"Get out! Now!" Terry's voice came through Emma's phone from somewhere on the car floor. "Get to the woods!"
Sandra grabbed her purse, Emma snatched her phone, and they tumbled out of the wrecked car. Sandra seized Toby's hand while Emma stumbled along beside them, and together, they ran toward the tree line as fast as their shaking legs could carry them.
Behind them, Sandra could hear heavy footsteps crashing through the corn, getting closer.
They plunged through the vegetation just as the first gunshot shattered the afternoon silence.
46
Terry's world collapsed the moment Emma's terrified voice exploded through his office speakers, her words hitting him like physical blows that knocked the breath from his lungs.
"Dad! Dad, someone just hit our car! They're chasing us!"
The coffee mug in his hand crashed to the floor, ceramic shards scattering across the linoleum as every instinct he'd developed as a father and a cop screamed simultaneously. Adrenaline flooded his system with the violence of a dam bursting. His children and the woman he loved were in danger, and her small rental car was the only thing standing between them and whoever wanted to hurt them.
Terry barked orders to his detectives and the deputies. “Someone's trying to run Sandra and my kids off the road."
Terry's voice carried the controlled fury of a man barely keeping his sanity intact while his family was under attack. His hands trembled as he reached for his radio, muscle memory taking over while his mind reeled with images of twisted metal and broken bodies.
Colt appeared in the doorway of the DTF bullpen, his face grim as he took in the chaos. Without hesitation, he grabbed hisradio and barked into it with the authority of twenty years in law enforcement.
"All units, we have a 10-80 in progress involving Captain Bunswick's family. I repeat, officer's family in immediate danger."
Terry didn't wait for the rest of the call to finish. The moment the dispatcher crackled through the radio—"10-80 in progress, northbound on Route 512. Suspect vehicle attempting a 10-34 with another motorist. Possible 10-32, use caution"—he was already sprinting through the bullpen, his chair spinning wildly behind him.
His legs felt disconnected from his body, moving on autopilot while his mind fractured between cop training and paternal terror. He spied Jeremy and Pete jumping into their SUV. Sirens began to wail across the county as he yanked open the back door, his heart hammering against his ribs with the irregular rhythm of pure panic.
This wasn't just another reckless driver. Someone was trying to kill his family with their vehicle.
The radio crackled to life as deputies across both counties responded with urgency that made Terry's throat close. These men and women understood what was at stake. When one of their own faced a family emergency, the entire force became an extension of that parent's desperate need to protect.
"Unit 23, en route from Parksley, ETA twelve minutes."
"Unit 15, northbound on 13, ETA eight minutes."
"Unit 7, responding from Easton, ETA eleven minutes."
Terry's hands shook as Sandra's voice filtered through his phone, describing rural roads and farm equipment while his worst nightmares played out in real time. Every parent's deepest fear of being helpless while their children faced danger consumed him with the kind of raw terror that made his vision blur around the edges.
He'd faced armed suspects, drug dealers, and violent criminals without flinching. He'd walked into crack houses and domestic violence calls where anything could happen. But nothing in his career had prepared him for the helpless terror of listening to his children scream while someone tried to kill them.
Jeremy hit the sirens and emergency lights before they'd even cleared the parking lot, the piercing wail joining the symphony of other emergency vehicles converging on Route 512. Terry gripped his phone, his knuckles white with the force.
His body had gone rigid with the kind of tension that came from forcing himself to think like a cop when every cell in his being was screaming like a father. The two sides of his nature warred against each other… the trained officer who knew procedure and protocol, and the man whose entire world was trapped in a small car with a killer behind them.
The radio crackled with static before the dispatcher's professional voice cut through the noise. "Unit requesting twenty-eight, standby for plate information."
The seconds stretched like hours while Terry listened to Sandra's increasingly desperate voice describing the combine harvester and the dirt road. He could hear Emma crying in the background, her sobs cutting through him like broken glass. He could hear Toby's brave attempts to help by reading the license plate, his son's voice high and scared but trying so hard to be helpful. The sound of his children's terror nearly broke him.
Terry felt cold fury mix with his terror. He knew the investigation, the drugs, the party, the threats would all lead back to the cartel and the same family that had been at the forefront of their suspicions.
"Who do you think is behind the wheel?" Pete asked.
"Could be cartel," Terry said, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. "Doesn't matter. They're all responsible for this."
Jeremy pushed the cruiser harder, the speedometer climbing past eighty as they raced down Route 13. The rural landscape of the Eastern Shore blurred past them in streaks of green and gold, cornfields and farmhouses, but all he could see was the image of Sandra's rental car spinning out of control while his children screamed in terror.
"Dispatch, I need contact information for Harrison Blackwood, owner of Blackwood Luxury Custom Homes. Emergency priority."
