He heard shots fired and saw the chopper had to bail out. Oh no. His chances of catching this guy had decreased exponentially. There were stores, buildings, apartments, a pizza joint, a bar, back alleys, a shit-load of hiding places on that street. Fuck. With his weapon aimed at the ground, he jogged up the street, peering through store windows, noting if anything had been disturbed. A few people stood outside a store and he quickly approached, out of breath, and asked had they seen a man run through here. Hurrying back inside, they shook their heads, not wanting to be a part of anything. The chopper made a wide circle and came back around, hovered for a few seconds over him and moved forward. Nothing.
“Shit,” he yelled. Knowing he’d fucked up. He was their eyes. He was supposed to see everything.
Sweat pouring down his face, he turned and saw the cruisers speeding up the street, but he had nothing to tell them. He had no clue where the guy had run. How the fuck did a man escape that kind of bust with a big ass duffle bag and not get noticed? Unless he had help. He ran up the steps to an apartment building and quickly looked under the stairwell… nothing. Huffing a tired sigh, he went back out the door and saw his team’s SWAT vehicle pull up to the curb. God stepped out, looking like he was ready to choke him. Not saying a word, he turned and got back inside, leaving the door open for him. Michaels would rather be anywhere than in that vehicle right then. He almost felt like walking all the way back to headquarters.
He was hoisted inside by Ruxs, and Green slammed the door behind him. Cruisers still ripped up and down the alleyways but that asshole was gone. He was goddamn Houdini, disappearing into thin air. They were all silent. God’s anger was palpable in the confined space and it was stifling him. Michaels reached for his collar and tugged at it, needing air. God watched him, his green eyes boring into him, telling him he was pissed and disappointed. They didn’t lose suspects. They damn sure didn’t lose evidence. He’d made both his Lieutenants and his team look bad and that was the worse feeling in the world to him.
“Did he get the money or the drugs?” Rivers finally asked, after they got onto the interstate.
“The drugs!” God roared.
Oh hell. Not the drugs. Months’ worth of work, surveillance, inside informants, recon, all that manpower, and hours put into this case… and the drugs were still on the street.
If the ride back wasn’t hard enough, sitting in their department waiting for the Lieutenants to come out of the Captain’s office after getting their asses chewed was ten times harder. They had a tiny window to track down this guy and get those drugs back or they’d be lost for good.
Chapter Seven
Why run? It’s just gonna piss me off. Judge hit the brakes hard in his jet black RAM1500 and skidded to a stop at the end of the sidewalk, glaring at his terrified bounty. Determined eyes stared right back at him and Judge immediately recognized the look. The convict was going to give it everything he had because he wasn’t going back to jail without a fight. The man took off up the sidewalk like a base runner aiming for home plate.
Motherfucker. Judge hit the gas hard, his large back tires spinning on the hot asphalt, burning the rubber down, leaving a cloud of white smoke behind him. He kept his eyes on his prize barreling up the nearly empty street. Thank goodness it was a quiet town; Judge could get in, do his damage, and get the hell out. He was almost to end of the road when he cut the wheel hard and turned his back end to face the sidewalk. He hit the button on his dash and dropped the back gate of his truck. “Get ‘em, Book,” he hissed, and that was all it took for his one hundred and fifty pound Great Dane to leap out the back and take off after his guy. Bookem was the only partner Judge needed. The two of them together were flawless. Although his best friend was getting up in age, he was still strong and fast.
When his bounty saw Bookem jump down out the truck, it was almost comical. The man looked like he’d shit himself. Spinning and cutting between two parked cars, the desperate man ran into a backyard, getting hung up in a clothesline, and then diving underneath the raised trailer. Judge followed his dog’s barks and growls, walking around the back of the doublewide. He shook his head at the absurdity of the ridiculous attempt at hiding. He squatted and ruffled Bookem’s scruff. “Good boy, good boy.” His dog immediately calmed down, his bark easing to a warning growl, sensing that Judge had it under control. “Where the hell is he going under there, huh?” Judge smirked, still petting his dog. He bent and looked under house. It was raised a good thirty inches off the ground and Judge had a clear view of the man inching his way into the corner.