by Laura Acton
Dan mentally shook himself and shut down the distressing childhood memories as he deliberately turned his gaze away from the green-eyed girl. Instead, he scanned the bank again—a habit born of six years in the field. Dan needed to be aware of all exits and assess any potential threats. An ingrained skill which kept him and his unit brothers alive for years.
The lobby appeared full for so late in the afternoon. Besides him and the mother with the young girl, two older ladies sat in the reception area waiting to meet with account managers.
A security guard stood near the door. Four tellers stood behind the counter serving two men, a teenage girl, and a lady dressed in a business suit. Seven customers waited to be served—an over-amorous couple, a portly man in a Hawaiian shirt wearing a knee brace and holding a cane, a mother with a boy about ten, and two gentlemen attired in expensive suits.
He noted three giggling women in their early twenties entering. They wore tight-fitting yoga pants and low-cut, figure-hugging shirts. Their blatantly flirtatious behavior attracted the attention of the men. The businessmen eyed the kittenish women up and down enjoying the show.
Dan’s gaze remained on them a moment, admiring their curves and ample cleavage on display. It had been a long time since he indulged in time with a woman. Being in the field almost continuously for six years didn’t allow for such dalliances very often.
One was a bleach blonde, the second a brunette, and the third a redhead. Dan supposed if he mixed the red and brown-haired women and created a rich, deep shade of auburn, she might be his type. Though, not really … they all appeared too vapid for his taste.
He preferred fewer giggles and more substance in a woman—attracted to women who didn’t attempt to become something else or flaunt their bodily assets in public to attract a man. Dan liked women aware of their value as a person, with the strength of conviction and purpose, yet who maintained their femininity and compassion. Women similar in personality to Daphy, Anastasia, and Bella.
Another pang of loss zinged him. Daphy was gone, she disappeared during a black ops mission and declared dead a year later. Her death hit the unit hard—they all adored her. Blaze became more a father than a brother as he raised his little sister after their parents were killed. Daphy’s death rattled Blaze, he fell apart, becoming a complete wreck, so unfocused he almost died on a mission.
Thinking about Anastasia was hard too. Anastasia carved out a special place in his heart. She aided him in a way none of the guys ever could at a time when he needed help the most. The last time he saw her was on his twenty-seventh birthday before she left on an assignment. Two months later blackout protocol was invoked, so Dan didn’t know if Anastasia still lived, and he might never know.
Damn, I hate blackout protocols! I lose everyone I care about. Sara, Brody, Anastasia, Daphy, Ripsaw, Buzz, Dutch, Yankee, Shy, and many others. As his mind shifted to Bella, a small smile came to his face. Not quite everyone. Bella is still alive and well.
The lady he loved like a mother would undoubtedly live forever. So determined and tenacious he would bet the grim reaper was probably a bit frightened to come and take Bella. Though, Brogan Snow and his asshole cronies had tried to kill her. They almost succeeded, but Bella’s strength and vigor kept her alive. Bella even nursed him back to health after Brogan nearly beat him to death. They only survived because Wilson located them.
I should visit Bella and Wilson soon. His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of six heavily armed men entering the bank. They started yelling, herding the customers into a group, and forcing them to their knees. Dan’s mind instantly began assessing the situation and options. He concluded the masked men had not yet seen him and the women in this waiting area. His priority, hide the little girl someplace safe. He turned and locked eyes with the young mother as he picked up the small girl. “Follow me.”
Carrie stared at the handsome, blond man for only a second before deciding to follow him. He left her no choice—he held Gracie in his arms and moved swiftly towards the offices. She noticed the older women followed them.
As she trailed behind the man, Carrie heard the gunmen yelling at everyone to kneel. She heard one man tell them he couldn’t kneel. The gunshot and screams made Carrie jump. She glanced back. The obese man wearing the Hawaiian shirt lay on the floor, with a pool of blood forming around his head. One of the men shot him between the eyes. Her stomach turned at the sight and fear consumed her.
Dan didn’t react to the gunfire—focused on his mission to find a safe spot for the child and her mother. He located a tiny utility closet outside the central offices and set the girl down inside. Glancing back, he noted the girl’s mother and the two older ladies behind him. “Inside, now,” Dan whispered.
After the three women crammed into the tiny space, Dan put a finger to his lips. “Not a sound. No matter what you hear out here, stay down and quiet.”
“You need to hide too,” Carrie urged.
“No room.” Dan shook his head as he closed the door. Even if there had been space, he wouldn’t hide because many other people needed protecting. Obviously, the ruthless men held no regard for human life since they killed a man because he couldn’t kneel. Their action transformed them into targets in Dan’s mind—no better than terrorists. He understood how to deal with terrorists—kill them.
Moving quickly to a collection of desks in the open office area, Dan noted several people hiding under and behind desks. He scanned, searching for anything he might use as a weapon. Crouching, he noiselessly he pulled out a drawer. Browsing the contents, he found the only useful item, a letter opener, and slid it up his sleeve. He shifted, ready to go to another desk when two of the goons arrived.
“Everyone move to the lobby now!” Noah demanded, aiming his weapon at three people cowering near a file cabinet.
Dan began to rise and comply as his mind hunted for a solution.
A couple of others in the office didn’t obey, and Jonas sent a short burst of bullets over their heads as he shouted, “Next round won’t be over your heads. Move it!”
Dan moved as directed along with three bank workers, two customers, and the gunmen. He was relieved the three women followed his instruction and remained hidden in the closet with the young girl.
TRF HQ – Briefing Room
Alpha Team assembled in the largest room inside the Toronto Police Tactical Response Force Headquarters. The five TRF teams all used this room for the start of shift briefings, planning tactics for warrant calls, and for debriefing after critical calls. They also congregated here to do paperwork, relax on breaks, and conduct training sessions.
An elongated, wood-grained table with twelve surprisingly comfortable rolling office chairs, which also reclined and swiveled, took up a significant portion of the room. However, all thirty TRF officers plus additional personnel could all occupy the space if necessary. A speakerphone and various cables for laptops and other technical gadgets sat in the middle of the table.
Tall windows ran along the entire exterior wall, providing a view of the city and natural light. The interior wall opposite the bank of windows was made of thick bulletproof glass. Normally clear, both the glass wall and windows could be turned opaque with a touch of a button, providing privacy.
At one end of the rectangular room, a large area in the center of the wall had been covered with projection screen paint for use with the ceiling mounted projector. A whiteboard hung off to one side, and on the other side, near the windows, a standard-sized door led into conference room two. On the opposite end, a shelving unit housed an assortment of training and reference manuals Next to the bookcase sat a smaller square table and two folding chairs. A poster with the TRF’s emblem and motto hung above the little table.
The entrance to the room provided a clear line of sight of the dispatch desk about fifteen feet away. The eight-foot wide, rolling, garage-style metal door to the briefing room usually remained open, but teams closed it when dealing with sensitive situations or confidential info
rmation.
As the team debriefed the call, Sergeant Nicholas Pastore glanced at the closed door. He shut it when they entered due to the emotionally charged and grim nature of their last call. A very tough call for every member of the team—suicides always were, primarily when they involved a young person.
He rubbed his face briskly while Lexa read from the transcript. Most of the time debriefings were routine and used to refine team tactics. Though a rarity, sometimes they became heated if they disagreed or one of them messed up. Today he lowered the door to provide privacy while they processed their emotions.
Nick scanned Alpha Team—a well-oiled and seasoned team, considered the elite TRF team, the best of the best. This incarnation of the team was two years old, and half of them had been together for seven years now. They clicked like no other team in the past. More often than not they anticipated what the others required before the need was voiced.
He liked that turnover on his team remained exceedingly low—part of the reason they performed so well. The other teams experienced a much higher rate of resignations with at least one member leaving each year. Much of that had to do with the selection process. Each team chose its members, and Nick took pride in the fact he was skilled at selecting teammates. It was not an easy process and took weeks to make sure they chose the right constable from the mile-long list of candidates vying for a chance.
As Lexa wound down, Nick started his internal evaluations with the most junior member. Dante ‘Loki’ Baldovino, still wore the rookie badge though he had been on the team for two years. Loki appeared to be doing okay. His emotions were always easy to read. He controlled them during calls, but other times his expression revealed his feelings—an open book.
Next, Nick assessed his long-time friend, Jonathan Hardy. Time flew by, and he couldn’t believe ten years passed since he chose Jon for Alpha Team. One of the best selections he made in his sixteen years with TRF. A natural leader, Jon assumed the team tactical lead role four years ago. The perfect man for the position because Jon genuinely cared about each teammate. His core desire was to ensure everyone went home safe at the end of each shift.
The only thing Nick worried about with Jon was his unhealthy habit of taking on guilt when he believed they could’ve done more. It tended to rear up after calls like today. Unfortunately, they experienced many suicide attempts over the years. Although, Nick felt some relief that at some point along the way, Jon learned to accept they couldn’t save everyone. Today, they weren’t able to save the teen, but they’d done all they could. Studying him a moment longer, Nick determined Jon accepted that fact and would be okay.
His hazel eyes shifted to Bram. Abraham De Haven had seven years with them. He joined at the behest of his friend Jon. Nick noted Bram still rubbed his shoulder. The medics checked him out at the scene and said he would be sore for a few days. Bram and Jon had been two floors below the jumper trying to set up the net. Both were strapped into rappelling gear when Lexa cried out the teenager jumped. Bram leapt out and attempted to catch her as she fell.
Bram missed, just shy of reaching her, and his back and shoulder rammed into the wall on the backswing. Nick perceived the hurt in Bram’s expression which had nothing to do with the pain in the shoulder. As a father to four little girls, Bram’s thoughts were likely on the teenager’s father and how he would feel when he found out about his daughter’s suicide. Bram might not be doing well now, but his wife Kellie would set him to rights tonight, and he would be alright by tomorrow.
He assessed Ray next. When he observed Ray, he got the impression of viewing a placid lake. Ray’s demeanor, always calm on the surface, but still water ran deep. Nick was aware churning emotions lie just under Ray’s exterior.
In the past four years, Nick learned to read the few tell-tale signs which indicated Ray’s emotional state. He had been proven right in his decision to fight for Ray to join his team regardless of his background. Nick regarded Ray closely, and he didn’t detect anything which concerned him at this time.
Nick saved Alexandra ‘Lexa’ McKenna for last. She joined after Ray and now had three years under her belt. His gaze landed on Lexa, and he could tell this call hit her hard. Her body language remained closed off. Something Lexa did when things hurt her. She had been the one to try to talk the jumper down. It didn’t go the way they all wanted—the girl still leapt.
His voice soft, Nick said, “Lexa, you did your best. Not everyone can be saved. She made up her mind.”
Lexa nodded curtly with her arms crossed over her chest. My best was not enough today. I should’ve said something else to make the connection and stop her from giving up on life. Her voice came out clipped, “I understand we can’t save everyone. But I—”
Nick interrupted. “But nothing, Lexa. No buts, no ifs, no should’ve, or could’ve. You did everything humanly possible out there today. We don’t get to win them all.”
Loki put his hand on Lexa’s shoulder. “How about coming over for a movie tonight? We can watch the Best of Benny Hill. You’ll love it.” Loki gave her a goofy grin.
Lexa turned to Loki and sighed. Dante Baldovino was her best friend and knew how to make her laugh when she didn’t want to. When he first joined, she nicknamed the techie Loki because of the perpetual mischievous glint in his eyes and his prankster habits. The name stuck and everyone now called him Loki. Such a little boy sometimes, and that was part of why she liked him so much. Loki loved all things techie, had a weird sense of humor, eccentric taste in movies, and he was also the most faithful friend anyone might wish for.
“I’ll think about it,” Lexa finally answered.
“Come on. I’ll make sure I buy some chocolate fudge ice cream.” Loki waggled his brows at her trying to draw her out of her depression.
“Maybe. I’ll get back to you later, okay.” At Loki’s nod, she hugged herself tighter and closed her eyes. Typically, when she lost someone to suicide, all she wanted to do was go home and work out her frustrations by knocking down a wall or two.
When she started home renovations, she had no clue it could be so therapeutic. She began modernizing her house herself because she couldn’t afford to hire anyone. Though, the more she did, the more she found tearing down old, rotted wood and rebuilding soothed her soul. She was now hooked on doing repairs—it helped fill her off hours.
Jon stared at Lexa. After three years with her on this team, he knew what she needed. Jon had a good bead on each of his teammates and how to help them get their head back into the game after a bad call. As he stood, Jon directed his comment to Lexa, “Let’s hit the gun range for some target practice.”
When Lexa remained seated, Jon teased, “I’ll let you beat me this time.” That worked. The spark entered her eyes again—throwing down the gauntlet always worked. Lexa thrived on competition. It’s part of what made her the second-best sniper in all of the TRF. He was the best of course. Jon liked a challenge and to win, even more than Lexa.
Lexa cocked her head to the side and arched a brow. “You’ll let me win? As I recall, I’ve beaten you the last four of five times. You’re losing your edge, old man.”
Jon chuckled. “Old man? I let you win those … you, you … young pup.”
Ray chortled along with Loki and Bram while Nick only smiled.
“You’re too competitive, Jonny. No way you allowed Lexa to beat you. She won fair and square. Admit it, Lexa is a better shot than you now,” Bram playfully goaded his best friend.
“No. No. I still hold the number one spot in accuracy and groupings,” Jon retorted.
Lexa stood with a determined expression on her face. “You’re about to be knocked down to second place.”
Before they could all rise to go to the gun range, the klaxon alarm sounded and Tia, the dispatcher, called out, “Alpha Team. Critical call. Shots fired at Central Bank. King Street West and Bay Street. Silent alarm tripped. I don’t have any further details. Patrol units are on scene and cordoned off the area.”
The team rus
hed to the gun cage to gear up.
Wrong Place, Wrong Time
4
July 13
Central Bank – Main Room
Dan sized up the situation as he walked with the others to their holding area. Based on its proximity to the entrance Dan reckoned they were in the central lobby. He counted twenty-four hostages including himself, the manager, and a security guard, but not including the little girl and three women still hiding in the closet, and the dead man on the floor.
They paraded the danger to the hostages with impunity. Those detained, both customers and staff, had been positioned near explosive-laden front doors, the only apparent means of entry or exit. Comprehending the severity of the situation, Dan realized officers couldn’t breach the door with the massive bomb attached. If they triggered the charge, all the captives would be dead … the amount of C-4 so close to them would create a bloody mess of body parts. Examining the explosive material with his eyes, he found no timer attached, which meant they must be using a remote detonator.
He scrutinized each target attempting to determine who held the device. Dan must isolate him and find a way to obtain the remote allowing the police to enter. Unsure how the targets planned to exfil, he racked his brain to decipher their strategy. They surely have a plan since they blockaded the only egress. Unless they’re terrorists with no other agenda than massacring, destruction, and instilling fear. Although, if that was the case, they would’ve killed us by now.
Dan needed to plan his next move. My tactical options are limited given I’m alone, the explosives, and the number of hostiles and innocents. Dropping to his knees, Dan listened as two targets spoke harshly to one another.