Jack wagged a finger in John's direction, the faintest grin tugging at his lips."No, no, no. Don't look at me for advice on romance. I'm the devil—only good at leading people astray. Best you keep your distance."
Then, lowering his voice, he tilted his chin toward the treeline."And while we were patching up Graham, there was someone watching us from that big oak behind us. Tried to stay quiet, but I heard the rattle of cuffs and ankle chains. You want to make detective fast? Here's your shot."
Before John could respond, a rustle in the undergrowth made both men turn. Hannah and Angela emerged, half-dragging, half-shoving a massive Black man in an orange jumpsuit. His eyes watered from the pepper spray, his voice a guttural groan.
"Hey, boys," Angela called with a smirk. "Too slow. We're taking this one in."
John raised both hands in mock surrender. Hannah's grin widened, proud and fierce.
By now, ambulances crowded the scene. Injured deputies and prisoners were loaded onto stretchers, wheels rattling as they were pushed up the slope. Those who hadn't fled were chained again, bound for another ride back to prison.
Up on the ridge, Superintendent Gray stood in front of a row of patrol cars, voice booming over the chaos as he assigned teams.
"As far as we know, seven fugitives are still loose."
"Six." Tim and Lucy strode up, a bald man in cuffs between them.
Gray's jaw unclenched, the faintest smile tugging across his lips. He gave them a nod. "Correction. Six."
"Five!" Hannah and Angela grunted as they hauled their prize uphill, planting him in front of the gathered officers.
Gray bared his perfect white teeth in a grin. "Excellent. At this rate, we'll be home in time for dinner." He scanned the crowd, tone turning sharp again. "But don't get comfortable. On foot, a man can clear four miles an hour. They've had a twenty-minute head start. We've set up a one-mile cordon and got helicopters sweeping nonstop. If everything goes to plan, we'll box them in and pick them off house by house."
Zoe Anderson, crisp and calm, stepped forward. "But if even one breaches the cordon, we're looking at a citywide manhunt. That's a nightmare scenario for public security. So—we divide."
Orders fell into place like pieces on a chessboard. Tim, Lucy, and Angela joined K9 units, fanning out to search yards and alleys. John and the newly arrived Officer Nyla Harper were sent to man roadblocks, stopping vehicles at the cordon. Jack and Hannah were assigned to mobile patrol, circling nearby roads for fast response.
The operation kicked off in waves of engines and flashing lights.
Within the hour, good news crackled across the radio. Tim and Lucy had tackled a fugitive on a neighborhood street. Angela cornered another idiot in a parking lot, caught red-handed trying to steal a Mercedes.
Then John's voice came through the comms, urgent and tight.
"I need backup. Possible hostage situation."
Jack and Hannah exchanged a glance. Jack grabbed the mic. "Talk to me."
"We stopped a red Camry at the cordon," John's voice was clipped, measured but anxious. "Driver looked jittery. Said he was coming back from preschool. He's got a car seat in the back, snack wrappers… but no kid."
Hannah's voice sharpened. "So where's the child?"
John hesitated. "I slipped my phone into the car before letting him through. Just got a message. His five-year-old daughter is in the trunk. Fugitive's armed. He's forcing the driver to take him somewhere safe. Driver's too scared to resist."
For a moment, silence filled the radio. Then Jack's laugh, dark and sharp, cut through."A safe place? What's safer than the Wilshire Station garage?"
Hannah looked at him sideways. "You're insane."
Jack pressed the accelerator. "Insane works."
Through the windshield, they spotted John's cruiser tailing a red Camry, brake lights flaring nervously on the curves.
"I've got eyes on you, John," Jack radioed. "Stick with him. Tell the driver to follow. We'll prep the ambush."
Fifteen tense minutes later, the Camry rolled slowly into the dim garage. The heavy door clanged shut behind them. The driver climbed out, sweat running down his temples, and tapped the trunk with a trembling hand.
"We're safe," he whispered, voice cracking.
The latch popped. Inside, a thin Latino man crouched low, pistol jammed against the cheek of a little girl no older than six. His eyes were wide, desperate, animal.
"I did what you asked," the driver pleaded. "We're here. Nobody followed. Now let me take my daughter. You can have the car."
The fugitive sneered, waving the gun. "Take her. Just move."
The father scooped his daughter into his arms, stepping back quickly.
The garage lights blazed on. Shouts cracked the air. "Drop your weapon!"
Nyla Harper and another officer emerged from opposite corners, guns trained steady. Four more appeared from cover, forming a wall of steel and authority.
The fugitive's hands shook, but he wasn't suicidal. The pistol clattered to the concrete, and cuffs clicked around his wrists.
The father collapsed against a pillar, clutching his daughter like a lifeline. His body shook with sobs.
Jack stepped forward, gently lifting the little girl into his arms. Her eyes, wide and bright, showed not fear but curiosity. She studied his face, then giggled, dimples flashing, and wrapped her tiny arms around his neck.
Jack froze for half a second, instinct tugging him toward a kiss on her chubby cheek. But then he remembered where he was. This was America—someone would call Internal Affairs before the kiss even landed.
Hannah didn't hesitate. She leaned in and planted a kiss on the girl's cheek. The child squealed, then turned and kissed Jack right back.
"Wow," Hannah said, laughing. "Smart and sweet."
Jack passed the girl carefully back to her father. "She's brave. And so are you."
The man's voice cracked with gratitude. "Thank you… thank you all."
Before the emotion could settle, Harper jogged back from the exit, voice cutting sharp. "Anderson and Gray are calling everyone back. Command bus, now."
The convoy rolled out. The crash site was quieter now, emergency vehicles mostly gone, leaving firefighters and a tow crew wrapping chains around the overturned van.
Inside the mobile command vehicle, Superintendent Gray waited, expression grim.
"Three more fugitives down," he said. "That leaves two. Six hours have passed. We must assume they've breached the cordon."
The weight in his voice silenced the room. The chase was only beginning.
(End of this chapter)