His Hart's Command (Nothing Special 6)

“Um. When you’re on E Hall, just face north and point your weapons,” Free told them, his brain having to reboot after hearing Hart’s name.

Green’s truck finally burst through the clearing. Free exhaled when he saw the road through Green’s dash camera, and no more forest. The rest of the bust played out in his ear as he kept the satellite image up for his sergeant to watch the takedown. The four enforcers who made up God and Day’s team moved effortlessly as they quickly threw out tire spikes, disabling the four-by-four Tacoma they’d been pursuing, and yanking the men out of the vehicle, bringing them face-first to the asphalt.

God and Day came over to his station at that moment, their attention locked on one of Free’s seven screens.

“Those the boys from the Cornelia gang?” God asked.

“Yep. They got ’em.” Syn nodded. “That’s the gang leader’s two biggest players and his little brother. All we need now is the head man himself.”

“Good work,” Day said, standing behind Free’s chair, gently kneading his shoulders. His lieutenant was a real touchy-feely kind of guy. Day could be a hard ass when he needed to get his men in line, but he was also the coolest friend a man could have. He was the complete opposite of his intimidating husband. God didn’t touch anyone unless it was Day, or to put a man on his ass.

Free turned his head to the side and let Day work on the knot at the base of his skull. He really knew how to give a massage, especially when he was mindlessly moving his hands in thought-mode. “Free, text Ro and get him in here to interrogate. He said he’d be in tonight at six, but tell him to make it sooner. I want this ruthless meth dealer in fuckin’ custody, yesterday. I got the chief riding my ass harder than God does.”

“Done,” Free answered. He was already tapping out the message as Day spoke.

“You’re so perfect for me,” Day said, finishing his massage.

Free laughed off Day’s remarks which never failed to make him roll his eyes. With the enforcers clear and headed back to the station, Free had a little time to take a break. The moment he swiveled his chair around, he came face-to-face with his sergeant.

He tried not to fidget under Syn’s tight scrutiny. “I’m gonna go grab a soda, Syn. You want one?”

Syn’s midnight eyes watched him carefully. In the several weeks Free had been working with the team, Syn had become one of his favorites. Since God and Day were often out of the office, it was Syn’s job to manage the department, and he did it with a firm but understanding hand. “No, I’m good.”

“Okay, then.” Free got up, avoiding contact with the perceptive man on his way past. Will I ever be able to hide anything, working for a bunch of detectives? He was relieved Syn didn’t dig into why Free had frozen in the middle of a job, but he knew the subject would eventually come up.

Free left his office and crossed the busy bullpen. Beat cops were at their desk grinding at five in the afternoon. Some were working on their reports of the day. Admin officers were interviewing witnesses or taking complaints, and various civilian personnel went about their business.

“Hey, Free. Freeman! Can you come over for just a second, please?”

Free automatically detoured between the rows of desks to Officer Mason’s. He had seven years on the force, and was damn good at profiling, but he sucked with technology. Free wasn’t sure how the man had passed the basic qualifications test, but he helped him any time Mason stopped him.

The moment the station had discovered that God had one of the best technology experts working for him, the bees had started to swarm. There was a select number of people who knew who he really was—one of the top five hackers in the world. When he walked through the station, he was always pulled in a million different directions—individuals needing him to fix any technical issue they had, whether it was a glitchy cell phone or a virus-riddled laptop. He didn’t mind. Free liked being helpful. Liked feeling needed for all the right reasons. No one there was trying to take advantage of him.

“I’m sorry to snag you again. You’re probably so sick of me,” Mason said, scrubbing his hand over his stern jaw with its twenty-four hour five o’clock shadow. His forehead was bright red, with drops of perspiration along his temples. He was a lost cause when it came to the precinct’s new interface system, but he couldn’t’ve been a more polite man. Mason had been one of the officers to go out of his way in the beginning, when Free had a question or needed help finding something.