He looked at the chief. The chief had turned his back on him. Bryce lowered the taser. "Uncuff them," Garrick repeated. Riley rushed forward and unlocked the cuffs.
Kendrick rubbed his wrists. He didn't attack Bryce. He didn't yell. He simply reached over the counter, took his phone from the plastic bin, and turned it on. "I need to make a call," Kendrick said.
"Go ahead," Garrick said, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. "Office line is open." "I don't need your line," Kendrick said. He dialed a number on his cell. He put it on speaker.
The room was silent. "Director's office," a woman's voice answered. "Patricia, it's Kendrick Voss. Code Red, Pine Creek, Alabama." "Code Red?"
The voice on the other end sharpened instantly. "Status of Agent Voss and Prosecutor Voss?" "Secure, but we have been compromised. Local law enforcement intercepted us. I was held at gunpoint.
Illegal search and seizure. False imprisonment." "Are you safe now?" "For the moment, but I need the team. Bring everyone."
"ETA is minutes. They're holding at the perimeter. Sit tight, Kendrick." The line clicked dead. Kendrick looked at Bryce Callahan.
Bryce was leaning against the filing cabinet, looking like he was about to vomit. "They'll be here soon," Kendrick said. "I'd suggest you start writing your resignation letter, though you won't be needing it where you're going." Minutes is a long time in a quiet police station. It's enough time to think about every mistake you've ever made.
Bryce Callahan sat in a chair in the corner of the booking room. No one was speaking to him. His fellow officers, Riley, Tara, even old Sergeant Frank, had subconsciously moved to the other side of the room, distancing themselves from the blast radius. Kendrick and Serena sat on a metal bench, composed. Serena had taken a notebook out of her purse and was writing furiously.
Every few seconds she would look up, look at Bryce, and make a note. "What are you writing?" Bryce asked, his voice a rasp. "Your indictment," Serena said without looking up. "I'm adding a count for the threat of the strip search.
Sexual harassment under color of law adds a nice five years to the sentence." "You can't prove that," Bryce mumbled. "It's my word against yours." "Actually," Officer Tara spoke up. "I'll testify to it."
Bryce's head snapped up. "Tara, you'd rat on a brother?" "You're not a brother, Bryce," Tara said, her voice shaking but firm. "You're a bully. And you almost got us all killed today.
I'm not going to prison for you." "Traitors," Bryce spat. "All of you." Suddenly, the coffee in the mug on Sergeant Frank's desk rippled. A low thrumming sound began to vibrate through the floorboards.
It started soft, like distant thunder, and grew louder. "What is that?" Riley moved to the window. "Helicopter," Garrick said, staring at the floor. Then came the sirens.
Not the wail of a single cruiser, but a cacophony. It sounded like an invasion. Tires screeched outside. Doors slammed. Lots of doors.