Page 35 of Under Cover
And Crosby saw the infinitesimal shake of the head through the scope. Oh God. Garcia was going to keep holding out for the girl.
“Oh come on, kid,” Harding muttered. “C’mon, guys. The girl’s as safe as she’s going to be.”
“Keep moving him, Calix,” Crosby begged. “A little more to the right—”
“Who are you listening to!”Thomas roared, and Garcia gave a smile, smooth as silk, no worries here, and to Crosby’s relief didn’t let his eyes dart either in Harding’s direction or Crosby’s.
“Bosses, man,” Garcia said easily. “Can’t live with ’em….”
“So don’t,” Thomas said and spat at Garcia’s feet. The little girl he held under one arm gave a whimper, and Thomas shook her like a rag doll. “Shut up, bitch!”
“Do it!” Harding commanded. “He’s gonna pop!”
“Please, Calix,” Crosby prayed. “Just a little more….”
“Now!” Harding roared, right as Garcia shifted the last little bit and the subject followed him, raising his weapon toward the girl’s throat.
Crosby saw Thomas’s body fall before he heard the report of his own rifle.
Garcia stepped in and grabbed the girl, running away from the body as it fell, half its head missing, leaking blood and brains onto the pavement. Her screams could be heard from the top of the building as Crosby sucked in a hard breath of relief.
“Good shot,” Harding praised.
“Thanks, partner.”
Garcia’s voice, not quite as smooth as it had been when he was trying to talk their subject down, was the thing that made Crosby break into a cold sweat. With a gasp, he unclenched his hands from his rifle and buried his face in his bicep, keeping it together. God, it had been close.
“Let’s not do that again,” he said gruffly.
“I’ll make it a priority.”
Below him, he could sense the chaos that came with a dead body after a standoff—including getting the little girl checked out and probably treated for shock, and letting Harding and Denison talk to the authorities. He would imagine Harding and Denison would spend some time putting Thomas’s cronies in their place and telling them that if they let their personnel issues slide under the carpet, situations like this were the best outcome they could expect.
Crosby stayed on the rooftop, pulling together his collective cool, until he heard Harding murmur, “Garcia is swinging around the street. He’s going to pick you up. I want to keep your name and face out of this. So far they haven’t figured out where the shot came from. You guys go home. Don’t come by the office in case the cops stake it out. Consider this your desk leave after the shooting, are we clear?”
“Yes, boss,” Crosby muttered, his heart still hammering in his chest. Over and over again, like a bad movie, he saw the man he’d shot go down. Taking a life like this was different from taking one in the heat of battle.Hislife hadn’t been threatened, but the stakes had been just as high.
He swallowed down queasiness and started packing up his gear. When he got downstairs, after having used the roof access of the insurance building to get to the stairwell, he found Garcia on the west side of the building, idling in an empty parking space. As efficiently as possible he stowed the sniper-rifle case in the trunk of the SUV before swinging into the passenger seat and securing his belt.
“Go,” he ordered, leaning back and closing his eyes. He wanted to check out Garcia—personally. Wanted to hold Calix’s face in his own big hands and carefully examine him, make sure nothing in that dangerous situation had hurt him.
Wanted to make sure his heart was okay, as Crosby’s didn’t seem to be.
God. His insides were going to be shaky until next week.
“Where to?” Garcia asked. “And don’t say home.”
Crosby grunted. It was no secret, apparently. Whatever privacy he’d tried to maintain about his shitty living sitch was out.
“I’ll be on desk duty again,” he mumbled. “Maybe this time I can find an apartment or something.”
“Knowing you, you’ll get more funding for the squad and end up living in a dumpster,” Garcia scoffed. “And don’t worry about a destination. I’ve got one. It’s walking distance from my house. You can crash in the spare room, like before.”
Crosby should have protested. He reallydidhave an apartment, although God knew who was sleeping on his bedtoday.But he didn’t want to go there. Even if his roommatewasn’thaving a party, the space left when everybody was sleeping it off—or not there—was just… empty and sad. Like a hangover. Because the place wasn’t really home to begin with.
“Okay,” he said, letting go for once. Garcia was okay.Garciawas okay. It was enough to make the sweat saturate his underarms to his leather jacket, and he tried to turn off the emotion.
But the thought scared him. If he turned offrelief, what was he left with? Fear? Longing? Maybe relief was the one he should be sticking with, yeah?
