The Rogue
Chapter 26

Ryan was used to things happening at warp speed. Fire could turn from a flicker to an inferno in less time than it took to place an order at Starbucks. Similarly, he was used to formulating plans of action and putting them into go mode in a blink.

Hell, half the time he had more adrenaline in his veins than b***d. But the rush of movement and the precision that went with it as the Intelligence Unit sprang into action? Yeah, even he was pretty overwhelmed.

“I’m really sorry,” Addison said, shouldering her way into a body armor vest and adjusting it around her torso. “I can’t tell you any details about where we’re going or what we’re doing.”

Ryan hated it with the fiery passion of a thousand red-hot suns, but he knew she was right. Sinclair had made a huge concession to even let him into the locker room for the simple update that they had a lead and were going to follow up on it.

“I know,” Ryan said. The other detectives were moving briskly around the locker room, a plan clearly in place, and okay, this had to be a good sign. “Is it okay if I stick around until you get back? I’ll climb the walls if I go home,” he added, already so full of nervous energy that he was half-liable to burst.

“That’s not up to me, but we can ask Sinclair,” Addison said. She reached out to squeeze his forearm, sending both a feeling of calm and another, deeper emotion he couldn’t quite name all the way through his chest. She had to have no less than a hundred things winging through her mind right now, and still, she was right there, making sure he was on the level.

“Okay.” The feeling in his chest expanded, keeping pace with his adrenaline, and he couldn’t keep it contained. “Hey, listen,” he said softly, dropping his voice to keep the words private. “I know you’re incredible at your job, and you have a bada*ss team backing you up, but be careful, okay?”

Addison laughed. “As sexy as it is, this body armor isn’t a fashion statement, Ryan.”

“Neither are my turnouts, but they still won’t keep me one hundred percent safe in every situation,” he pointed out, and f**k it. “It’s just that I care about you. Yes, I want whatever it is that you’re about to do to work so we can replace Bishop and keep Chloe safe. But I need you to be safe, too, okay?”

Addison’s eyes went wide for just a second before she gave him the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. “You know me. I’m risk averse. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Thank you.”

But as he squeezed her arm and left the locker room so she could prepare with her unit-mates for whatever was ahead, Ryan knew that what he’d told her wasn’t quite the truth. He didn’t just care about Addison.

He was falling in love with her, and now she was headed directly toward danger.

Addison drovethe route they’d mapped, guiding the Charger over familiar city streets. She and Maxwell never got horribly chatty on their way to a bust, each of them preferring to self-prepare in silence. But even though the plan they were about to kick into motion was a good one, they had just come up with it thirty minutes ago. Going over it, just once, probably wasn’t the worst idea ever.

“Okay,” she said, her determination locking firmly into place. “We’re looking for Jimmy Boone, a.k.a. Peter Webb, who owns Jimmy’s Auto Body Shop.”

“I’m willing to bet our boy Jimmy doesn’t know a Cadillac from a Camry,” Maxwell muttered, and Addison cracked a smile that lightened the tension between her shoulder blades.

“Oh, the business is a front. Guaranteed. With what Roman has on the guy, he’s far too busy running internet scams to do any legitimate work. Jimmy’s white, five foot ten, blond hair, brown eyes.”

Roman had been all too happy to share his knowledge as soon as Sinclair had laid out his plan, sending over the driver’s license photo on Webb’s faked documents, a detailed floor plan of the auto body shop, and all the sore spots they’d need to press when it came to interviewing Jimmy once he was in custody.

Maxwell’s phone beeped, and he looked at the screen with a nod. “Warrant just came through.”

Per Roman’s intel, they had good reason to believe Jimmy was at the auto body shop, where he usually worked through the night. If he wasn’t, they’d still remove every last piece of electronic equipment, right down to the goddamned stereo, but what they really wanted—what they needed—was the man himself.

“Good,” Addison said, pulling into an alley and killing the lights. They were a block from the rear entrance to the auto body shop, and she did a quick scan of their surroundings before getting out of the Charger to make her way closer, Maxwell at her h*p.

“All quiet,” Maxwell said. “Good to go.”

Sliding her earpiece into place and activating the mic at her shoulder, Addison tested things out with a quick one-two.

“This is Hale. Maxwell and I are in position.”

“Good evening, Detective Hale,” came Capelli’s voice, crisp and smooth in her ear. “Copy that. Hollister, report.”

“Isabella and I are in place by the front door,” Hollister replied. “Ready to back up Sinclair and Garza.”

The plan was fairly straightforward, thanks in part to the schematics of the auto body shop that Roman had shared with them. Jimmy was likely in the office, nestled deep inside the building attached to the three garage bays beside it. Their backup team would cover the garage itself, just in case Jimmy tried to escape through one of the bays, while the Intelligence Unit took the building itself. Sinclair, Garza, Hollister, and Isabella would go in through the front and detain anyone inside. Hopefully, they’d replace Jimmy with ease, take him into custody, then let the crime scene unit come in to seize the equipment so Capelli could work his magic in scouring it for evidence. But if Jimmy got squirrely and tried to escape through the back, then Addison and Maxwell would be waiting.

“Ready to breach. On three. One, two…” Sinclair said, the words followed by the loud bang of the door ram making contact with its target. Addison’s pulse rushed, her b***d whooshing through her ears as her body tensed with heightened awareness. Maxwell mirrored her from the opposite side of the rear door, and Addison inhaled, listening to the comms fly over the line.

“RPD! Stop!” came Garza’s quick shout, followed by, “I have Jimmy in the hallway outside the office. He’s a runner. Headed your way, Hale.”

Addison metered her breathing, adrenaline free-flowing through her. “Copy that.”

She and Maxwell flanked the door, weapons drawn. There was nowhere for Jimmy to run—they’d have him the second he stepped outside, and they were so close, Addison could f*****g taste it. She waited a beat, then another, entirely ready to spring into action…

And the door didn’t budge.

Too late, Addison heard the sound of a ground-level window opening about ten feet behind her, then the thud of boots on pavement, already on the run.

“God damn it!” She whipped around, her legs moving before her brain could fully form the command to make them go. “Suspect is fleeing on foot down the rear alley leading to Johnston Street,” she clipped out. “Stop! Remington PD!” she barked, then measured her breathing to conserve her energy. Jimmy ran without hesitating—probably because he’d mapped out an escape route the day he’d moved into the building—but Addison was even more determined to catch him than he was to escape. Her lungs burned from exertion, her legs screaming as she pushed her muscles to their breaking point. Jimmy reached the end of the street, giving himself no choice but to turn, and the slight slowing that was necessary for him to change direction gave Addison the opening she needed. She used her momentum to propel herself forward and lunge, putting all of her strength into the movement. She made contact with a solid whump, what was left of her breath escaping on a hard gasp as they hit the ground in a tangle.

“RPD,” Addison managed to huff out, her weapon drawn. “Put your hands over your head, palms face-down on the ground. Now.”

Turning his face to the side, Jimmy let out a nasty curse. Still, he did as he was told, placing his hands over his head.

Maxwell arrived a second later, utterly winded but weapon drawn. “You good?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Yeah.” Shifting back, she holstered her weapon, reaching for Jimmy’s right wrist. “I’m handcuffing you,” she bit out. “Do yourself a favor, and don’t struggle.”

Jimmy grunted. “You have no right to even touch me.”

“The arrest warrant my sergeant’s got says otherwise.” Addison cuffed him, then hauled him to his feet. By the time she’d read him his rights, the rest of the unit had converged on the alley, blue and white lights bouncing off the bricks and pavement. Garza took Jimmy into custody, delivering him to the back of a waiting patrol car, and finally, finally, Addison allowed herself to acknowledge the truth.

They had him.

“Nice grab,” Maxwell said, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her more closely. “Whoa. Hale, you’re bleeding.”

Addison looked down at the long sleeve of her shirt, which—oh, huh—was torn and stained with a decent amount of b***d. “Ah,” she hissed, peeling back the cotton to reveal a nasty scrape spanning most of her forearm. “Must have happened when we hit the ground. Is Jimmy hurt?”

“Not that I saw, or that he mentioned.” Sinclair said. “But you need to get that patched up before we get back to the precinct.”

“What? No.” Okay, so Addison didn’t normally make it a practice to backtalk her sergeant, but still… “It’s a scratch.” Not a small one, granted, and it was starting to sting like a son of a bitch, but… “I don’t need medical attention.”

“Yes, you do,” Sinclair said. Before she could argue—and yep, Ryan’s impulsive ways must be rubbing off on her, because she was absolutely going to—he added, “I don’t want you bleeding all over the interview room when you take the lead on getting this guy to flip on Bishop.”

Addison slow blinked. “You want me to lead the interview?”

Not that she’d never done so before. Hell, Addison had taken the lead on hundreds of suspect interviews. But this case was huge, not to mention, now tied to an FBI investigation. She’d assumed, as they all probably had, that Sinclair would lead the interview himself.

“Hale, you’ve been a bulldog about this case from the start,” Sinclair said. “You’re methodical. Smart. Most importantly, you’re determined to nail Bishop no matter what it takes, so for the love of God, go have someone bandage that arm up and come get this guy to talk. Okay?”

The task was going to be monumentally difficult. The interview had to be perfect. Zero room for error, and one misstep would have the whole case collapsing like a house of cards. If she said yes, Chloe’s safety was going to be in her hands, and her hands alone.

Addison didn’t even hesitate. “Yes, sir.”