class. If she were late, she figured the instructors would understand that she’d been on a tactical call-out.

  Sweat ran down her spine beneath her BDUs and the bulky ballistic raid vest. At least this time they weren’t standing out in the blazing sun like the last call-out. That one had lasted over eight hours, but the team had successfully rounded up four armed robbery suspects without firing a single shot. Most of the time that was the case because even the biggest badass tended to shrink in the face of the military-garbed, heavily-armed team.

  Devon re-focused on the house. A shadow moved across the window to her right. “Nate,” she whispered, pointing in that direction.

  He nodded, then gave a thumbs up, indicating it was time for the team to do its thing.

  “Sinclair,” the negotiations supervisor spoke in her ear, “keep him talking. SWAT’s going in.”

  “Spencer and James, you’ll make entry from the east,” the commander said. He monitored the entire situation from a position near the front of the house. Six additional team members were posted at intervals around the entire perimeter and a sniper lay in a prone shooting position on the roof of the house next door, his scope trained on the southeast bedroom window. According to Kelsey’s information, that was where the suspect would likely be located. The commander continued issuing orders. “I want flash-bang grenades flying on my signal. We shock the hell out of him, then we move. Everybody in position?” A series of affirmative responses followed.

  “Dev.”

  She made eye contact with her partner.

  “Two to the body...”

  “One to the head,” Devon finished. Nate winked at her.

  They crouched and hustled forward, Devon taking a position on the right side of the door and Nate the left. Scott came up behind Nate with the battering ram. Once the breach was made, Devon and Nate would enter the residence to locate and secure the suspect. The single-paned window was just above her right shoulder. Devon chanced a peek inside, hoping that the suspect was still in that part of the house. It was dark and still. The dirty curtains inside were open, but prevented her from seeing much due to the visual angle from her position. She indicated no sighting with a ne
gative shake of her head for Nate.

  “On three, people,” the commander instructed. Devon pulled the concussion grenade from her belt, ready to toss it through the window. Flash-bangs exploded with the force of an actual grenade and caused a couple seconds of shock to the body of anyone inside, which meant precision was key. The goal was to have nearly simultaneous explosions within the house to stun and confuse the target, allowing the team to enter, and hopefully execute a successful arrest.

  “One…two…three.”

  Glass shattered as grenades were launched inside through various windows around the house. A series of explosions rocked the night.

  “Go!” Nate shouted.

  Scott smashed through the wooden door with the metal battering ram and Devon followed Nate inside. Clouds of smoke hung in the air making visibility difficult. They moved with precision through the rooms, leading with the muzzles of assault rifles, bright shafts of light from their flashlights illuminating the darkness, searching every inch before continuing. Three doors in the hallway were closed. She and Nate approached the first. Devon took a cover position as Nate prepared to kick the door. Just as he leaned back to start his thrust, the sound of a shot ricocheted off the walls from deeper in the house.

  Instinctively, both officers pressed their backs to the wall. They waited and listened. Silence. No return fire indicated that he hadn’t shot at other team members. Suicide was another option. Nate motioned to the closed door and Devon tried the knob. Unlocked. She covered him while he kicked the door open and they swept quickly inside to clear it before moving onto the next room.

  In the third room the suspect lay sprawled in the center, bleeding from an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Devon approached cautiously, as she was trained, taking nothing for granted. Still covering him with her rifle, she placed a foot on the pistol to secure it while Nate checked for a pulse. Then they retraced their steps back away from the body, not wanting to disturb the crime scene any further. Nate radioed for paramedics, but they both knew it was a formality. He was obviously dead.

  After stowing her rifle in its case, Devon removed layers of gear at the back of her car. She checked the time and groaned.

  Nate loaded up next to her. “What time is it?” He stripped off his ballistic vest and tossed it in his trunk.

  “Almost three-thirty.”

  He winced. “Ouch. You won’t be getting any sleep before class today.”

  “Nope. I was supposed to get up at five-thirty anyway. I’m all packed, so if I get home by four, maybe I can grab a power nap, shower and get on the road.”

  “Then get going,” Nate said. “I’ll take care of the wrap-up here.”

  “Thanks, buddy. I’ll call you and let you know how the school’s going.”

  “Have fun.”

  AT SIX-FIFTEEN DEVON pulled out of her driveway. She had actually managed to sneak in an hour nap and was feeling a little better after a quick breakfast and hot shower. Experience told her that the boost would be short-lived. Running on precious little sleep, the day would be brutal. She sighed and pulled onto the interstate. Nothing she hadn’t done before. Sleep deprivation was a fact of life, the tradeoff for the adrenaline fix of the SWAT team.

  Her phone rang just as she reached for the volume knob on the radio. She pulled it off her belt and frowned when she saw Kelsey’s number in the caller ID. Devon didn’t think she’d forgotten anything at the scene.

  “What’s up?”

  “Unfortunately, we are. Still.” Kelsey’s voice sounded as tired as Devon felt. “I tried to catch you before you left the call-out. I have a couple of things to talk to you about. I figured we could chat while we’re both on the road.”

  “Sure.” Devon slipped on her sunglasses against the bright sun rising in front of her. She wasn’t used to dealing with daybreak and the morning traffic. That’s why she worked evening shifts, to avoid both. She maneuvered her way into the fast lane and settled in behind a beat up red pickup truck, the driver seemingly as in a hurry as she was.

  “We got the results back on the car from the bank robbery. Just like I thought. The VINs were altered. And, customs recovered a couple of the high-end cars being loaded onto a barge in Miami, apparently bound for South America.”

  “So, what’s the deal?”

  “Normally I wouldn’t even think of the two cases being related, and they might not be, but the VINs on the cars in Miami were altered, switched just like the others. Plus—get this—the wire chatter yesterday was all about shipments of cars, and the main player wanted to know if ‘Roy’ could deliver high-end merchandise.”

  “Roy sounds like a busy guy.”

  “Yeah. He’s moving up in the world. But the fact that he’s tied into an organized ring is gonna make it a bit more difficult to solve. We’ll have to work the wire hard and set up some surveillance. We got lucky they found that car.”

  “Maybe there’ll be prints from that one,” Devon said.

  “Maybe, but I’m not counting on it. My snitch says that Roy’s shop is moving four or five vehicles a week with this new guy on the payroll. He’s apparently a pro with plenty of experience. The wire gave us some additional leads to run down as well. I’ll have to get with my informant to see if this new information fits with the talk on the street. So far, nothing ties the two together on that level.”

  “Do we have a name on this other guy?” The traffic was lighter now that she was out of Tampa and Devon relaxed a little. She wouldn’t be late after all.

  “Vincent. No last name yet. He’s supposed to have a place near Roy’s shop. One of those shitty little duplexes or trailer parks, if I had to guess. I’ll head over there today and look around. He’s supposed to be driving a black Taurus. Maybe I’ll get lucky.”

  There was that name again. Devon knew in her heart that Vincent would be the same guy she and Jessie arrested. What she didn’t know was if this Honeycutt had anything to do with the one from her past. If so, what the hell was he doing here? True, Tampa was a big city, but of all the cities in the country, for him to show up here? “Listen Kelsey, I need a favor.”

  “Name it.”

  “Check a guy named Honeycutt. We arrested him the other night on a DV charge.”

  “What am I looking for?”

  “I’ve got a hunch he’s your guy. The first name fits and we got him over on Broadway.”

  “Is that it?”

  “No. There’s something else that might be going on, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions or say anything until I know a little more. So, if you could just give me a little time and trust me on this, I’d appreciate it. I need a full criminal history and background on this guy. It’s a personal favor.”

  “Say no more. I’ll let you know what I come up with. Have fun playing war games.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

  She disconnected the call and mulled over the possibility that the past was somehow back to haunt her. The military had enacted “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” a year before, but in contrast the police department had quit asking questions about an applicant’s sexuality altogether. This Honeycutt’s appearance wasn’t troublesome as far as posing any threat to her position. So far, Devon had found that her sexual preference wasn’t an issue here, as long as she did her job. She and Mac often agreed that they had made the right move making the jump to law enforcement, and this agency was more progressive than most. Devon wondered whether she should call Mac and let her know about this guy, but then again, there was nothing to tell right now—at least nothing concrete. As soon as Kelsey had a few more answers, she’d have a better handle on what was going on and then Mac would be the first to know.

  DEVON FOUND A seat at the rear of the classroom and glanced around at her fellow students. As expected, they were all the stereotypical SWAT guys, muscle-bound and oozing testosterone, which wasn’t a big surprise. No one that resembled T.J. appeared to be a student here. Devon was the only female in the room. She laughed to her
self. Sorry, Mac. Finding Mac’s new woman of interest would take a bit more work. Once she got a sense of where everyone in the class was from she’d ask around about T.J. If she was really a TAC team member here in Orlando, somebody would know her. A guy wearing a red instructor’s shirt entered, walking purposefully across the front of the room. Devon guessed he was about her age, thirty-two or thirty-three. His healthy tan and dark hair contrasted with striking blue eyes that surveyed the room with the self-assured confidence borne of experience.

  “Good morning,” he addressed the class. “I’m Bert Reinhardt with the Orange County Sheriff’s Office.”

  Orange County? Excellent. That would make it easier to get some information for Mac. Devon listened as the instructor briefed them about the class.

  “The week ahead of you will be filled with physical challenge. This course is designed to be intense and rewarding, to push each student to new levels of ability and confidence. We’ll start the week off at the firing range to put you through some paces and physical stress, just to see how well you shoot in that environment. This afternoon we’ll also do some hand-to-hand drills and disarming techniques to bring you up to speed on some of the latest applications. Later in the week we’ll be doing building entries and extractions, with rappelling and live scenarios. We’re lucky to have one of the top instructors in the state with us this week. She’ll be here in a moment to introduce herself.” He picked up a stack of forms from the desk beside him and grinned. “I get to take care of the boring shit.”

  Everyone laughed as he passed out the registration forms. Devon lost interest in the procedures for filling them out. Every class was the same, regardless of the subject matter and she wondered why they didn’t make a database to store all of the information and then add the dates and subject for schools attended. With a sigh she reminded herself that just like the military, law enforcement was a government organization, and the endless repetition of paperwork was inevitable. She resolved not to allow her fatigue to affect her mood.

 

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