Prologue
Washington, DC, 2008
“What are you doing?”
Detective Braden Hayes looked up from his cell phone to see his partner, Tommy Knight, frowning at him from the passenger seat of their unmarked four-door sedan. “Calling in the emergency response team.”
Tommy snorted. “So those heavily armed mouth breathers can get all the glory? I don’t think so, Rookie. We gave up weeks of off-duty time tracking these lowlifes, not to mention spent our own money to pay off informants. Hell, we’ve been on stakeout in this car for so long that we stink of the damn pine tree deodorizer hanging from the mirror. We’re going in there and taking down these a-holes ourselves.”
Braden winced, both at the way Tommy called him a rookie every time he suggested doing something by the book and because he’d known his partner would want to handle this arrest on their own no matter how epic a bad idea he thought it was. Braden had only gotten promoted from investigator to detective level II a few months ago, but he was a fast learner, and he’d quickly figured out how his partner liked to do things.
Simply put, Tommy was a cowboy. Twenty years Braden’s senior, Tommy was the most experienced and decorated cop in the robbery section of the Washington Metropolitan Police Department. He’d made a name for himself by refusing to do things by the book, going balls to the wall on every case, and doing whatever was necessary to take down the bad guys.
Braden ran his hand through his dark hair and turned his attention to the empty warehouse across the street where the suspects were supposedly crashing, wondering what the other cops in his family would think of going into a completely unknown situation like this without a plan or backup. Something told him they wouldn’t be too thrilled.
His great-grandfather had been a police officer in DC for thirty-five years, while his granddad still told stories about walking his beat for three days straight without a break during the Washington riots of ’68. His father had retired two years ago after twenty-eight years on the force, and his older brother was driving a patrol car over in the Sixth District.
“Every rule in the book is written in a cop’s blood,” his granddad had told him on more than one occasion. “Do the job the right way every time, and you and your partner will come home alive every time.”
To say that his family wouldn’t think too much of Tommy’s fast and loose way of doing things was an understatement, but he had to admit, his partner’s style was starting to grow on him.
“Sometimes you just have to follow your gut,” Tommy said as he narrowed his eyes, giving the warehouse a final scan. He turned to Braden, giving him a grin. “My gut’s telling me this is solid.”
Braden slowly shook his head, wary. “My gut is telling me to call for backup.”
Tommy looked at him, frowning. “Sooner or later, you gotta learn to trust your partner. Because at the end of the day, when you go through that door, it’s just the two of you.”
Braden’s mouth tightened. Tommy would never ask him to kick in a door if he didn’t think the two of them could handle whatever was on the other side. “I do trust you.”
Tommy gave him one last look. “Then let’s do this.”
They got out of the sedan and made their way across the nearly empty midday street to the abandoned warehouse they’d been casing for three days, trying to seem casual as they chatted about Redskins football and whether the team would regret the decision they’d made at quarterback.
The sign out front said the place had been an electric supply business. If Tommy’s informant was right, the building was currently being used to store half a million dollars in cash, jewelry, and art stolen over the past four weeks by a burglary crew who had been hitting the homes of rich socialites and politicians when the owners were out on the town.
Lately, though, the thieves had gotten more brazen and broken in when people were home. Two older couples and a thirty-year-old political consultant had been roughed up pretty good over the past three days, with all the victims ending up in the hospital. It had put the crime spree squarely on the front pages of the local papers.
Braden tensed as he and Tommy headed to the rear of the building. Tommy’s informant had said there were only three men in the crew and that even though they’d all flashed weapons during the last break-in, they’d ditched the guns after the job. Braden trusted Tommy with his life, but he’d be lying if he said that part didn’t concern the hell out of him. When he’d asked Tommy how the informant knew for sure they didn’t have guns and what the guy’s connection was to the thieves, his partner refused to answer.
He and Tommy were going to have a long talk about that…later.
The rusted metal door was locked, and Braden did a double take as his partner pulled a small leather case out of his back pocket and unzipped it to expose a lock pick set. Dropping to one knee, Tommy slipped two thin pieces of metal into the face of the lock plate and wiggled them back and forth.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Braden whispered.
Tommy didn’t look up. “Another lesson from my misspent youth.”
“And how the hell are we going to explain how we got through this locked door?” Braden asked. “It’s going to come up when we file our reports.”
Tommy stopped what he was doing and gave Braden that patented smart-ass smile of his. Then he twisted the thin piece of metal, and the lock turned with a slight click.
“What locked door? It was open when we got here.”
Braden frowned, but there wasn’t much he could say about his partner’s wavering moral compass. He watched as Tommy stood and slipped his Glock 19 out of the holster at the small of his back, which had been hidden by his T-shirt.
Ignoring his doubts, Braden pulled out his own MPD-issued 9mm from the holster under his leather jacket. At this point, all that mattered was covering his partner, and that was something he didn’t have to think about.
The door opened up into a dimly lit room with rows of metal racks and stacks of industrial work bins. As Tommy moved ahead, checking each row they passed, Braden kept his head on a swivel, looking for an ambush from behind.
