FIC: The Hiatus ~ Chapter 13
Title: The Hiatus ~ Chapter Thirteen
Author: bugs
Rating: T+
Word Count: 3,700
Pairing: Sharon/OC, Sharon/Flynn UST, Sharon, Rusty
Spoilers: Through season 1 of Major Crimes
Summary: Sharon must deal with her past as her everyday responsibilities call for her attention.
Chapter 13:
Rusty's eyes burned from staring into the complete darkness, His ears rang as he listened but heard nothing, just deadly silence. As he'd pounded on the walls, the dull thump under his fist told him the room was sound-proofed.
He had no idea how much time had passed, but he'd been finally forced to urinate on the floor as far away from the cot as the restraint on his ankle would allow. His throat was swelling shut for the need of water. It had to have been hours.
Then he heard the latch turning on the door. He croaked out, "Help me!" It must be Sharon--
The now familiar stocky figure filled the dim doorway.
~*~
The van accelerated off the 210 freeway, ignoring speed limits and red lights. No police cars stopped it. Only more and more unmarked sedans joined its race through Sylmar's quiet midday streets. A red Audi brought up the rear.
Inside the van, everyone was on a phone, tense and driven. Sharon Raydor's voice was the sharpest, barking orders and questions with equal ferocity.
Just an hour ago, she had been rammed through the information gathering, pulling in the FBI to access the emails between Adam Fetter, posing as Rusty, and the man who only identified himself as X-cutioner.
They had a name and an address for her in twenty minutes, but it was too slow for her. She had spent the time reading the perverse and terrifying emails, her loathing for Adam Fetter growing with each line on the screen. He'd obviously intended for Rusty to be murdered by this man. When this was done and Rusty was safe, she'd see that bastard in prison for attempted murder.
The man who called himself X-cutioner online was identified as Howard Slovens. He was a postal worker sharing a home with his mother in Sylmar, an outer suburb of Los Angeles. He had no prior arrests or discipline issues at work. He was unmarried with no children.
Hanging onto to the seat arm for balance as the van took a sharp corner, she looked at the picture of Slovens on one of Buzz's screens. He was one of those bland, ordinary men who you'd ignore after the first glance. Perhaps you'd notice his blank, dead eyes and feel uncomfortable, unsure why. His weight and stocky built suggested he'd put up a fight.
"Any registered weapons in the household?" she said aloud.
"Yeah," Sanchez said tersely. "Two semi-automatic rifles registered to him, four handguns. Dear old mom's got another rifle in her name, although I doubt she's going to the range on the weekend."
"She's on disability," said Flynn. "I second the unlikelihood that she's packing."
"ETA on Alt's arrival," Sharon asked next.
There hadn't been time to do surveillance on the house. They'd checked with the local patrol unit, but there's been no calls to the house beyond a few call-outs for reports of minor vandalism and reports of 'kids hanging around.'
"The usual fearful old lady stuff," reported the patrol captain.
"What about the son?"
"Never seen him," the captain said with regret.
While they were still downtown, Tao had accessed all the resources available on the Slovens' house. They had gathered around his screen, squinting at the aerial views of the dwelling as well as the most recent google street view.
"Standard ranch house, single story," he said.
"Backyard fence at least eight feet high," Provenza said gloomily. "Thick shrubs and trees. We're not going to get a single sight-line inside."
"But there's no good view from the inside out either," pointed out Flynn. "Unless he's set up security cameras or booby traps."
"Ever the voice of doom," chided Provenza, although he nodded in agreement.
"No high speed internet, cable or satellite TV connected to the house. He still uses dial-up," noted Tao. "I'm going to hope that means he's not the security cameras type."
"Who doesn't even have high speed these days?" wondered Sykes.
Provenza frowned at her. "I don't."
Sykes shrugged.
Tao traced the house's outline on his screen. "I"m going to assume it follows the general layout of these houses. Living room at the front, kitchen on the back, bedrooms off on this wing."
"Rusty's in one of the bedrooms?" Sharon suggested.
Tao flipped up another tab on his browser to the county's utilities database. "This house is different from your common California ranch-style home. Rather than being on a poured slab, it has a basement."
"Oh, that's not good," growled Provenza. "Nothin' good happens in basements."
"Do we have any idea where the basement access is?" asked Sharon, ignoring the senior detective's gloomy viewpoint.
Shaking his head with regret, Tao said, "Not at all."
"We're just going to have to swarm this place through the front door," said Sanchez with quiet certainty. He looked to Taylor and Fritz Howard who stood at the back of the room, watching silently. "With as many bodies as we can get."
"I can give you at least six men," Fritz said. "I'll have them ready in ten."
"But if we go in through the front door," protested Flynn, "those aren't good odds to Rusty's survival."
"We'll send a decoy to the front door first," decided Sharon. She nodded at Sierra Alt. "You appear non-threatening. Let's put you is as flower delivery. Can't use a postal delivery, dammit."
"Yes, Ma'am," said the younger woman.
"We can't give you a bulletproof vest," said Sanchez, worry in his dark eyes.
"I know. No problem," Alt said, her resolve hardening her voice.
"I'll outfit you with a camera," said Buzz, leading Alt away.
"All right, how many bodies can we get?" asked Sharon. "If we're going through the front door, let's flood that house. It's only one guy. We can get him before he harms Rusty."
Everyone straightened, as if on review for their drill sergeant. "Yes, Captain," they said.
As all the detectives began their preparations to move out, Nick, who'd been watching from across the room, joined Sharon in her office. She was changing her heels for a pair of running shoes she kept in a desk drawer. She was just thankful she'd worn slacks today rather than her usual skirt.
"I want to come," Nick announced.
"Forget it."
"When you find him, I want to be there."
She twisted her mouth in a smirk as she finished tying her shoelace. "You and Rusty are hardly the closest of chums. I doubt it's you whose arms he'll want to run into."
"I want to be there for you," Nick simply said.
Her eyes had swam for the briefest of moments before she was able to blink the tears away. "He could still be alive."
Nick didn't reply, only took her elbow and gave it a squeeze.
She had checked her weapon and added another clip to the holster. "You follow in your own car. Sykes will be your contact. She's setting the parameter with SIS in a two block radius to the house. You'll stay there, in your car, until the scene is cleared."
"Yes, Captain," Nick had echoed.
The van's driver eased the vehicle up to the curb around the corner from the suspect's house. "Alt is thirty seconds out," Flynn told Sharon after listening to the latest report on his earpiece. He began putting on a bulletproof vest and she followed suit.
On the monitor, they watched the small delivery van with FTD on the side pass them and pull into the Slovens' house's drive.
"I don't like that she's going on without a vest," Sanchez said again, fastening his as well.
"She's accepted the risks," said Provenza sharply, glaring at the younger detective.
Sanchez met his superior's gaze levelly. "Yes, sir."
"Let's keep our heads clear," demanded Sharon, watching the screen as it went live with Alt's view from the miniature camera hidden in her Bluetooth earpiece. The young woman removed a Thanksgiving-themed flower arrangement from the back of the van, keeping the door closed far enough to obscure the presence of three SIS tactical officers in full gear and armed with assault rifles.
Behind Sharon, Tao kept a running tally of the forces moving into place. "Van's in the alley, four aboard. Posing as electrical workers. They'll go in through the back on our signal. Sykes has two armored vehicles on the parameter, ready to roll. Twelve total there. LAPD helicopter is staying half a mile out, but will move in when necessary. Special Agent Howard has his men in four cars, ready to enter the street on our signal." Tao checked another view of the street on Buzz's monitors. "Swann's food delivery van has another three inside. We're ready." His normally level voice cracked.
Sanchez slammed a magazine into place on his rifle. His hand on the van's door handle, he prepared to charge out.
"She's at the door," Buzz said unnecessarily as they watched Alt ring the doorbell, balancing the flower arrangement.
The tolling bell rang inside the house, echoing as though the rooms were empty. Alt quickly glanced over her shoulder, but then rang the bell again. When she heard an old woman's voice inside weakly call out, "Coming," she waved her free hand behind her back to stop any move from the waiting force.
The door cracked open and she put on her best sincere smile. "Delivery for Beverly Slovens," she said, keeping her voice high and lighter than its usual authoritative register.
"Me?" said the old woman, blinking at the bright afternoon sun. She was barely five feet tall, and in a garish housedress which overwhelmed her frail figure. Her skinny shins were an unhealthy gray color but she wore bright green fluffy slippers.
Alt made a show of checking her small clipboard, keeping her head at an angle so those in the van could view the foyer behind Beverly Slovens.
"Damn, too dark," grumbled Tao.
"Says right here, Beverly Slovens," said Alt. She smiled again. "Must be you."
"Who's it from?" asked the old woman, still unsure.
"Howard Slovens. Your husband?" asked Alt.
Beverly blinked behind her large thick glasses. "Goodness no. Ralph's been dead for years. Howie's my son."
"What a good boy," said Alt, still trying to see over the old woman's head.
"He'd never do anything like this," grumbled the old woman, stubbornly remaining in the doorway.
"Is he home? We can check. I'd hate to give the flowers to the wrong person--"
"I guess. He doesn't like to be bothered when he's busy," mumbled Beverly. Then she caused Alt to jump when she suddenly screeched over her shoulder, "Howie! Get out here!"
The detective slipped her clipboard into the back of her pants' waist, next to her weapon's holster. Balancing the flowers on her palm, she readied to toss them aside.
Finally she heard shuffling, heavy footfall approaching the door. "What'd ya' want, Mom?" whined a man's voice.
Beverly waved her hand at the arrangement in Alt's hand. "Did you order these?"
The man came into view, but was blocked by Beverly's slight frame. He blinked slowly, like a dull-witted steer. His face was covered with sweat and Alt swore she could smell fresh blood.
"What?" he repeated.
"These flowers," squawked his mother. "Did you order them for me?"
"What would I do that for?" he sneered, not looking at Alt.
She said, "Are you Howard Slovens?" which drew his attention. He blinked once and she felt a chill at his death stare.
Her shoulders tensed, ready, but the apparently laggard man suddenly moved very fast. He shoved his aged mother at Alt, spun, and escaped back into the house.
Curses broke out in the van as they watched Alt grapple with the screaming, sobbing old woman. But then there was the flash of a 9 MM pistol in Beverly's hand, and Sanchez flung the van's door open at Provenza's roar, "Gun! Gun! Gun!"
He leapt out, joining the SIS squad coming out the flower delivery van. The sound of chopper blades filled the air, and thundering feet as more armed officers poured out of their hiding places.
But above it all, they heard the gunshots, one after another.
Sharon ran across the Slovens' expansive lawn. Something brushed past her and she realized it was Andy moving in front of her. Glancing behind, she was saw she was at least outrunning Provenza.
She rounded the heavy shrubs obscuring the house's entrance and discovered the scene. With her good arm, Alt was dragging the old woman from the doorway by the collar of her housecoat. Blood streamed from her other arm. She tossed Beverly into a flower bed beside a figurine of St. Francis like she was a bag of garbage. "Gun secured," she announced with disgust as she kicked the small handgun well out the woman's reach.
The old woman let an amazing string of profanity and anti-government rhetoric loose, but everyone ignored her. Flynn pulled Sharon back against the wall out of range from the dark, curtained windows of the living room and bedrooms on the front of the house. "Let them secure the scene first," he warned her.
The SIS officers moved into the dim foyer, Sanchez at their heels.
Provenza stood over Beverly. "Where's the door to the basement?"
"What'd you need that for?" she whined, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hands. "You fucking cops!"
"Sonny has kidnapped a teenage boy, that's why!" yelled Provenza. "The door!"
Beverly stuck out her jaw and clacked her dentures. "I don't know what you're talkin' about!"
Provenza turned away in disgust.
Sanchez stuck his head out. "No sign of anyone from a quick sweep, but I think we have the door to the basement."
"Let the guys in full gear go down first," Andy advised, grabbing Sharon's arm as she lunged forward.
Sanchez nodded and disappeared back into the house. Sharon and her men followed, their weapons raised. Andy flicked on every light he could find as they moved through the dingy rooms to the kitchen. Even with the house full of armored troops, it was eerily silent. The buzz of flies circling the pile of dirty dishes in the sink was loud. Sanchez tipped his head toward the door by the worn formica topped dining table. Sharon nodded.
The first SIS officer kicked the door open and plunged down the dark stairs, his weapon's light cutting a blue beam through the stale air. Five more followed, trying to create shock and awe with their thundering boots and clanking armor.
Ignoring Sanchez and Flynn's protests, Sharon followed close behind, stumbling down the narrow, steep stairs into the basement.
One trooper, his face blackened, approached. "There's no exits, Captain. Only another room." He jerked his head toward a barred heavy door to a small room constructed in the large basement's corner.
"Search all this shit," she commanded, sweeping her arm at the piles of junk and boxes which filled the rest of the basement. "And get that door open."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"It's bolted with a key," said another officer. "No sign of it."
"Ask, the mother," Sharon said. Her limbs trembled with tension. "Get it open!"
Sanchez clattered back up the stairs on the mission. Outside the house, the ambulances were beginning to arrive. "Her first," he ordered the EMT, pointing to Alt. "This woman can wait," he added, meaning Beverly Slovens, who lay in a sobbing pile among her chrysanthemums.
The paramedic appeared surprised but followed his command.
"Mrs. Slovens," Sanchez said, "where's the key to the room in the basement?"
"I don't know anything about a room in the basement," she wailed.
"There's a room with a locked door," he rasped. "The boy's in the room. You have to know!"
"I don't know nothin'!" She fell over, her wet cheek covered with garden loam.
Disgusted, Sanchez hurried to Tao at the van. "We need a torch."
"The SIS will have one in their main command vehicle," Tao said, getting on the radio to the assault squad's captain.
Nick craned his head to watch the helicopter circling the neighborhood. Damn, he hated this waiting. All those years, he'd been grateful Sharon had served in Internal Affairs. Very few of these sort of operations, which mean fear-filled nights for the spouses.
Another ambulance passed. He supposed he should go to the house and see if Rusty was coming out and needed him...He'd opened the car door when he noticed a mail delivery man striding down the street, his mailbag swinging. Normally this wouldn't catch his attention but the man was breathing heavily, and there was no sign of his truck anywhere on the block. Cursing that his glasses weren't on, Nick ambled closer to get a better look. He'd only seen a brief glance of the suspect on the computer monitor, but he'd be able to see if this mailman fit Slovens' general description.
The man appeared to be bald like Howard Slovens under his pith helmet but his eyes were covered by black aviator sunglasses, obscuring his appearance.
Nick stopped him with a friendly smile and blocking his path.
"Hey, what the heck's goin' on down there?" he asked, waving his hand toward the activity. "I'm trying to get to my daughter's house and the cops won't let me through."
The mailman's face was running sweat. The day was not that hot. Nick watched his own reflection in the glasses, keeping his smile easy and non-threatening.
"Something wrong?" he asked, sounding concerned. "Bag too heavy?"
Slovens swung at his head, catching Nick off-guard and knocking him to the pavement. His skull bounced on the concrete. He saw stars. The heavier man fell on him, grabbed his hair and used it to slam his head repeatedly on the sidewalk. All the time, Howard was utterly silence.
Nick tried to cry out, but no one had been outside their homes or walking the street in the moments before the attack. He cursed, remembering Sharon mocking him that no one walks in LA. He'd be killed here in broad daylight, and no one would see a damn thing.
Because Howard Slovens, driven by homicidal fury, was overpowering Nick, already at a disadvantage flat on his back. He couldn't get his feet under him to flip Howard off. In the way of such traumatic moments, everything slowed to single frames of a film. He remembered his children's faces, the tilt of Sharon's head as she tried to hide her smile from him, the way Rusty watched her with such need in his gaze...He had to overcome this bastard. With a growl, Nick twisted his shoulder to block the blows raining down and managed to get one hand around Howard's throat. Then the film stopped, and there was a gun in his face.
Sharon shoved aside the protesting officer working the blowtorch and yanked open the door. "Light!" she demanded.
Flynn shone a floodlight over her shoulder into the room. A body lay in a pool of blood, its leg, shackled to a steel cot bolted to the floor, was twisted at an unnatural angle.
"Rusty!"
Her strangled cry made Andy flinch and the light danced, before focusing on Rusty's body again. She rushed forward, ignoring his warnings to secure the room first.
So much blood...She gathered up the boy's limp form to her, kneeling in the carnage. His chattering teeth gave her hope.
Smoothing back his damp bangs, she called out to him. "Rusty, we're here. I'm here."
"I--hurts," he mumbled.
"Yes, yes," she said, feeling over his bare chest for the wound and finding a deep slash at his side. Her fingers explored, and she was relieved to find it was just a cut, not a stabbing. They must have arrived just in time to interrupt Slovens' attack. As she struggled out of her jacket and pressed it to the injury, she remembered one email, where the X-cutioner said he would mark Rusty like Jesus before taking his life; this was the spear to the side.
"Get EMT's down here!" she yelled.
More light flooded the room. Rusty blinked at the brightness. Sharon leaned over him, shielding his sensitive eyes. "You're safe now," she promised him.
"Mom..."
His parched lips formed more words, but she couldn't hear them. He was obviously hallucinating in his distress. But she wouldn't correct him.
Holding him close, she responded, "Yes, Mom's here. You're safe."
Andy's hand settled on her quaking shoulder. "Paramedics are here, Captain."
"Thank you, Lieutenant," she choked out and rose, her knees cracking. Rusty clutched her hand as his eyelids drifted shut.
The two emergency responders pulled in a gurney and their large boxes of equipment, making the room very crowded.
"I want to go to the hospital with him," she said, even as she relinquished Rusty's hand to the first paramedic.
"Yes, Ma'am," he agreed. "Let's stabilize him first. I'm going to say dehydration and blood loss--" The two men began to quickly assess and treat Rusty's condition.
Sharon stepped out the room, wiping her bloody hands on her slacks.
Sanchez bounded down the stairs. "The dog's got this guy's scent."
Determined once again, Sharon said, "I'm coming. I want to be in on this arrest."
"Captain, I don't think that's a good idea," said Provenza, but only got her laser glare as a reply before she ran up the stairs.
Her detectives spread out across the spacious lawns as they followed the trail through the neighborhood. She trotted down the sunny, empty street after the police dog and its handler. Her gun drawn, clothes and bulletproof vest covered in blood, she earned the shocked stares of the few homeowners who'd started to come out to see what all the fuss was about.
The dog began to bark frantically.
She saw a red Audi, its door standing open. Two men grappled on the sidewalk. One, in a mailman's blue shorts, stood over the other. He had a gun. A gun, a gun, a gun--
"Drop it!" she screamed. "Drop it now!" Passing the dog handler who was still fumbling for his weapon, she kept focused on the mailman's head. She should aim for the torso, but she couldn't risk hitting Nick.
"Drop it or I'll shoot!"
Howard ignored her. His finger tighten on his gun's trigger and she fired. The air went red in a horrific blossom, bright as the flowers in his mother's garden.
~ End Chapter 13
Author: bugs
Rating: T+
Word Count: 3,700
Pairing: Sharon/OC, Sharon/Flynn UST, Sharon, Rusty
Spoilers: Through season 1 of Major Crimes
Summary: Sharon must deal with her past as her everyday responsibilities call for her attention.
Chapter 13:
Rusty's eyes burned from staring into the complete darkness, His ears rang as he listened but heard nothing, just deadly silence. As he'd pounded on the walls, the dull thump under his fist told him the room was sound-proofed.
He had no idea how much time had passed, but he'd been finally forced to urinate on the floor as far away from the cot as the restraint on his ankle would allow. His throat was swelling shut for the need of water. It had to have been hours.
Then he heard the latch turning on the door. He croaked out, "Help me!" It must be Sharon--
The now familiar stocky figure filled the dim doorway.
~*~
The van accelerated off the 210 freeway, ignoring speed limits and red lights. No police cars stopped it. Only more and more unmarked sedans joined its race through Sylmar's quiet midday streets. A red Audi brought up the rear.
Inside the van, everyone was on a phone, tense and driven. Sharon Raydor's voice was the sharpest, barking orders and questions with equal ferocity.
Just an hour ago, she had been rammed through the information gathering, pulling in the FBI to access the emails between Adam Fetter, posing as Rusty, and the man who only identified himself as X-cutioner.
They had a name and an address for her in twenty minutes, but it was too slow for her. She had spent the time reading the perverse and terrifying emails, her loathing for Adam Fetter growing with each line on the screen. He'd obviously intended for Rusty to be murdered by this man. When this was done and Rusty was safe, she'd see that bastard in prison for attempted murder.
The man who called himself X-cutioner online was identified as Howard Slovens. He was a postal worker sharing a home with his mother in Sylmar, an outer suburb of Los Angeles. He had no prior arrests or discipline issues at work. He was unmarried with no children.
Hanging onto to the seat arm for balance as the van took a sharp corner, she looked at the picture of Slovens on one of Buzz's screens. He was one of those bland, ordinary men who you'd ignore after the first glance. Perhaps you'd notice his blank, dead eyes and feel uncomfortable, unsure why. His weight and stocky built suggested he'd put up a fight.
"Any registered weapons in the household?" she said aloud.
"Yeah," Sanchez said tersely. "Two semi-automatic rifles registered to him, four handguns. Dear old mom's got another rifle in her name, although I doubt she's going to the range on the weekend."
"She's on disability," said Flynn. "I second the unlikelihood that she's packing."
"ETA on Alt's arrival," Sharon asked next.
There hadn't been time to do surveillance on the house. They'd checked with the local patrol unit, but there's been no calls to the house beyond a few call-outs for reports of minor vandalism and reports of 'kids hanging around.'
"The usual fearful old lady stuff," reported the patrol captain.
"What about the son?"
"Never seen him," the captain said with regret.
While they were still downtown, Tao had accessed all the resources available on the Slovens' house. They had gathered around his screen, squinting at the aerial views of the dwelling as well as the most recent google street view.
"Standard ranch house, single story," he said.
"Backyard fence at least eight feet high," Provenza said gloomily. "Thick shrubs and trees. We're not going to get a single sight-line inside."
"But there's no good view from the inside out either," pointed out Flynn. "Unless he's set up security cameras or booby traps."
"Ever the voice of doom," chided Provenza, although he nodded in agreement.
"No high speed internet, cable or satellite TV connected to the house. He still uses dial-up," noted Tao. "I'm going to hope that means he's not the security cameras type."
"Who doesn't even have high speed these days?" wondered Sykes.
Provenza frowned at her. "I don't."
Sykes shrugged.
Tao traced the house's outline on his screen. "I"m going to assume it follows the general layout of these houses. Living room at the front, kitchen on the back, bedrooms off on this wing."
"Rusty's in one of the bedrooms?" Sharon suggested.
Tao flipped up another tab on his browser to the county's utilities database. "This house is different from your common California ranch-style home. Rather than being on a poured slab, it has a basement."
"Oh, that's not good," growled Provenza. "Nothin' good happens in basements."
"Do we have any idea where the basement access is?" asked Sharon, ignoring the senior detective's gloomy viewpoint.
Shaking his head with regret, Tao said, "Not at all."
"We're just going to have to swarm this place through the front door," said Sanchez with quiet certainty. He looked to Taylor and Fritz Howard who stood at the back of the room, watching silently. "With as many bodies as we can get."
"I can give you at least six men," Fritz said. "I'll have them ready in ten."
"But if we go in through the front door," protested Flynn, "those aren't good odds to Rusty's survival."
"We'll send a decoy to the front door first," decided Sharon. She nodded at Sierra Alt. "You appear non-threatening. Let's put you is as flower delivery. Can't use a postal delivery, dammit."
"Yes, Ma'am," said the younger woman.
"We can't give you a bulletproof vest," said Sanchez, worry in his dark eyes.
"I know. No problem," Alt said, her resolve hardening her voice.
"I'll outfit you with a camera," said Buzz, leading Alt away.
"All right, how many bodies can we get?" asked Sharon. "If we're going through the front door, let's flood that house. It's only one guy. We can get him before he harms Rusty."
Everyone straightened, as if on review for their drill sergeant. "Yes, Captain," they said.
As all the detectives began their preparations to move out, Nick, who'd been watching from across the room, joined Sharon in her office. She was changing her heels for a pair of running shoes she kept in a desk drawer. She was just thankful she'd worn slacks today rather than her usual skirt.
"I want to come," Nick announced.
"Forget it."
"When you find him, I want to be there."
She twisted her mouth in a smirk as she finished tying her shoelace. "You and Rusty are hardly the closest of chums. I doubt it's you whose arms he'll want to run into."
"I want to be there for you," Nick simply said.
Her eyes had swam for the briefest of moments before she was able to blink the tears away. "He could still be alive."
Nick didn't reply, only took her elbow and gave it a squeeze.
She had checked her weapon and added another clip to the holster. "You follow in your own car. Sykes will be your contact. She's setting the parameter with SIS in a two block radius to the house. You'll stay there, in your car, until the scene is cleared."
"Yes, Captain," Nick had echoed.
The van's driver eased the vehicle up to the curb around the corner from the suspect's house. "Alt is thirty seconds out," Flynn told Sharon after listening to the latest report on his earpiece. He began putting on a bulletproof vest and she followed suit.
On the monitor, they watched the small delivery van with FTD on the side pass them and pull into the Slovens' house's drive.
"I don't like that she's going on without a vest," Sanchez said again, fastening his as well.
"She's accepted the risks," said Provenza sharply, glaring at the younger detective.
Sanchez met his superior's gaze levelly. "Yes, sir."
"Let's keep our heads clear," demanded Sharon, watching the screen as it went live with Alt's view from the miniature camera hidden in her Bluetooth earpiece. The young woman removed a Thanksgiving-themed flower arrangement from the back of the van, keeping the door closed far enough to obscure the presence of three SIS tactical officers in full gear and armed with assault rifles.
Behind Sharon, Tao kept a running tally of the forces moving into place. "Van's in the alley, four aboard. Posing as electrical workers. They'll go in through the back on our signal. Sykes has two armored vehicles on the parameter, ready to roll. Twelve total there. LAPD helicopter is staying half a mile out, but will move in when necessary. Special Agent Howard has his men in four cars, ready to enter the street on our signal." Tao checked another view of the street on Buzz's monitors. "Swann's food delivery van has another three inside. We're ready." His normally level voice cracked.
Sanchez slammed a magazine into place on his rifle. His hand on the van's door handle, he prepared to charge out.
"She's at the door," Buzz said unnecessarily as they watched Alt ring the doorbell, balancing the flower arrangement.
The tolling bell rang inside the house, echoing as though the rooms were empty. Alt quickly glanced over her shoulder, but then rang the bell again. When she heard an old woman's voice inside weakly call out, "Coming," she waved her free hand behind her back to stop any move from the waiting force.
The door cracked open and she put on her best sincere smile. "Delivery for Beverly Slovens," she said, keeping her voice high and lighter than its usual authoritative register.
"Me?" said the old woman, blinking at the bright afternoon sun. She was barely five feet tall, and in a garish housedress which overwhelmed her frail figure. Her skinny shins were an unhealthy gray color but she wore bright green fluffy slippers.
Alt made a show of checking her small clipboard, keeping her head at an angle so those in the van could view the foyer behind Beverly Slovens.
"Damn, too dark," grumbled Tao.
"Says right here, Beverly Slovens," said Alt. She smiled again. "Must be you."
"Who's it from?" asked the old woman, still unsure.
"Howard Slovens. Your husband?" asked Alt.
Beverly blinked behind her large thick glasses. "Goodness no. Ralph's been dead for years. Howie's my son."
"What a good boy," said Alt, still trying to see over the old woman's head.
"He'd never do anything like this," grumbled the old woman, stubbornly remaining in the doorway.
"Is he home? We can check. I'd hate to give the flowers to the wrong person--"
"I guess. He doesn't like to be bothered when he's busy," mumbled Beverly. Then she caused Alt to jump when she suddenly screeched over her shoulder, "Howie! Get out here!"
The detective slipped her clipboard into the back of her pants' waist, next to her weapon's holster. Balancing the flowers on her palm, she readied to toss them aside.
Finally she heard shuffling, heavy footfall approaching the door. "What'd ya' want, Mom?" whined a man's voice.
Beverly waved her hand at the arrangement in Alt's hand. "Did you order these?"
The man came into view, but was blocked by Beverly's slight frame. He blinked slowly, like a dull-witted steer. His face was covered with sweat and Alt swore she could smell fresh blood.
"What?" he repeated.
"These flowers," squawked his mother. "Did you order them for me?"
"What would I do that for?" he sneered, not looking at Alt.
She said, "Are you Howard Slovens?" which drew his attention. He blinked once and she felt a chill at his death stare.
Her shoulders tensed, ready, but the apparently laggard man suddenly moved very fast. He shoved his aged mother at Alt, spun, and escaped back into the house.
Curses broke out in the van as they watched Alt grapple with the screaming, sobbing old woman. But then there was the flash of a 9 MM pistol in Beverly's hand, and Sanchez flung the van's door open at Provenza's roar, "Gun! Gun! Gun!"
He leapt out, joining the SIS squad coming out the flower delivery van. The sound of chopper blades filled the air, and thundering feet as more armed officers poured out of their hiding places.
But above it all, they heard the gunshots, one after another.
Sharon ran across the Slovens' expansive lawn. Something brushed past her and she realized it was Andy moving in front of her. Glancing behind, she was saw she was at least outrunning Provenza.
She rounded the heavy shrubs obscuring the house's entrance and discovered the scene. With her good arm, Alt was dragging the old woman from the doorway by the collar of her housecoat. Blood streamed from her other arm. She tossed Beverly into a flower bed beside a figurine of St. Francis like she was a bag of garbage. "Gun secured," she announced with disgust as she kicked the small handgun well out the woman's reach.
The old woman let an amazing string of profanity and anti-government rhetoric loose, but everyone ignored her. Flynn pulled Sharon back against the wall out of range from the dark, curtained windows of the living room and bedrooms on the front of the house. "Let them secure the scene first," he warned her.
The SIS officers moved into the dim foyer, Sanchez at their heels.
Provenza stood over Beverly. "Where's the door to the basement?"
"What'd you need that for?" she whined, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hands. "You fucking cops!"
"Sonny has kidnapped a teenage boy, that's why!" yelled Provenza. "The door!"
Beverly stuck out her jaw and clacked her dentures. "I don't know what you're talkin' about!"
Provenza turned away in disgust.
Sanchez stuck his head out. "No sign of anyone from a quick sweep, but I think we have the door to the basement."
"Let the guys in full gear go down first," Andy advised, grabbing Sharon's arm as she lunged forward.
Sanchez nodded and disappeared back into the house. Sharon and her men followed, their weapons raised. Andy flicked on every light he could find as they moved through the dingy rooms to the kitchen. Even with the house full of armored troops, it was eerily silent. The buzz of flies circling the pile of dirty dishes in the sink was loud. Sanchez tipped his head toward the door by the worn formica topped dining table. Sharon nodded.
The first SIS officer kicked the door open and plunged down the dark stairs, his weapon's light cutting a blue beam through the stale air. Five more followed, trying to create shock and awe with their thundering boots and clanking armor.
Ignoring Sanchez and Flynn's protests, Sharon followed close behind, stumbling down the narrow, steep stairs into the basement.
One trooper, his face blackened, approached. "There's no exits, Captain. Only another room." He jerked his head toward a barred heavy door to a small room constructed in the large basement's corner.
"Search all this shit," she commanded, sweeping her arm at the piles of junk and boxes which filled the rest of the basement. "And get that door open."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"It's bolted with a key," said another officer. "No sign of it."
"Ask, the mother," Sharon said. Her limbs trembled with tension. "Get it open!"
Sanchez clattered back up the stairs on the mission. Outside the house, the ambulances were beginning to arrive. "Her first," he ordered the EMT, pointing to Alt. "This woman can wait," he added, meaning Beverly Slovens, who lay in a sobbing pile among her chrysanthemums.
The paramedic appeared surprised but followed his command.
"Mrs. Slovens," Sanchez said, "where's the key to the room in the basement?"
"I don't know anything about a room in the basement," she wailed.
"There's a room with a locked door," he rasped. "The boy's in the room. You have to know!"
"I don't know nothin'!" She fell over, her wet cheek covered with garden loam.
Disgusted, Sanchez hurried to Tao at the van. "We need a torch."
"The SIS will have one in their main command vehicle," Tao said, getting on the radio to the assault squad's captain.
Nick craned his head to watch the helicopter circling the neighborhood. Damn, he hated this waiting. All those years, he'd been grateful Sharon had served in Internal Affairs. Very few of these sort of operations, which mean fear-filled nights for the spouses.
Another ambulance passed. He supposed he should go to the house and see if Rusty was coming out and needed him...He'd opened the car door when he noticed a mail delivery man striding down the street, his mailbag swinging. Normally this wouldn't catch his attention but the man was breathing heavily, and there was no sign of his truck anywhere on the block. Cursing that his glasses weren't on, Nick ambled closer to get a better look. He'd only seen a brief glance of the suspect on the computer monitor, but he'd be able to see if this mailman fit Slovens' general description.
The man appeared to be bald like Howard Slovens under his pith helmet but his eyes were covered by black aviator sunglasses, obscuring his appearance.
Nick stopped him with a friendly smile and blocking his path.
"Hey, what the heck's goin' on down there?" he asked, waving his hand toward the activity. "I'm trying to get to my daughter's house and the cops won't let me through."
The mailman's face was running sweat. The day was not that hot. Nick watched his own reflection in the glasses, keeping his smile easy and non-threatening.
"Something wrong?" he asked, sounding concerned. "Bag too heavy?"
Slovens swung at his head, catching Nick off-guard and knocking him to the pavement. His skull bounced on the concrete. He saw stars. The heavier man fell on him, grabbed his hair and used it to slam his head repeatedly on the sidewalk. All the time, Howard was utterly silence.
Nick tried to cry out, but no one had been outside their homes or walking the street in the moments before the attack. He cursed, remembering Sharon mocking him that no one walks in LA. He'd be killed here in broad daylight, and no one would see a damn thing.
Because Howard Slovens, driven by homicidal fury, was overpowering Nick, already at a disadvantage flat on his back. He couldn't get his feet under him to flip Howard off. In the way of such traumatic moments, everything slowed to single frames of a film. He remembered his children's faces, the tilt of Sharon's head as she tried to hide her smile from him, the way Rusty watched her with such need in his gaze...He had to overcome this bastard. With a growl, Nick twisted his shoulder to block the blows raining down and managed to get one hand around Howard's throat. Then the film stopped, and there was a gun in his face.
Sharon shoved aside the protesting officer working the blowtorch and yanked open the door. "Light!" she demanded.
Flynn shone a floodlight over her shoulder into the room. A body lay in a pool of blood, its leg, shackled to a steel cot bolted to the floor, was twisted at an unnatural angle.
"Rusty!"
Her strangled cry made Andy flinch and the light danced, before focusing on Rusty's body again. She rushed forward, ignoring his warnings to secure the room first.
So much blood...She gathered up the boy's limp form to her, kneeling in the carnage. His chattering teeth gave her hope.
Smoothing back his damp bangs, she called out to him. "Rusty, we're here. I'm here."
"I--hurts," he mumbled.
"Yes, yes," she said, feeling over his bare chest for the wound and finding a deep slash at his side. Her fingers explored, and she was relieved to find it was just a cut, not a stabbing. They must have arrived just in time to interrupt Slovens' attack. As she struggled out of her jacket and pressed it to the injury, she remembered one email, where the X-cutioner said he would mark Rusty like Jesus before taking his life; this was the spear to the side.
"Get EMT's down here!" she yelled.
More light flooded the room. Rusty blinked at the brightness. Sharon leaned over him, shielding his sensitive eyes. "You're safe now," she promised him.
"Mom..."
His parched lips formed more words, but she couldn't hear them. He was obviously hallucinating in his distress. But she wouldn't correct him.
Holding him close, she responded, "Yes, Mom's here. You're safe."
Andy's hand settled on her quaking shoulder. "Paramedics are here, Captain."
"Thank you, Lieutenant," she choked out and rose, her knees cracking. Rusty clutched her hand as his eyelids drifted shut.
The two emergency responders pulled in a gurney and their large boxes of equipment, making the room very crowded.
"I want to go to the hospital with him," she said, even as she relinquished Rusty's hand to the first paramedic.
"Yes, Ma'am," he agreed. "Let's stabilize him first. I'm going to say dehydration and blood loss--" The two men began to quickly assess and treat Rusty's condition.
Sharon stepped out the room, wiping her bloody hands on her slacks.
Sanchez bounded down the stairs. "The dog's got this guy's scent."
Determined once again, Sharon said, "I'm coming. I want to be in on this arrest."
"Captain, I don't think that's a good idea," said Provenza, but only got her laser glare as a reply before she ran up the stairs.
Her detectives spread out across the spacious lawns as they followed the trail through the neighborhood. She trotted down the sunny, empty street after the police dog and its handler. Her gun drawn, clothes and bulletproof vest covered in blood, she earned the shocked stares of the few homeowners who'd started to come out to see what all the fuss was about.
The dog began to bark frantically.
She saw a red Audi, its door standing open. Two men grappled on the sidewalk. One, in a mailman's blue shorts, stood over the other. He had a gun. A gun, a gun, a gun--
"Drop it!" she screamed. "Drop it now!" Passing the dog handler who was still fumbling for his weapon, she kept focused on the mailman's head. She should aim for the torso, but she couldn't risk hitting Nick.
"Drop it or I'll shoot!"
Howard ignored her. His finger tighten on his gun's trigger and she fired. The air went red in a horrific blossom, bright as the flowers in his mother's garden.
~ End Chapter 13