Trevor drew back his telekinesis and stepped aside. Brendan and Erin joined him now that they had finished delivering their patient to the hospital for care. Trevor stepped into Brendan’s line of sight, gesturing at the graze wound on his arm. “Let’s get that seen to.”
Brendan blinked at him a few times before looking down at his arm. Trevor could see the moment the adrenaline wore off and Brendan became fully aware of the wound. He hunched over, grabbing at his left shoulder above the graze. Trevor wanted to take away his pain as soon as possible.
“Shit,” Erin said, waving over a nurse. “Hey, can we get a room?”
Trevor would’ve followed to where they were being pointed but was stopped by the pair of officers dressed in SWAT uniforms stepping through the damaged entrance.
“Anyone know who we can talk to about moving the shooters? They’re, uh, stuck to the floor?” the policewoman asked, sounding equal parts confused and annoyed.
“Like this one,” her partner said, aiming his weapon at the gunman pinned to the floor.
Trevor reluctantly stepped away from Brendan. “That would be me. Please be aware that I’m armed.”
The officers seemed surprised at his immediate answer, weapons moving to train on him, until they got a good look at his face. They seemed to recognize him almost immediately, their rifles lowering in tandem.
“Sir,” the policeman said in a respectful voice.
“Not a sir,” Trevor said lightly as he switched the safety on his handgun and holstered it in his belt, telekinetically keeping it secure. “I was never an officer. Let’s go deal with the assholes out front.”
Trevor curled his fingers at the ringleader still sprawled on the floor and telekinetically dragged him along. The police officers were more than willing to follow Trevor into the ER waiting room, where the rest of the SWAT team was scattered around the area, weapons trained on the other two attackers. Trevor nudged the gunman who’d left a bloody trail behind him closer to his friends before telekinetically yanking him to a kneeling position, forcing the man’s arms behind his back. The SWAT members took a step back, ceding ground to Trevor.
“Cuff him,” Trevor said.
He turned his head toward the other two shooters still plastered against the hospital floor and raised a hand in their direction. SWAT members had their weapons trained on the pair, so Trevor thought it prudent to warn them.
“Hold your fire. I’m relocating them,” Trevor said loudly.
No one got trigger-happy when he telekinetically yanked the two men across the length of the ER waiting room to his position. He dropped them at the SWAT members’ feet and waved a hand at the pair.
“All yours.”
“You think so?” the bloody-faced man slurred around broken teeth. He glared dazedly through rapidly swelling eyes. “That bitch is gonna die and you can’t stop us. Same way you couldn’t back in April.”
“Fuckingshut up,” one of the other attackers snapped.
Trevor stared at the man on his knees. The words could’ve been an empty threat, but he knew better than to ignore a statement like that said in bluster or otherwise. He looked up and caught the nearest SWAT member’s eye.
“I’m calling in the MDF,” Trevor told them. “Don’t remove these three from the premises.”
“Yes, sir,” more than one person replied.
Trevor turned away from the officers and men in custody, tapping into the private, encrypted line still accessible through his embedded comms. Habit ingrained from years in the field had him using his old code name instead of his legal name.
“Bones to base, do you copy? I’ve got a problem.”
2
Washington, D.C.
USA
Brendan Kane had just bitteninto his sandwich when the alarm ripped through Station 2’s building, signaling an emergency. The speakers embedded throughout the station crackled to life as dispatch came on the line.
“Station 2, respond to listed address for structure fire in an apartment building. Be advised there is an injured person on-site from assault. Time 1750.”
The firefighters and his paramedic partner, Erin Doyle, who were gathered around the communal table in the kitchen, abruptly abandoned their dinner in favor of racing for the truck bay.
“Guess we’re eating protein bars tonight,” Erin said a little mournfully.
