Page 39 of Tough as Steele

They fell silent, an uncomfortable, prickly silence. Their-lives-were-about-to-be-on-the-line kind of silence.

Londyn drew her weapon and checked the magazine. She always made a final check before approaching a potentially armed suspect’s door. Her granddad taught her to do that. He said far too many times to count that a sidearm with no ammo was like a hook without bait. Both were worthless. Only difference was, one could get you killed. They’d often rolled their eyes at his fishing analogies, but his stories were memorable, and he had a big part in helping them all stay safe.

She took a breath and let it out. She was headed into unknown territory. She rarely approached dangerous suspects. For high-risk warrants where the suspect was probably armed or was believed to have been involved in a criminal act like murder, PPB department policy required the Special Emergency Response Team be called in. But she wasn’t in PPB’s jurisdiction and couldn’t call in SERT to handle the approach.

A mile from the nearly ghost town of Bridal Veil, Nate slowed the car and eased it onto the gravel shoulder, the crunch of tires rasped down her back. He killed the lights but left the engine running.

“One thing’s for sure,” Bristol said, humor in her tone. “Wigg didn’t move to Bridal Veil for the postmark.”

Nate chuckled.

Londyn was too worked up to even quirk her mouth at her sister’s comment about the town that only existed because of the highly sought after postmark. The post office attracted thousands of brides each year to have the town name embossed on their invitations.

Bristol lifted her binoculars and looked out the window. “Lights are on in the house, and a car’s parked out front.”

“Give me the plate number, and I’ll run it.” Nate shifted his computer mounted to the dash to face him.

Bristol called out the number.

Nate opened the laptop, the monitor lighting his face, the planes shadowed and dangerous looking. For the first time, Londyn could imagine him as a SEAL entering very dangerous territories and armed to the teeth. He was evasive about those days, but he probably had to be.

He typed in the information. “Vehicle belongs to Wigg. Hopefully that means he’s home.”

Londyn took a long look out her window. “We can hightail it across the road and down the tree line or drive in, lights off.”

“Staying in the car will give better protection if he opens fire.” Nate closed his computer and slid it back to the middle of the car. “Give me a second to grab my rifle, gloves, and booties in case we need them, and we’ll drive in.” He was out of the car almost before he’d finished his sentence.

“What I wouldn’t give to have my own rifle,” Londyn said.

“I hear you,” Bristol said, “but we’ll have to make do with handguns.” A tremor of nerves ran through Bristol’s tone. “Hopefully we won’t need them.”

Whoever said that law enforcement officers didn’t get nervous when facing a potentially dangerous situation like this one was wrong. Most officers got nervous. They just managed to keep those nerves from freezing them in place.

Nate climbed back in and rested his rifle over his lap. He handed out the booties and gloves, and Londyn pocketed hers. He left the headlights off and pulled onto the road. At the driveway, he turned onto the gravel and drove slowly, the crunch under their tires sounding like thunder in Londyn’s ears. She feared the noise would give them away.

She kept her focus ahead, looking for the smallest of movements. Spotting only those old appliances that Bristol had mentioned dotting the fields like headstones in a graveyard.

They crept closer. Closer.

Tall grass blew in the wintry breeze by the driveway. Bare branches swayed on trees. No movement at the house.

Headlights suddenly blazed from the end of the drive. Londyn squinted and made out a pickup with oversized tires. The driver turned on roof-mounted LED lights, blinding her.

“Can anyone see?” she asked.

“Negative.” Nate placed a hand above his eyes and leaned forward.

“Not me,” Bristol said from where she leaned between the front seats.

The truck’s custom exhaust pipe thundered, the sound splitting the quiet like a giant roll of thunder, but the truck remained idling in place.

“Guns!” Nate shouted. “Down.”

Londyn hit the floor while Nate reversed the vehicle, gravel spitting. She heard Bristol drop down too.

A gun blast hit the front grill.

Londyn cringed. Nate stayed strong and in place, piloting the car. Thank God, Nate was driving. He would’ve come under fire as a SEAL and knew how to react in high-pressure situations.

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