They squirmed and twisted on hard asphalt. A knee connected with Lucky’s gut. “Oof!” Lectures from Walter kept Lucky from fighting dirty. Pounding footsteps headed his way. Dear Lord, please let it not be another guard.
He rolled, putting the guy on top. The man suddenly flew backwards, and Lucky stared into the faces of two uniformed cops. One cuffed the guard, while the other offered Lucky a hand and yanked him to his feet.
Johnson kept the guard she’d taken into custody in her crosshairs. She appeared entirely too smug. Yeah, yeah, Lucky would have cuffed his guy without help in a few more seconds.
Ignoring her gloating, he entered the guardhouse and flipped off all switches labeled “camera” or “alarm”.
No need to let anyone in the building clue into the shit hitting the fan outside, if anyone watched. He grinned. Keeping the guard in front of her, Johnson handed him over to the officers.
Two down, more to go on the premises. Bo met them at the front doors. “No cameras but the one you took out. They’re pretty damned confident that whoever they have in the magistrate’s office is going to keep them safe.”
Lucky tapped on his earpiece. “Keith, any signs they know we’re here?” He might not like the asshat, but the department’s head of surveillance came in handy on occasion.
Rare occasions.
“All clear,” Keith growled.
Lucky motioned to Johnson and Bo. In a raid, no one else he’d rather have on his team. He’d show the rookies video footage from the safety of the conference room later.
As they’d done the night of their maybe/maybe not legal recon, Lucky took one side of the door, Johnson the other, while Bo stayed back, gun drawn and door in his line of sight. Lucky pushed. Still locked. Well, add ten seconds to their entry time.
“Don’t break anybody this time,” he murmured to Johnson.
She flipped him off with her gun hand, still keeping a tight grip on her weapon. Impressive.
Lucky threw open the door, gun at the ready. He and Johnson crisscrossed on entry, covering both sides of the dimly-lit hallway. One by one they cleared the empty offices. At last they stood in the warehouse entry.
Lights shone overhead, illuminating grimy windows, dust swirling as they walked. Lucky stifled a cough. The rough plank floor might have been a thing of beauty in its day, but lay pockmarked and pitted now. Termite paradise.
Flimsy metal shelves lined the walls, and the open floor space held pieces of machinery in various states of rusting.
Flattened against the wall, they froze when the door at the far end opened. A lone man emerged, pushing a hand truck full of boxes. He placed them on the shelves and returned the way he’d come.
Lucky tapped his earpiece again. “Team one in position.”
One by one, the other teams chimed in. Good. Now to ruin some asshole drug dealer’s day.
Lucky motioned Johnson and Bo ahead of him while he covered their trek to the far door. Filth-encrusted skylights let in more light from the few working streetlamps outside, letting them see what they hadn’t the night before. Not that there was much to see.
At the door the countdown came through his headset. “Count of three. One, two, three…” Bo threw the door open. Together they stormed into the room. Screams sounded from the back, group two making an entrance through the loading bay doors.
Wide eyes and raised hands, as far as the eye could see, except for…
Two men broke away from the group, dodging people and machinery on the way to a window. “Team three. Two targets coming your way.”
Men and women stood still for the most part, boxes in the hands of some. Murmurs of “Oh, Dios!” and gentle sobbing broke into the cackle of police radios outside.
Bo stepped forward, lowering his gun. While Lucky understood a smattering of Spanish, he focused on keeping hands in the air and everyone in place. No one better make a move on Bo.
At a firmly spoken order from Bo, the people formed a line, following the leader through the maze of shelves and rusting equipment into the warehouse.
They formed ranks of two and sat on the floor.
Lucky did the math. Based on their intel, two of the men now sitting before them were bosses. No need to ask who. The rest of the workers gave two men wide berth, stepping around them with frightened eyes.
Lucky nodded at the two men, then at Johnson.
“My pleasure.” Johnson’s growl and pointed gun said all she didn’t need to with words. Stripping them away from the group, she marched the two men toward the loading door at the back of the warehouse.
