Page 23 of Crosshairs

I stepped to the side and said, “Be my guest.”

Trilling didn’t say a word as he stepped in front of the door. Then, in one smooth motion, he lifted his right leg and kicked the door right next to the handle and dead bolt.

The door flew open, smashing into a wall behind it. Trilling slipped inside before I could say anything. I followed my partner, half expecting to be confronted by an outraged business owner. Instead, there was no one near us. I could hear faint noises coming from another room.

We carefully walked next to the wall toward where we heard noise. When we came to an open door, we saw a catwalk above a main floor that trucks must use to load whatever was held in the warehouse.

Before we stepped through the door, Trilling tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the far corner of the main warehouseroom. There were four or five women working near some tables, all wearing what looked like white surgical clothes. Their faces were covered with N95 masks, but dark hair spilled out and down their backs.

The floor of the warehouse was covered with row after row of heavy, empty shelves. There was a line of cots with blankets on them against the far wall. There was also a refrigerator and microwave by a door. The only activity was in the far corner.

I ducked back behind the wall and leaned in close to Trilling. “I don’t see William Hackford. I don’t even see any men in that group.”

“But you see the drug operation, right?”

“I see whatlookslike five women processing drugs. But if I got on the stand and said that, without going down to check, a defense attorney would rip me in half. That’s after we were arrested ourselves for B and E after explaining how we entered without authority.”

Trilling nodded, then said, “They got a lot of room here for not much activity. You think they plan to expand?”

“I think the whole idea of this warehouse is that they don’t have to worry about noise or anyone paying attention to what’s going on here.”

Trilling looked over my shoulder. He nudged me to step out onto the walkway. We crept along together, gathering a better view of the operation with every step.

Then I heard a gunshot.

CHAPTER 29

I’D LIKE TO claim it was my police training or my lightning-fast reflexes that saved me from getting shot. The truth is, my new partner, whom I didn’t completely trust yet, grabbed me by the arm and jerked me flat onto the catwalk.

I was panting as we hit the wooden walkway. Now I was lying on my belly alongside Rob Trilling. The young former Ranger showed no stress or anxiety. He could have been playing a game with his buddies.

I said, “What the hell? That asshole didn’t even offer a warning. Whatever they’re doing in the corner is a big deal.”

I could just see the far corner of the warehouse floor. The women who’d been working at the tables were now all cowering in the makeshift kitchen. I couldn’t see the shooter on the floor of the warehouse. At least not without exposing my head.

I turned back to Trilling as I fumbled for my phone to call forhelp. Trilling was still as calm as if he were waiting in line. He said, “I’m going to flank him.” He was up and moving before I could tell him to sit still and wait for backup.

I scooted back from the edge of the catwalk with my phone in hand. I took a couple of breaths to slow down my heartbeat and tried toremembersome training that might save my life.

When the dispatcher picked up, I kept my voice low so as not to attract the shooter. In a harsh whisper, I identified myself by name and ID number. “We are in a warehouse in the Bronx and taking fire from an unknown assailant.” It took me a moment to recall the address and I barked it out in my hushed voice.

The dispatcher was really sharp, and I heard her already clearing the air to call out, “Officer needs assistance.”

Then another bullet ripped through the walkway, about three inches from my face. I sprang to my feet but couldn’t see the shooter below me. I knew I had to move. Every footstep felt like a signal of where to aim. I slid to a stop behind some crates piled on the catwalk. I hoped that whatever was in them was enough to stop a bullet.

At least now I could see the entire floor of the warehouse. I finally caught a glimpse of the shooter as he darted from underneath the catwalk and lost himself in some shelving in the middle of the floor.

Then I noticed Trilling two rows away from the shooter. He looked up at me and I pointed past him and held up two fingers to tell him where the shooter was. I saw Trilling crouch down, trying to look under the shelves to locate the shooter.

Then Trilling stood up and put his back to the shelving unit next to him. He started to push. He squatted lower and braced his back against the lowest shelf as he pushed with his legs.

It took me a moment to realize what he intended. I didn’t think it was a good idea. The wall of shelves he was pushing tipped dangerously away from Trilling. Then the whole thing tumbled into the next wall of shelves, which immediately started knocking the shelves into the next row.

The noise was unbelievable. It sounded like a freight train had flipped in my living room. I raced to the first ladder coming down from the catwalk to the warehouse floor. I landed and scanned the area in front of me. There was dust in the air as thick as fog.

As I ran toward the toppled shelves, Trilling stepped out of the rubble, holding a man in an arm bar.

Trilling casually said, “Can you collect his pistol? It’s about twenty feet down the aisle.”

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