John's voice rasped through the phone. "I think I saw him."
Before Jack could reply, two gunshots cracked from inside the house. His chest tightened. He shouted John's name, dialing 911 again as he sprinted across the street, Glock ready.
"I'm fine!" John called, his voice tight with pain. "Shoulder hit. Only one guy. He's down—by the pool."
Jack barked into his phone: "This is Officer Jack Travole, Chautauqua District 5439. Officer John Nolan has been attacked and wounded at his residence. Suspect down by the pool. Send an ambulance now!"
Hanging up, he shouted through the door, "John, stay down! I'm coming in!"
Inside, John groaned. Jack swept the backyard first, covering the pool. The suspect lay sprawled, a sucking chest wound bubbling blood with every breath—classic lung hit. He wasn't going to last long. Still, Jack cuffed the man's wrists before letting him bleed out.
Back in the living room, John was slumped on the sofa, his shirt soaked red. A bullet had buried itself deep in his shoulder socket. Jack pressed a towel against the wound, slipping in just enough healing energy to slow the bleeding without arousing suspicion.
"Do you know who he is?" Jack asked.
"Name's Kyle Montgomery," John gasped. "Brother of the guy I shot two days ago. He told me before he went down."
Jack gritted his teeth. "Hell of a family reunion. Don't worry—I'll check him."
At the poolside, the suspect wheezed faintly. Jack slapped a towel against the wound and went through the motions of CPR. Nothing more. If the former Prime Minister's guards had done the same for their dying boss on live TV, no one would expect more from him here.
Five minutes later, sirens pierced the night. A patrol car screeched up, officers on edge. Jack raised his badge high, shouting his name before they could twitch. Ambulances followed, hauling John away and bagging the suspect's body.
Then came Superintendent Gray and Zoe. Jack had just finished a statement when they approached. Gray's jaw was stone, but he gave the faintest nod—his version of praise. Zoe touched Jack's arm softly. "Tim's wife went dark tonight. She burned her DEA cover during a meet. Now she's missing. Tim's tearing half the city apart."
Jack nodded. "Need me on overtime?"
"Not tonight. Rest up. DEA might need us tomorrow," Zoe replied.
Jack had just turned toward John's bathroom to wash the blood from his hands when a man in a suit stepped in front of him. Internal Affairs.
"Officer Travole? What's your relationship to John Nolan? Why were you at his house? Did you know the suspect?"
Jack's eyes narrowed. Seriously? "John's my colleague and friend. I dropped him off. Saw a suspicious car, called 911—twice. Recordings are on file. And unless your questions have an actual point, I'm going home."
The agent pressed, but before Jack could snap, Superintendent Gray's voice cut through like gravel. "Back off. Jack may be a rookie, but he knows how to be a cop better than most. Harass him again, and I'll file a complaint myself."
Jack blinked. For once, the gruff old commander wasn't all fire and brimstone. He was protecting him. That respect meant something.
Later, after washing up, Jack flicked open his system. No shots fired tonight, but his part in the incident had still earned him experience—enough for another gold coin. The bar ticked down to fifteen.
As Zoe and Gray wrapped up with the others, Zoe slipped beside Jack on the way out. "You sure you're okay?" she asked quietly.
Jack shook his head with a faint smile. "No rush of adrenaline tonight. John pulled the trigger. I'm fine."
They parted in silence, engines rumbling into the night.
(End of this chapter)