With the cold barrel of a gun shoved into his mouth, Gavin lifted his gaze to Hank. The metal chilled his tongue, and the taste of oil and gunpowder made him gag. He knew Hank far too well to be mistaken: Hank wasn't acting, he wasn't pushing for information… he was perfectly willing to pull the trigger.
With no other way out, he began to nod desperately, almost pleading.
Between his own life and his nephew's fate, he made a decision in barely two seconds.
Hank withdrew the Colt with a sharp motion and kept it steady in front of Gavin's face, never lowering the weapon. His voice was low, heavy with impatience and threat.
—Tell me. I don't have time for games.
Gavin sucked in air with difficulty, as if he'd just surfaced from underwater. His hands trembled as he tried to gather his thoughts. He swallowed several times before speaking.
—A-a warehouse… east side —he blurted out—. That's probably where Sean is hiding. He asked me for the key this morning.
Hank held his gaze a few seconds longer, weighing whether he was lying, before finally lowering the gun.
With the information secured, Ethan let go of the pool cue he'd been using for support and, without ceremony, pulled a wad of bills from his jacket pocket. He tossed it onto the table, the cash scattering among empty glasses and ashtrays.
—For the inconvenience… —he muttered with disdain.
Then he stepped forward, invading Gavin's personal space, and added with a crooked smile that never reached his eyes:
—Any problem?
—No… none —Gavin replied at once, lowering his eyes.
For a brief moment, he thought about getting revenge, about calling someone as soon as they left. But when he met the detective's indifferent, dangerous stare, he abandoned the idea immediately.
After decades dealing with the police, he knew exactly which kind of men you didn't mess with. Those two didn't need a badge to destroy his life.
Hank swept his gaze across the place, one by one, making sure the message had been understood, before turning and walking out.
The pub fell into absolute silence. No one breathed. No one moved.
Ethan and Hank headed calmly for the exit, as if nothing had happened.
—I already sent the address to Antonio —Ethan said as they stepped outside.
They got into the vehicle and took off without losing a second. The engine roared as they vanished down the street, reaching the location Gavin had given them at full speed.
Antonio and Erin arrived almost at the same time.
Ethan went straight to the back of the Chevrolet Suburban, opened the hatch, and found police gear in the spacious cargo area.
When he opened the case, a Remington M870 shotgun, an AR-15, and several magazines were revealed.
Beside them lay two bulletproof vests.
He grabbed one and put it on quickly.
Someone stepped up behind him, pulled the Velcro strap, and tightened it against his body.
When he turned, he saw it was Erin.
Her face was serious; she wasn't smiling.
This wasn't the time for questions.
Ethan helped her adjust her vest and picked up an AR-15.
The team checked one another, making sure everyone was ready.
Footsteps approached the side door.
Ethan activated the radar; no lights appeared within range.
Still, the warehouse was massive. They wouldn't know if anyone was inside until they went in.
Taking the crowbar Hank had given him, he slid it into the gap of the iron door.
With a dull thud, the lock gave way.
—Chicago Police! —Hank shouted, leading the entry.
Total darkness.
Ethan switched on the tactical flashlight of his AR-15.
They moved forward in complete silence.
The beam of light revealed motorcycles, televisions, video game consoles, and other items. Some were clearly used; most were new, still in their packaging.
Given Gavin's line of work, there was no doubt where they came from.
—Mmm…
Antonio tightened his grip on his weapon.
—I'd bet everything stolen in twelve blocks is in here.
After advancing a few meters, two paths appeared.
—Ethan, go around back —Hank instructed, as if about to say more.
Erin didn't wait. She followed him immediately and, when no one was looking, gave him a quick wink. Hank shook his head, resigned, and took the other path with Antonio.
The muffled sound of footsteps echoed through the warehouse.
Flashlight beams flickered.
The radar showed no new lights, and Ethan quickened his pace, uneasy.
—Slow down —Erin whispered, grabbing his vest.
—All right.
Ethan eased his pace.
The radar's range was only twenty-five meters; they couldn't afford mistakes. The flashlight illuminated Erin's face—pale, serious—giving her a distant look.
—What's wrong? —Ethan asked softly.
—Can you come somewhere with me tonight? I need a partner favor… —she replied, not answering the question.
—No problem.
—Good. After work.
The conversation ended there; this wasn't the place for talk.
They reached a door.
Ethan signaled Erin to open it while he covered the interior with his weapon. When it opened, a strange, heavy odor spilled out. Ethan inhaled sharply; the metallic scent was familiar.
Inside was an improvised operating table on a bare, stained steel slab. Dried condoms were scattered haphazardly across a stainless-steel counter, silent witnesses to what had happened there.
On a nearby tray, piles of powder mixed with blood had accumulated, forming dark, irregular streaks. Ethan slowly moved his weapon, sweeping the room with the beam of light, lingering on every detail.
—Megan Benson —reminded Erin with a coldness that barely masked the impact.
Farther in, almost hidden in the shadows, was another table.
Lying on it was a young white woman, dressed in a red tank top. Her skin was ashen, devoid of life; her face rigid, frozen in its final moment. Her eyes were wide open, her mouth slightly ajar, as if trapped in a scream that never came out.
Erin looked away at once. She took a step back and rested her forehead against Ethan's shoulder, unable to keep looking at the scene.
—Ugh…
Ethan exhaled deeply and activated the communicator.
—Hank, I found Megan Benson's body. Get over here.
—Copy.
They had reached the end without detecting any more lights. Whoever had done this had probably already fled.
Ethan found the switch.
The lights flickered, and the room was flooded with illumination.
—You can come out now.
He slung the rifle over his shoulder and pulled out disposable gloves.
—There's no need.
Erin stared fixedly at the corpse, her eyes burning with rage.
A large pool of blood covered the table and the floor, along with several bloody footprints.
Ethan moved forward carefully, avoiding them.
He touched the body: it was ice-cold. The red dress had been crudely cut open; the abdomen was split. Flesh gaped open, leaving the organs exposed.
Ethan frowned.
Inside, there was powder mixed with blood, clumped into dark masses. The work was sloppy; even without experience, it was obvious.
Judging by the state of the body, the concealed drugs had been almost destroyed.
Hasty footsteps approached.
Hank and the others appeared in the doorway. When they saw the body beside Ethan, their faces went pale.
—Notify patrol officers, notify forensics, and have dispatch send more personnel.
Hank put on his gloves and said coldly:
—I want this warehouse sealed. Sweep it inside and out.
—Understood.
Erin nodded, pressed the walkie-talkie, and stepped out.
—Be careful.
Ethan pointed to a bloody shoe print on the floor and then carefully picked up a small piece of dark red, coagulated substance from Megan Benson's body.
—What is that? —Antonio examined it and then looked at what Ethan was holding.
Ethan rubbed his fingers; the white powder stained with blood turned into a red paste on the disposable glove.
Under the light, the substance in his hand gleamed an unsettling, almost unnatural red.
—As unfortunate as it is… this is good news.
Antonio remained silent for a few seconds. Then he pulled out a blood-filled condom, held it up to the light, and examined it with professional focus.
—Looks like we rattled them and they ran. The job was rushed, done without knowledge or care, and they lost a large part of the merchandise —he continued—. They left everything behind and just took off, which means they're on the clock now.
—What the hell are you talking about? A girl is dead —Erin said, stepping up behind him.
Antonio didn't turn around.
—At least until they find someone who can safely remove the merchandise from those girls, they won't dare do the same thing to them.
He carefully set the condoms down on the table, as if they were fragile evidence. No one replied. To avoid facing that scene again, they all left the room.
In the hallway, Ethan tore off the disposable gloves with a sharp motion.
—Do you think it was Gavin's men who tipped them off? It's his nephew, after all!
—No.
Hank shook his head firmly and kicked one of the cargo boxes stacked against the wall.
—He's Italian, sure. But first and foremost, he's a gangster. For people like that, family ties mean nothing when money is involved.
He leaned slightly forward, nodding toward the warehouse with his chin.
—The stolen goods hidden here are worth between two hundred and three hundred thousand dollars. Gavin wouldn't have given up this place if we hadn't pressured him. He lost a lot of money because of his nephew.
Ethan had no choice but to accept Hank's explanation.
But when he remembered Megan Benson's stare, he had already made up his mind.
Prison was not Sean Collins's destination. Death was. Patrol officers arrived quickly and, under Ethan's command, searched the warehouse, sealing off the stolen items.
Hank received a call and left.
Ethan and his team returned to the precinct shortly afterward, waiting for another lead, while Ruzek and Olinsky continued watching the tattoo parlor; there was nothing more anyone could do for now.
—Can you tell me where we're going tonight?
In the break room, Ethan took the glass carafe and poured two cups.
—So I know whether to bring an assault rifle… or a grenade launcher?
—You'll find out later. For now, I want to focus on finding those girls.
Erin took the coffee, forcing a laugh.
After a few sips of the hot coffee, the cold began to fade, and they both stepped out onto the balcony, letting the sun wrap around them. As their bodies warmed, the stiffness melted away.
An excellent detective had to possess exceptional psychological resilience. Otherwise, what they saw and touched every day would be unbearable for anyone—like Ruzek's father, who had always been a patrolman; even when he had the chance, he refused to join units like this.
Erin watched Ethan smoke with indifference.
He looked like an attractive young man, relaxed. His marksmanship and his lack of mercy toward criminals were what impressed her most, but that was true of many cops—yet for some reason she couldn't understand why Hank had asked her to keep her distance from him.
She didn't sense the danger Hank was talking about.
—Ethan…
Erin said softly, trying to probe indirectly.
Bang, bang, bang.
Jin appeared at the break room door, knocking several times and waving at them. Ethan took two deep drags and stubbed out the cigarette.
They both returned to the main room, where Jin had already placed a photo on the board.
—I've got something.
Jin opened the folder he was carrying and handed out the documents.
—Ryan Porter. These are all the call records from Brandon's burner phone. There are only two numbers: one is prepaid, no subscriber data, and it lost signal. I'm guessing Sean used it and then destroyed the phone. The owner of the other number is Ryan Porter.
Ethan reviewed the report carefully.
White male, twenty-six years old, with multiple priors for drug trafficking and armed assault.
—Hey, Ethan, look at this! —Erin tapped the file with her finger—. He worked as a paramedic for three different ambulance companies… and was fired from all of them.
Ethan took the paper, scanned it, and frowned.
—Looks like we've found our surgeon —he said finally, setting the document on the table.
He pulled out his phone and stepped closer to the board.
—Take a photo and send it to Olinsky. If they see him—
He didn't finish the sentence. The phone vibrated sharply in his hand. He answered immediately.
Ruzek's voice came through on the other end.
—I saw a dark-haired man, medium build, getting out of a car near the tattoo parlor. He's carrying a medical case.
The speaker was on.
—I'll send you a photo. Have Jin run him through the database for priors —Olinsky cut in.
—Does he have a red spot on his forehead, about the size of a fingernail? —Antonio asked urgently.
There was a brief pause.
—Uh, yeah. How did you know?
Olinsky's voice dropped immediately.
—Another van just pulled up… I see the driver. It's Sean Collins!
—Move now —Antonio ordered.
He hung up without waiting for a response.
—Jin, notify Hank! Alert patrol units, now!
The three of them bolted and raced down the stairs.
Minutes later, tires screeched as vehicles forced their way through traffic, cutting lanes and blaring horns. There was no time to lose. Every minute that passed increased the risk that those girls would die.
As they neared the tattoo parlor, sirens tore through the night air.
Two gunshots rang out. Screams. Pedestrians fleeing.
After a sharp skid, a patrol car appeared, blocking the street.
Two people were running desperately.
—Ethan saw the scene from the street and slammed on the accelerator, driving the Chevrolet up onto the sidewalk to cut off their escape.
A few blocks away, Burgess and Atwater were on patrol when the dispatcher's voice cut through the radio:
—Unit Twelve, confirmed. Suspect fleeing.
—Copy that —Atwater replied, jerking the wheel hard.
The back door of the tattoo parlor burst open and a man came running out.
—Stop right now! —Burgess shouted, sprinting at full speed, gun in hand, aimed at the man ahead of her—. Or I'll shoot!
The man ignored her and vanished as he turned the corner into the alley.
She went after him, and just as she rounded the corner, a dark figure slammed into her body.
Bang!
The impact knocked Burgess to the ground, and they rolled several times across the pavement. The hand holding her Glock was pinned hard.
A cold flash of light gleamed— a dagger appeared in the man's hand.
His eyes shone with malice as he tried to stab her.
Burgess used all her strength to hold his arm back with her free hand; the knife tip trembled just inches from her face.
—Help! —she screamed, terrified.
Bang!
The hand gripping the weapon snapped open violently.
The dagger flew several yards away as blood sprayed in every direction, splattering across Burgess's face.
—Stop right now! —Burgess shouted, chasing the suspect with her weapon raised—. Or I'll shoot!
The man turned the corner of the alley and disappeared.
Burgess followed, and as she turned, a shadow crashed into her. They hit the ground hard; her Glock was trapped, useless.
A dagger flashed in the attacker's hand. He brought it down, intent on stabbing her.
—Bang!
The shot cracked sharply. The attacker's hand exploded and the dagger went flying.
—Bang! Bang!
Two more clean, precise shots tore through his chest. Sean's body jerked and collapsed sideways, air gone from his lungs.
The echo still hung in the alley when Ethan appeared, his Beretta smoking. He holstered the weapon and dropped to a knee immediately.
—Hey, Burgess, are you okay?
He grabbed her firmly and helped her sit up, positioning himself in front of her as he scanned the area.
—Can you stand?
Burgess nodded, still shaking.
She grabbed Ethan's hand and used it to pull herself up.
Noticing her trembling fingers and pale lips, Ethan squeezed her hand reassuringly.
—Are you okay?
Her legs gave out and she sank back down. Ethan wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her out of the alley.
He sat her down beside the Chevrolet, positioning himself so she couldn't see Sean's body.
—Rest for a moment. I'm calling the others.
Erin and Antonio's vehicle was already parked in front of the tattoo parlor.
The gunfire had stopped. Still, Ethan dropped the magazine and reloaded.
The empty casings hit the ground with a sharp clatter. Ethan took a few steps forward as more patrol cars arrived.
He immediately removed his badge and held it up high.
Not for any reason other than to prevent a repeat of what had happened that morning.
When he reached the tattoo parlor, he saw Atwater escorting someone.
—Have someone else process him. One of the suspects attacked Burgess, that's why you're not with her —Ethan ordered without slowing down—
—Yes, sir!
Atwater picked up his pace at the order.
Ethan crouched and moved carefully toward the front door of the shop.
—This way —Erin's voice echoed, edged with anxiety.
Inside, several people were moving nervously.
On a table in the corner lay a girl in her underwear, her abdomen split by a bleeding wound. Rusek was pressing a towel against it.
—Hang in there a little longer; the ambulance will be here soon.
—Hurry… I don't want to die —the girl pleaded, her face twisted in pain, her forehead soaked with sweat.
Two bodies lay on the floor. Antonio stood in one corner, gun aimed at a man's head. A red mark on his forehead gave him away—it was the man Jin had identified.
Across the room, Erin and Olinsky were kneeling on the floor.
Ethan ran toward them. A girl in a black hoodie lay motionless, foam spilling from her mouth.
—Sarah, stay with me! —Erin shouted desperately—. Stay conscious, look at me, you can survive!
As she spoke, she kept stroking the girl's face.
There was confusion in the girl's eyes, but her survival instinct was still keeping her alive.
—Central, badge number 99527, Detective Morgan —Ethan said into the radio, stepping aside—. How long until the ambulance arrives?
The walkie crackled before replying:
—Two minutes out, Detective.
Ethan rushed out of the tattoo parlor, shoving the door open with his shoulder as the wail of sirens grew closer. The night air was thick with dust, blood, and adrenaline.
Moments later, two ambulances screeched to a stop in front of the building, red and blue lights washing over the façade.
—Over here!
Holding the glass door open, Ethan waved frantically at the paramedics as they ran in, carrying stretchers and medical kits.
The ambulances arrived fast… and left even faster. The two girls were loaded in without a second wasted, and the vehicles sped off, sirens ripping through the night.
Not everything had been in vain.
At least two people had survived.
Ethan holstered his gun and let out a long, heavy breath, as if his body were finally collecting the tension it had been holding.
—Bang!
Erin suddenly slammed into him, pinning him against the wall, gripping his jacket tightly.
—Where's Sean?
—Calm down, Lind.
Seeing the fury in her eyes, Ethan took her hands, forcing her to look at him.
—Unfortunately, you won't get the chance to do anything to him.
—What? You let him get away?
She had seen him chase after him—how could he have let that bastard escape?
—No. He's dead —Ethan said firmly, not letting go of her hands—. He attacked Burgess, almost killed her. I had to shoot him.
—Bastard… —she said with a crooked smile, the tension still crackling between them—. I could kiss you right now.
Ethan glanced sideways at her, a half-smile forming as a spark of amusement flashed in his eyes.
—Officer Lindsay… —he said lightly—. Since when are you this bold?
She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms in mock indignation, then punched him in the chest—this time smiling with pure relief.
—I knew you wouldn't let that scum get away with it.
As Erin smiled, Ethan felt something was off.
Olinsky and Rusek weren't saying a word. After the victim was taken away, Olinsky lit a cigarette and walked alone toward the corner, his silhouette cut sharply by the patrol lights.
Remembering what had happened, Ethan headed straight for Rusek.
—What happened?
—What?
Rusek was watching the ambulance disappear down the street, still riding the high of having saved a life.
He spread his hands toward Ethan, smiling.
—I don't know what you mean.
—Why didn't you wait for us before acting? —Ethan put his hands on his hips, serious—. What happened while we were on our way?
Only then did Rusek seem to snap back to reality.
The rushed action had caused a disaster—not only was Sean dead, one of his accomplices had also escaped.
—I… I couldn't wait —Rusek stammered, seeing Ethan's hard expression—. If we had waited, they would be dead.
—So you decided to go in on your own —Antonio cut in, stepping closer and jabbing him in the chest—. Putting yourself and your partner in danger?
Rusek opened and closed his mouth, unable to find the words.
—Just because the ending was good doesn't mean what you did was right.
Ethan pointed toward the man being shoved into the patrol car.
—This guy got away, and Sean is dead. If we and the patrol units hadn't arrived in time, both suspects would've escaped because of you… and Burgess almost died.
Ignoring Rusek's darkened expression, Ethan continued:
—Five against two, and you still rushed in. You saved lives, yes—but you also put your partner at risk… and everyone else too.