Remember Tuesday Morning (8 page)

He wanted to live his life as a memorial to his father, and that left no room for relationships. Holly didn’t believe him at first. She figured all Alex needed was to work through his anger and loss, and they could be fine again, the way they’d been before. But she was wrong. The part that laughed and loved and trusted God wasn’t broken inside Alex; it was gone. Forever gone. And he could never subject Holly to a lifetime with someone who was no longer capable of those kinds of feelings.

He reached the on-ramp and sped up as he entered the Ventura Freeway again, this time south toward his townhouse. He hadn’t talked to her in many years, and that could only be good for Holly. By now she would’ve met someone kind and trustworthy, someone with the faith he’d walked away from. He tightened his hold on the steering wheel. Yes, she was probably married and starting a family, smack in the middle of a life she perfectly deserved.

His precious Holly.

Because it wasn’t that he no longer cared about her, and that’s the part he never could get her to understand. No one would ever take Holly’s place in his heart. He would die for her right now if it meant assuring her happiness, giving her the life she had dreamed of having all those years ago on that moonlit night by the lake. No matter how he tried to explain himself, Holly couldn’t see that his care for her was what forced him to leave, what drove him to load up his car and move as far away from New York as possible. She didn’t understand that releasing her was maybe his greatest and final act of love, because it nearly killed him to do it. But in the end he had no choice. The part inside him that could’ve made Holly happy the rest of his life was no longer there. It was dead.

In its place was a gritty, larger-than-life determination to take out the evil around him. If God was going to stand by and watch while four hundred firefighters and police officers lost their lives on 9/11, then Alex would use every waking hour he had making sure it wouldn’t happen again. He would do the job himself. He wouldn’t fight the fires; he would protect the firefighters. He would protect the whole city, for that matter. Taking down one bad guy after another was his single focus. Alex Brady and Bo against the world; that was his life now, and it left no room for anyone else. Not his mother, who had remarried some guy Alex didn’t even know, not his friends back in New York or the God he used to trust. And especially not Holly.

Even if her memory haunted him as long as he lived.

E
IGHT

C
lay was at the Monterey Park department headquarters about to work through a series of tactical drills with a dozen SWAT officers when the call came across his radio. Hostage situation at a bar in East LA, two fatalities confirmed, eight people trapped inside with the gunman. But the detail that grabbed Clay’s heart and made him jerk his radio from his belt so he could hear more clearly was this one: The standoff was taking place across the street from an elementary school, where more than five hundred students were in session.

Joe must’ve heard the call at the same time, because he jogged over from the group he’d been working with, his eyes wide. “Captain’s made the call. He wants both our units on the scene immediately.”

“Got it.” He welcomed the familiar rush of adrenaline, the way his heart pounded into action as he signaled his men and explained the situation. In a hurry, Clay’s and Joe’s groups both ran the distance across the field to the station, where each man made sure he was doubly armed, and in less than five minutes they were in a convoy of squad cars racing through the streets. Halfway there, Clay heard the call for the closest K9 unit to respond, also.

A moment later Alex’s voice came over the radio. “Ten-four. On my way.”

Dispatch updated them with the latest details. Four squad cars were already at the scene, and communication had begun between them and the gunman. The guy was heavily armed, threatening to kill the eight hostages in the building, then hit the school.

Clay gritted his teeth. If the guy ran, he’d be taken out in a matter of seconds, but maybe not before he sprayed a load of bullets at the school. He added his voice to those crossing the police radio waves. “We’ll send a couple of our cars to the school. Make sure the kids are rounded up on the other side of the building, away from the shooter.”

“Ten-four, Sergeant Michaels. We’ll contact the school principal and tell them you’re on your way.”

“ETA three minutes,” Clay barked. His sirens were on and he was in the lead, clicking the stoplights so they’d be green as the line of squad cars reached each intersection. His mind raced with possibilities. What if the gunman wasn’t working alone? If he was making threats about the school he could have one or several accomplices ready to take hostages in the building. The school was in lockdown mode, but that didn’t protect the teachers and kids inside from an aggressive attack, from bad guys willing to bust through windows or shoot their way through doors.

Clay picked up his radio again. “Reynolds, you copy?”

“Copy, go ahead.”

“Have your guys surround the school. Every side. We don’t want anyone getting in that building.”

“Roger that.” Joe didn’t need an explanation. He and Clay handled the big calls like they were thinking with one brain. Together they were known as the smartest SWAT officers in the department. It was the reason they’d both been promoted to sergeant, in charge of training the new guys.

But a call like this one would test everything they knew about police work. As they rounded the corner, they saw the squad cars ahead and the barricaded traffic barriers, and Clay did what he always did at this point in a call. “Please, God, be with us … give us Your eyes and Your wisdom, Your strength and Your protection.” He could hear the adrenaline in his raspy, whispered voice. “Go before us, God … in Jesus’s name, amen.”

For a fleeting moment he thought about Jamie, about how well she handled his job and the possibility that on any given day Clay could take a call like this one and lose his life in the process. But as soon as the thought hit, he dismissed it. He and Jamie lived their lives based on trust in God. Life was His to give, and one day it would be His to take. For every person walking the earth. As for this specific call, Clay believed he was coming home at the end of the night. God was with him; he could feel His presence, His guidance.

He screeched his squad car to a stop, using another parked squad car as a cover. The other men did the same thing, creating a series of objects they could hide and duck behind as they worked to surround the front and back doors of the bar. In his peripheral vision, Clay watched Joe and his men whip around the opposite corner and head for the front of the school. In two minutes the building would be surrounded, and the danger to the students would be almost entirely eliminated.

Clay focused on the volatile situation at hand. The bar was a small single-story brick building with dark windows and a limited parking lot. Six civilian cars sat in the lot, three facing the establishment, three facing the road and the school across the street. From what he could tell, the three facing the bar were empty, but he wasn’t sure about the others.

“Benson,” Clay nodded to the SWAT officer nearest him. “Keep an eye on the cars facing the road. Look for an accomplice.”

“Yes, sir.” Benson stayed low and scrambled to the last row of squad cars, his gun pointed in the general direction of the parked cars facing the road.

One more threat down.

Clay needed to work his way around to the left side of the building, the corner closest to the front door. That was where a deputy now hovered, gun drawn, using a bullhorn to talk to the gunman.

“I said, ‘Put your guns down and come out with your hands up,’” the deputy shouted the words, and they echoed loudly through the parking lot.

There was no response, but at that moment Alex’s squad car squealed to a stop a few feet from where the initial deputies were gathered, at the left corner of the building. In seconds, he was out of the car with Bo on a leash and ready to go. He positioned himself adjacent to the officer with the bullhorn, gun raised in one hand, Bo’s leash tight in his other. Clay watched Alex give his dog a command, and immediately the dog began barking, straining at his leash.

Suddenly, there was an explosion of glass as the gunman kicked his foot through the front window of the bar. “Hey!” he screamed. He used his elbow to push out the rest of the windowpane, and at the same time let loose a string of expletives. “Get the dog outta here or I start shooting!”

Clay was the sergeant in charge of the scene, and he signaled to Alex. Instantly, Alex uttered another command to his K9 partner, and the dog stopped barking and sat stone still at Alex’s side.

The gunman waved an assault rifle through the broken window. “I want a thousand dollars, you hear me?” he shouted. His voice was wired and crazed — the guy had to be high on something. “Hear me? I want a thousand dollars.”

One of the deputies took the bullhorn and brought it to Clay. He was still using a squad car for cover, his gun in his hand, finger on the trigger. He had a direct shot at the guy, but he wouldn’t shoot unless he had to. He raised the bullhorn. “This is Sergeant Michaels. You’re surrounded by SWAT officers. The game’s over, so put your gun down and come out of the building with your hands up.”

Another string of cuss words came from the guy. “I’ll kill every one of you!”

“No, you won’t.” From the corner of his eye, Clay saw Alex stay low with his dog, moving from the cover of one squad car to the next. Clay wasn’t sure where the deputy was going, but he hadn’t been ordered to move. He raised the bullhorn again. “Put your gun down and come out with your hands up.”

Deputies were in place all around the building, but they needed to wait, take their time. They couldn’t rush a hostage situation like this, not when innocent lives were on the line inside the building. Clay was about to give the gunman another directive, when from behind him he heard a car door and a round of gunfire. A man started, “I’ve got the school … I’ve got the school!”

A bullet grazed the side of Clay’s vest as he took cover low between two squad cars. He turned in time to see the entire drama unfold in a handful of seconds. Alex had maneuvered himself to a position behind the row of parked civilian cars, so when the second gunman leapt from one of them and started shooting, Alex was in position to take him down.

The commotion brought the first gunman scrambling out the broken front window, shouting for his friend, gun raised. But before he could spray the scene with bullets, Bo burst across the parking lot, flew over the hood of a single parked car, and landed on the perpetrator, biting hold of his arm and flinging him to the ground. His assault rifle fell to one side, and the man screamed for help. All the while Bo continued to bite, wrestling with the man and keeping him away from his weapon.

With the situation stable, the SWAT team immediately surrounded both gunmen and Alex ran to his dog. Once the first gunman was cuffed, Alex called out to Bo. “Release!”

Instantly, the dog relaxed his bite hold on the man and returned to Alex’s side, panting and ready to make another attack if necessary. Clay watched the entire scene from his place with three other SWAT members, all of them with guns drawn and aimed at the second gunman. The man had lost his weapon, and he was bleeding out, too injured to be a threat.

“We need an ambulance,” Clay radioed. “We have a gunman down.”

In a hurry, paramedics came for the second gunman, and another pair tended to the bite wounds on the arm of the first guy. After that, deputies loaded the less-injured gunman into a squad car and took him to the men’s jail. By then, Clay and several of his men had rushed the building and released the hostages. The coroner’s office came for the two bodies inside the bar – both employees. Each of the hostages had to be questioned, so Clay assigned four detectives to the task. By then Clay had already informed Joe that the situation was diffused. Joe promised to lead his men in a complete check of the school and then give the principal the okay to call off the lockdown.

Only after all that was finished did Clay find Benson talking with the other SWAT guys. Clay pulled him aside, frustrated. “What happened back there?”

“I didn’t see him, sir. I was watching the cars like you told me, but I had to keep an eye on the gunman too.” Benson blinked, apologetically. “I … I didn’t see him.”

Clay touched his fingers to the side of his uniform, where an indentation on his vest told him how close he’d come to taking a bullet. Alex had saved his life today, and possibly the lives of every SWAT officer whose back was to the second gunman. But he’d done it by breaking protocol, by leaving his post and handling the scene his own way. Again. Clay scanned the crime scene. “Where’s Brady?”

“In his car, sir.” Benson clearly felt terrible about the situation. He hadn’t done anything wrong, specifically, and he wouldn’t be written up. But missing the second gunman was a big mistake. Clay strode across the parking lot to the place where Alex’s squad car was still angled next to the left side of the building. Alex was sitting in the driver’s seat, door open, his feet on the ground. Inches away sat Bo, still ready if he was needed. Water dripped from the dog’s jowls, and a half-empty bowl sat next to him on the ground.

Clay studied the young deputy, the emptiness in his eyes, and he thought he understood what the guy might be thinking. The reprimand could come later. “He’s still alive. For now, anyway.” Clay leaned against the building so the two were facing each other. “You had to shoot him.”

Alex didn’t respond, didn’t blink. He looked like he was too far away to connect with the moment.

A sigh came from Clay, his body drained from the intensity of the scene. “I’ve been there.” He lifted his eyes to the smoggy pale blue sky overhead. “It was a day like this one, routine traffic stop on the Ventura Freeway. Turned out to be a carjacker wanted for murder.” Clay remembered the incident like it was happening still, right now, before his eyes. “I pulled him over, but before I could leave my car, he was running toward me, firing at me. I had no choice but to return fire, and that was that. The guy died there on the side of the road.”

Alex seemed to return to the present. He patted Bo between the ears and looked hard at Clay. “One less bad guy on the streets, right?”

His answer was understandable, but it didn’t sound like Alex, and it didn’t match the deep pain in his voice. No matter how many bad guys he arrested or took out, their loss of freedom or life would never bring his father back.

Clay leaned against Alex’s squad car. “You didn’t have permission to leave your location. No one told you to take Bo to the other side of the parking lot.”

“I had a feeling.” There was no apology in Alex’s eyes. “I saw something move in one of the cars, and I wanted to be ready.”

“In police work it’s not about what
you
want. Orders are meant to be followed.” Clay struggled with the reprimand. After all, it was Alex’s instinct and feelings that prevented a tragedy to day.

“I was following orders, sir.” Anger flashed across Alex’s face. “I was instructed to provide backup. Me and my partner did that.”

Clay thought about that. Alex had a point. He hadn’t specifically been assigned to any one area, only to provide backup. The fact that he’d moved from one spot to another without exact orders wasn’t — on its face — a violation of instructions.

Three SWAT guys passed by then, and one of them — Benson — pointed at Alex. “Bravest police work I ever saw, Brady. Way to go.”