Page 13 of Stalked By the Officer

I'm weaving through traffic like a madman, siren wailing its high-pitched cry. The job's never routine, not really, but this one? My gut tells me it's off the charts, and I can't shake the image of Lori’s face from my mind. I shake my head. Gotta keep it together, McLean—no room for distractions when lives are on the line.

As I screech around the final corner, the chaos unfolds before me. Flashing police lights paint the dusk in blues and reds, a disco from hell. The crowd's a living, breathing entity, pressing against the barricades, their faces a mix of fear and that sick thrill people get from being close to danger.

"Damn," I whisper to myself, stepping out of the cruiser. The tension hangs thick in the air, almost tangible, like you could cut it with...well, a knife. Cops hunker down behind their cars, weapons drawn, eyes trained on the building—a jewelry store with a cracked window painting a promise of violence.

"McLean!" Someone barks my name, and I jerk my head towards the sound. Captain's got his megaphone, ready to talk some sense into a situation that's spiraled way past words.

"Situation?" I ask, keeping my voice even, but inside I'm a jumbled mess of nerves and instinct.

"Standoff. He's got a hostage," the captain says, gruff and tight-lipped.

"Fuck," the curse slips out before I can stop it. This just got personal, because if there's one thing I can't stand, it's innocent lives caught in the crossfire.

"Stay sharp," he adds, needlessly. Sharp's my middle name—even if my heart's currently playing hopscotch in my chest.

"Always am," I reply, because hell, if you can't be cocky when you're staring down the barrel of a potential bloodbath, when can you be?

With a deep breath that does shit all to calm me, I step into the fray, my hand resting on the butt of my gun. It's about to go down.

I edge closer, the chaos of the scene buzzing in the background.

And my heart fucking drops.

There she is.

Lori.

My Lori.

She's pinned against the wall, that fucking scum of the earth Mikey's arm around her neck like a vise, the glint of his blade kissing her throat. I should have shot his ass when I had the chance last summer, but no, I did the right thing and took the notorious gang leader into custody.

So this is all my fault. If I’d have finished him then, we wouldn’t be here now with his blade glinting against my girl’s throat.

Her green eyes are wide pools of terror, screaming silent pleas that hit me harder than a sucker punch.

"Please," her voice, barely above a whisper, slices through the tension.

"Ah, the cavalry!" Mikey's voice cuts across the standoff, dripping with venomous charm. "Let's chat, you and I." He presses the knife closer, a lover's caress that promises pain. Lori's breath hitches, and I swear I can feel it in my own lungs.

"Talk," I say, masking the earthquake in my gut with a coolness I'm far from feeling.

"Simple trade, officer. Safe passage for the lady's life." His grin is all shark—predatory and cold. "I want a car, unmarked, and a clear route outta here."

"Nobody needs to get hurt," I reply, every muscle tensed, ready to pounce. "Let her go, Mikey."

"See, that's where you're wrong." He tugs Lori closer, a grotesque mockery of an embrace. "She's my ticket to freedom. And you're gonna give me what I want. Ain't that right, hero?"

Lori's gaze locks on mine. She’s brave, but I see the fear in them.

Time slows to a crawl, my heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to break free. Mikey's grip on Lori tightens, and I see the slight tremble in his hand. He's nervous, maybe even scared. That can be either good or bad. Fear makes people sloppy.

"Mikey," I bark, but my mind is racing, sketching a blueprint of desperation. "You don't wanna do this."

"Shut it!" he snaps back. "You think I'm playin'?"

And I see it. It’s just the barest movement of the knife in his hand.

But it’s enough.

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