Page 23 of Finding Home with You

I holster my weapon and walk toward Joe. He’s handcuffing the guy he was previously holding a gun to and reading him his rights. As I come to a stop in front of him, I cross my arms over my chest and say, “Anything you want to tell us about tonight?”

“Fuck off,” he shoots back at me, pulling on the cuffs. Joe yanks his arms back harder and the guy grunts as he practically falls against him.

“Who’s in charge here?” I ask him. “You start talking and it’ll make your life a hell of a lot easier later.”

“Fuck you, pig,” he says spitting at me.

It’s the perfect diversion, because as I’m watching this all unfold, the guy somehow manages to pull away from Joe and jump through his handcuffed arms so they’re now in front of him. It happens faster than I could have expected, and just as I’m reaching for my gun, this guy is bending down and grabbing his from the ground.

He straightens and levels it at my chest at the same time as I whip mine around so it’s aimed at his forehead. Joe, who is directly behind he guy, quickly moves to the side, his gun now trained on him, too.

“Drop the fucking weapon,” Joe shouts at him and I can hear the nervous edge to his command. He wasn’t expecting this guy to pull a move like that, and I know he’s going to feel bad that he let it happen.

“Fuck you,” he says again, his eyes never leaving me.

“I’d do what my partner says if I were you,” I say, my voice level and calm despite the adrenaline that’s surging through me.

The guy laughs. “I don’t think so, pig.”

“Hey, asshole,” Joe tries again, this time kicking the dead guy’s gun across the ground.

It’s just enough to make this guy glance down and when he does, I take the shot, not even stopping to think about it. The bullet enters his forehead and even though he returns fire, it’s an impulse shot, brought on by the shock of getting hit, and the bullet is off target.

“Fuck,” I bite out as it still shears the side of my left arm.

The guy falls to the ground now, his gun beside him. “You alright, sir?” Joe asks, never taking his eyes off the body.

“Yeah,” I say, turning to look at my arm. The bullet has torn through my shirt, the blood already soaking the material. It’s a superficial wound, nothing serious, but it still hurts like a bitch. “Fucking great.”

An hour later and I’m sitting in the back of an ambulance getting my arm bandaged up. The medic wants me to go to the hospital, but I shrug him off, just asking him to patch me up so I can get back to the station and start questioning the guys we caught.

“Alright, that’s as much as I can do,” he says, ripping off the blood pressure cuff. “I still think you should get it checked out. I’m pretty sure you need stitches.”

“It’s fine,” I say, standing. “Thanks.” I turn to walk away and see my captain standing in front of me, a look on his face that suggests he’s not happy. “What?” I ask, glancing at the warehouse behind him. The guys are removing all the boxes of weapons and ammunition we’ve found, loading them into the police vans that have arrived.

“I think you should head to the hospital, Summers,” he says, taking a step sideways so he’s blocking my view.

“I need to question these guys first,” I respond, grabbing my jacket from the back of the ambulance.

“Ryan,” he says, voice serious as he stands with his hands on his hips and stares at me. “You need to get your ass to the hospital,” he repeats, gesturing toward my arm. I glance down and notice the blood that has already started to seep through the bandage. “The questioning won’t happen for at least an hour or two,” he adds. “They’ll have to be photographed, printed and processed; there’s plenty of time.”

I take a deep breath, knowing he’s right. My arm is throbbing, the paramedic only able to offer me a couple of painkillers while he attempted to clean up the wound. “Fine,” I finally concede. “But I need to be there for the questioning, okay? It doesn’t start without me.”

The captain nods, gesturing for Pete to come and drive me. “Look Ryan,” he continues, hands sliding into his pockets now as though he doesn’t want to come off too confrontational. “About what happened tonight, the shooting…”

“It was all above board!” I shout, running a hand through my hair. “They were threatening my team,” I point out to him. “Everything was legit here.”

The captain holds up his hands. “I know, okay? I know this was all in the line of duty and I’m not saying you did anything wrong. But,” he says, meeting my stare, “you know there’s going to be an investigation into this. It’s protocol, regardless of the circumstances.”

“Fucking hell,” I say, adjusting my left arm in the sling the medic forced me to put on. “This is total bullshit.”

“Ryan,” the captain says, his hand on my good arm now. “You haven’t done anything wrong. From what Joe has already said, it was a good hit, clean and by the book, but you know this is something we have to do.”

“Whatever,” I spit out. “You better not be taking me off the case though,” I add, fuming at what I know is going to be a nightmare couple of weeks now. Despite all my years on the job, I’ve never actually shot someone before. I know what’s going to be expected of me, though. There’ll be an investigation into what happened tonight. An independent team who’ll make sure everything was legit. And while that happens, I’ll be watched like a fucking hawk, not to mention ordered to get some bullshit counseling so I don’t break down or some shit. Fuck that.

“That’s not what’s happening here, Ryan,” the captain says. “You’re officially still on the case,” he adds in case that’s what I was worried about. “You will be required to report to Internal Affairs for some questioning at some stage, but no one’s out to get you here, okay?”

“Fine.” I snap my fingers at Pete now, itching to get out of here so I can get my arm stitched and get down to the station to start the questioning.

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