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“Call Smitty, Marsha, let ‘em know, but I’m going over there.”
He climbed into the Chevelle just as I was pulling away, and I could hear him explaining this new development through the ringing in my ears.
I locked down the fear, letting my training take over, as I tried not to think about the fact that the man who’d beaten the shit out of his wife, had my girlfriend.
“Brady,” Doobie began. “We don’t have our weapons; we need to wait for the others to arrive before we go in there.”
I knew what he was saying was right, but in that moment, it didn’t mean shit. I didn’t care if I got in trouble, all I cared about was getting Ming out of there safely.
“You don’t have to follow me. Stay here, I’ll try and let you know what’s going on and you can tell them when they get here, but I’m going in, Ty. I have to.”
“Fuck,” Doobie exclaimed as I parked one row over from Nat’s house and jumped out of the car.
I tried to keep low as I rounded the first trailer. Before crossing the road, I locked eyes on Zeke’s trailer, looking for movement. There were no cars parked out front, the curtains were drawn, and the entire park was eerily quiet. I had no way of knowing if they were actually in there or not. I had to get closer to try and see inside.
I ran across the street and rounded the trailer next to Nat’s, conscious of the sounds the gravel made crunching beneath my feet. It sounded as loud as an air horn to my ears, but was probably barely audible to the people inside these trailers.
I went to the back of their trailer, pausing by the window to the back bedroom. Testing it, I slid my fingers under the lip of the window and lifted. It slid up smoothly and silently. Once I’d pushed it all the way up, I paused and listened. I could hear the deep rumble of a man’s voice, then let out a stuttering breath when I heard Ming reply.
I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I knew it was her.
I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and texted Doobie.
Don’t go inside, was his quick reply.
Unable to comply with that request without knowing what the situation was inside, I placed my hands on the window sill and lifted myself up and inside. I landed as softly as possible, pausing with each movement as I strained to hear what was happening in the other room.
When I didn’t hear footsteps coming down the hall, I moved gingerly through the bedroom and stopped at the door. It was open a crack, so I peered through the opening and into the empty hallway that opened into the living room. I couldn’t see anything, and no one was talking. As far as I knew it was just the two of them, but I was still aware that Zeke had needed help to escape, so there may be other people on the premises.
I had to be smart, and not allow my fear and anger to propel me forward until I was sure I wasn’t endangering Ming by doing so.
I don’t know how long I waited, but the sound of sirens in the distance caused an eruption of sound in the living room.
“Son of a bitch!” I heard Zeke yell, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. Then, through the crack of the door I saw him cross to the window and pull the curtain back a bit to look outside.
He had a gun in his hand, which he was tapping against his leg.
After that, everything seemed to happen in a flash.
Ming said, “They’ll be here any minute,” so I knew she was all right.
Then I heard the crunch of wheels on gravel and saw the blue lights of the police car flashing in the window.
“No shit,” Zeke replied, and started to turn from the window. Figuring this was the opening I was waiting for, I pushed the door hard as I took off at a sprint. I barely registered the shock on Zeke’s face and the fact that he was lifting the gun toward me as Ming’s scream filled the air and my body collided with his.
The gun went off as I tackled Zeke to the ground, and my team burst into the trailer shouting, guns raised.
“I got him, O’Malley,” Smitty called from right beside us.
I kept Zeke’s hands secure with mine as I lifted myself off of him, not removing them until Smitty slapped the cuffs on him.
Immediately I turned to see Ming standing by the sofa, hands clasped in front of her mouth, eyes on me.
“You’re okay?” I asked, rushing toward her and gathering her in my arms.
I felt her nod against me as her body began to shake.
“He shot at you,” she exclaimed, her tone wavering.
