The second-floor hallway is narrow, offices on both sides. The timed lights are still cycling through their programmed sequence, creating shadows that shift and move. One of Kline's men is down near the office entrance, another retreating toward the storage area under fire.
Then I see Kline.
He's in the office doorway, weapon trained on the empty room where timed lights create the illusion of movement. Recognition crosses his face—he's realizing the trap. Pure fury twists his expression. He spins, weapon coming up, scanning for real targets.
Cole appears from the storage area. He moves with lethal silence, closing the distance before Kline fully registers the threat. Cole's weapon is up, trained center mass, finger on the trigger.
"Drop it," Cole says. Emotionless, colder than I've ever heard him.
Kline's weapon swings toward Cole with operative speed, reflexes honed through countless ops, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Cole's faster. His weapon shifts, and his shot takes Kline in the shoulder, spinning him sideways. The weapon clatters to the floor. Kline goes down hard, blood spreading from the shoulder wound.
But Cole doesn't stop. He's on Kline in seconds, weapon pressed to his head, knee driving into his injured shoulder with brutal precision.
Kline screams.
"You used my sister as leverage." Cole's voice could cut steel. "Photographed her to threaten a federal agent. Made her a target."
"Fuck you," Kline spits through pain. "It's just business."
Cole shifts his weight, grinding his knee deeper into the gunshot wound. His gaze flicks to me. "Sent your operatives after her in Portland. That was your mistake."
He pulls his weapon back and drives his fist into Kline's face. The strike is precise, brutal, calculated to cause maximum pain without killing. Blood explodes from Kline's nose, splashing across the floor.
"Cole." I move closer, my weapon lowered but ready. "That's enough. ATF needs him alive for prosecution."
Cole doesn't acknowledge me. Doesn't even glance in my direction. All his focus is on Kline, who's now pinned beneathhim, blood streaming from his broken nose and shoulder wound.
Another strike, this one to Kline's jaw. His head snaps to the side, his consciousness wavering.
"Cole." I say his name quietly, not a command. Just acknowledgment that I'm here, witnessing this. "I know what he did. I know what he deserves. But I need him alive to make the case stick."
Another strike. Kline's trying to protect his face now, but Cole systematically breaks down his defense with Delta Force precision.
"She's my sister," Cole says. "You put her in your crosshairs to get leverage. Wrong fucking choice."
"Cole, stop." I move closer, within arm's reach. "You've made your point. He's not a threat anymore."
For several seconds, Cole doesn't move. His fist is cocked back, ready to deliver another strike. Kline's barely conscious, blood covering his face, his body gone limp beneath Cole's weight.
Cole's eyes are cold, flat, completely focused on Kline. Delta Force operative assessing a target.
Cole's gaze shifts to me. Something dark and lethal swims in his expression, something never directed at me before.
"I need him alive." I repeat it quietly. "Not because he deserves it. Not because the law requires it. But because I need the case to stick, and that means he has to breathe long enough to go to trial."
The darkness doesn't fade, but something shifts in his expression. Acknowledgment, maybe. Understanding.
He lowers his fist. Slow. Controlled.
"Federal agent wants you breathing," he tells Kline. "Otherwise you'd be dead."
He stands, drags Kline up by his vest, and shoves him toward me. Kline collapses at my feet, groaning through broken teeth and the gunshot wound in his shoulder.
I holster my weapon, pull out flex cuffs. "Alan Kline, you're under arrest for weapons trafficking, assault on federal officers, and about a dozen other charges I'll remember once the adrenaline wears off."
Martinez and Nielson appear with additional ATF agents and a medical kit. They take custody of Kline, apply pressure to his shoulder wound, secure him properly despite his injuries.
