Max gripped his cell so tightly he almost crushed it in his hand. His first thought was to call Terence back, quickly followed by the urge to run to his car and drive straight to the boy’s rescue. He resisted calling, knowing it would only make things worse for Terence, his sisters, and their mother. But as he headed for his car, he remembered how badly things had gone the last time he’d tried to go it alone. Spinning around, he ran for the admin building, barreling through the door and freaking out half a dozen betas in the process.
He was moving so fast he slid through the open door of Gage’s office, skidding to a stop in front of the boss’s desk. Gage was leaning over it, scanning a map of the city with Mike, and he looked up with concern at Max’s sudden appearance.
“What’s wrong?”
“Terence Wallace just called,” Max explained quickly. “His mother decided to move back in with her husband. The man’s drunk and angry. I heard a gunshot right before the phone disconnected.”
“Dammit,” Gage growled. “Mike, grab Remy and Diego and get on the road. I’ll alert dispatch and get a crisis and hostage negotiation team over there to meet you.”
Max looked at Gage even as Mike headed for the door. “Sarge?”
He didn’t expect Gage to let him go, especially considering how he’d lost control the last time he’d gone out to the Wallace house. But he had to try. He needed to be there for Terence and his sisters.
Gage regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then surprised him with a nod. “Go. Just don’t do anything stupid.”
Max didn’t hang around and wait for Gage to change his mind. He caught up with Mike and the other guys in the parking lot, jumping in the response vehicle before Remy closed the back door.
The drive to Northwest Dallas seemed to take a lifetime, especially since they kept getting updates over the radio telling them that the situation at the Park Lane address was deteriorating by the second. They were still a mile away when the on-scene patrol officers reported that the occupant of the house was shooting at them. And all Max could do was sit on his hands and listen while a perimeter was established and nearby residents were evacuated.
Senior Corporal Alvarez met them the moment they arrived at the roadblock at the end of Park Lane, and he looked worried. “This is bad,” he said to Mike as Diego hurried over to join the civilian negotiator a little farther down the street. “Nick Wallace has completely lost it. He’s shot at us half a dozen times already and refuses to talk to our negotiator. He’s shouted out the window that he’s not letting us take his family away from him again, but the truth is, we can’t even confirm there’s anyone in there left alive.”
Max’s heart was pounding so hard he thought he might lose control and shift right there in front of half the DPD. But a glance from Mike calmed him down enough to keep his fangs and claws in, not to mention the fact that he knew he needed to keep it together for those kids in there. They were still alive—he had to believe that.
“Remy. Max. Work your way around to the back of the house and see if we can get some eyes on the situation in there,” Mike said. “Don’t go in until I give the word. I want to give Diego a chance to see if we can talk Wallace out of there.”
Max and Remy had just gone around to the back of the response vehicle to grab the bags that held their surveillance gear when a familiar white Chevy Caprice sedan pulled up to the barricade with a squawk of tires and lights flashing. A moment later, Coletti jumped out and ran over to them. He didn’t look too thrilled to see Max.
“DFPS called and told me what happened,” he said. “Are the kids okay?”
Max shook his head, focusing on tightening the straps of his tactical vest. “We don’t know. We’re slipping around back to get some cameras set up so we can get an idea of what’s going on in there.”
“You think it’s a good idea for you to be going in there, Max?” Coletti said, looking back and forth from him to Remy, then over at Mike, who’d moved over to join Diego and the other negotiator closer to the house. Beyond them, Max could see Wallace standing inside the broken front window in the living room, waving his weapon around and shouting at them to go away.
“Probably not,” Max admitted. “But we’re a little shorthanded right now, so I’m the one going.”
The IA detective seemed ready to argue that point, but Mike’s firm voice interrupted. “Max. Remy. You need to get a move on. This situation isn’t going to improve with time.”
Max turned to follow Remy, but Coletti grabbed him by his vest. He couldn’t stop the growl that slipped from his throat or keep his fangs from sliding out far enough that he felt the tips digging into his tongue.
Seriously, the guy was doing this now?
“If you have to go in there, be careful,” Coletti whispered, locking eyes with him. “Remember that this isn’t a replay of your life. It’s the here and now. Don’t let your own demons keep you from changing the way this situation plays out.”
To say those were not the words—or the tone—Max expected from an internal affairs cop like Coletti was an understatement. All Max could do was nod.
He caught up with Remy as his pack mate slipped behind the closest house; then they were jumping over fences and running across yards. Wallace was still shouting out the front window as they jumped the last fence and dropped into his backyard.
“Stay the fuck away, or I’ll kill them all!”
Max hoped that everyone was still alive in there.
Farther up the street, the civilian negotiator was speaking through a megaphone, trying to calm Wallace as Diego whispered suggestions. They weren’t having much luck. Wallace seemed to be getting more wound up with every passing minute.
Remy dropped to a knee to the left of the back door, pulling the surveillance bag off his shoulder and unzipping it. Max joined him, reaching in for one of the small wireless cameras and the mounting bracket that came with it. Remy grabbed another one, pointing at himself and the backdoor, then Max and the left side of the house. Max nodded and took his camera around that way. As he moved toward a window he hoped would give him a view into the living room, he strained his ears for any clue about what might be happening inside the house.
In between Wallace’s drunken ranting, Max picked up sobbing. It was soft and muffled, as if whoever was crying was trying to hold it in. Natasha. Only a frightened little girl could make a sound like that, and it tore at his heart. His sister, Sarah, had cried like that after their old man had punched her. Had Wallace done the same to Natasha—or worse? The thought made his fangs slide out.
Then Max remembered what Coletti had said about not letting his own demons cloud his focus. Sarah wasn’t in there. This was a completely different family, in a completely different time.
