Spyder was central to this. He wanted me involved, which meant it had national if not international implications. Yeah, in the hierarchy of crimes, the FBI mission was my highest pursuit. What I’d do is tell Finley about this so that he could maybe chat with the D.A.
If the woman didn’t come out and say anything… What did I know of her circumstances? Maybe she had a reason to be under the radar, too.
Maybe that was Modesty.
The cops moved in as the two conscious brutes found their way to their knees as instructed.
As my body settled, my heart re-seated, my lungs filled naturally with a long, slow inhale, shadow walking became easier, more reflexive.
The officers told the men to lace their fingers and put their hands on their heads.
The men seemed submissive, and I didn’t trust that.
They had been much too belligerent and bellicose for them to simply allow the officers to cuff them and put them in a car. They hadn’t even offered up an explanation for their blood and injuries. They said nothing.
This told me that this scenario had played out for the friends before.
Lizard was out for the count. I could see the shadows changing on his shirt as his chest rose and fell. Not dead.
They had a strategy. I could see the two telegraphing messages to each other with their eyes.
I had no way to warn the officers and remain in the shadows.
My hands behind my back, I reverted to my childhood power move of crossing my fingers. I sent out a mental warning.
Of all my psychic skills, pushing a message to someone else wasn’t one of them.
This was a crime scene. The police were the professionals. Even if they could see me, anything I did or said would not be received as assistance. I’d be perceived as a criminal, cuffed myself, taken down to the jail, and booked.
Iniquus would have a lawyer there before the fingerprint ink was dried.
I wasn’t worried about that.
I was worried that I was expected at the FBI and the CIA today.
Obviously, I failed at my psychic mind-meld with the officer. He looked a little too relaxed as he stepped up to Blue, another stepped to Lizard to check his vitals, and the woman officer went toward Benji.
As if in trained choreography, the officers reached toward their belts to pull out their cuffs.
Blue sneezed. A big fat sneeze tipped his head backward then rocked him forward. Folding at the waist, blood shot from his broken nose.
The officer jumped away from the spray.
It was a signal.
And a technique.
Blue released his hands from where they’d been posted on top of his head. Grabbing up his shirt, he wiped at his nose. When he did that, Blue dropped his hip to the blacktop, freeing his legs. Already bent from being in a kneeling position, all Blue had to do was extend his leg and clip the officer in the kneecap with his steel-toed work boot.
Eight pounds of pressure was all it takes to break a knee.
For sure, that was exerted exponentially.
The officer was down.
Blue grabbed the Taser from the cop’s left hip and fired it into the injured officer.
I had no idea what to do.
Interference would make me a target—the officers were clueless that I was on their side.
Leaving them to a fight with one man down was antithetical to who I was.
I was frozen by the memory of Tasers and guttural screams.
Gator had been Tased the night I was kidnapped. He was Tased because he was trying to protect me. His tortured body on the ground convulsing with agony had been entirely my fault.
As this officer made the same sounds as Gator had that horrible night, the memories bit into my brain and made it stutter. Right action that night was to do what Gator had told me to do, what I had been trained to do in such a circumstance—run.
But I hadn’t done the right thing. Instead, I ended up being kidnapped.
The memory sizzled my brain. Dragged me away from this life-or-death scene to the one that Gator and I had survived. A PTSD flashback that left me vulnerable.
I forced myself with sheer will to focus on the here and now.
With no weapon, no badge, and no good plan, all I could do was pray for inspiration. In my mind, I was frantically clawing through the files of strategies that I’d been taught—by my friend Dave with the DCPD, my mentors Master Wang and Spyder. I was coming up empty-handed. This wasn’t a scene they’d prepared me for.
Action might get me shot by the cops.
So far, the officers hadn’t been focused my way. Nothing put me onto the police officers’ body cams—yet.
But inaction had its risks, too. Just standing here against the wall could well snag me in a way that blew my op.
Shadow walking used brain trickery to succeed.
I couldn’t hide from a camera lens. The more still I could hold myself here against the wall in the blue-gray shade of the dumpster lid, the more possible it was that I’d be missed by an officer on the scene now, or later by a supervisor reviewing the tapes.
The melee with the police grew fiercer. I was ready to drag my phone from my back pocket and call dispatch to get the officers more help.
Then suddenly, the sizzle of a Taser.
Chapter Eight
The ambulance arrived with backup as the echo of Benji’s screams faded.
He was face down and cuffed. The Taser probes still pierced his skin. The officer’s finger rested on her trigger, ready to light him up if he made a single aggressive move.
Unconscious from the bat to his spinal column, Lizard had already been
