Chapter 2 - The Lockdown
Constance’s hand slapped the smart-panel on the wall, and the world vanished.
The heavy, suffocating darkness was instantaneous. The hum of the central air conditioning died. The electronic click of titanium security shutters dropping over the estate’s massive windows echoed through the cavernous house like the slamming of a vault door. Constance had triggered the estate’s emergency lockdown protocol.
“You think a badge means anything in this house?” Vance’s voice slithered through the pitch black, closer than he should have been.
He didn't know I had spent three years on the midnight tactical squad before transferring to domestic violence. He didn't know that my eyes were already adjusting, or that my hand had instinctively dropped to the heavy mag-lite flashlight on my tactical belt.
I didn't turn it on immediately. If I did, I would become a target.
“Vance, step away from my sister,” I ordered, my voice dropping an octave into the calm, deadpan tone I used for barricaded suspects. “You are interfering with a police officer responding to a 911 emergency. That is a felony.”
“It’s only a felony if you leave this room with that camera,” Vance spat.
I heard the rustle of his silk robe, the heavy shift of his weight on the hardwood floor. He was lunging for the blinking red light of my body camera.
I sidestepped, grabbing his wrist in the dark and twisting his momentum forward. He crashed heavily into the mahogany dresser. The shattered vase on the floor crunched beneath his knees, and he let out a sharp, guttural yell of pain.
I clicked my flashlight on, blinding him with a thousand lumens of pure white LED light.
Vance was on his knees, holding his bleeding hands up against the blinding glare. Behind him, Constance was frozen halfway across the room, desperately trying to grab the trust documents she had dropped in the dark.
“Get back to the wall, Constance!” I barked, drawing my Taser with my free hand. The red laser dot danced perfectly over the center of Vance’s chest. “Both of you. Hands where I can see them.”
“You’re insane!” Constance shrieked, backing away. “We are the Whitmores! You will be scrubbing toilets in the city jail by tomorrow morning!”
I ignored her, dropping to my knees beside Maya. The flashlight beam illuminated my sister’s pale, sweat-drenched face. Her breathing was shallow, and her hands were gripping her swollen stomach in absolute agony.
“Lauren,” Maya gasped, her fingers digging into my tactical vest. “The baby… something’s wrong. It’s too early.”
Suddenly, the unmistakable wail of police sirens pierced the night, growing louder by the second. Red and blue lights flashed through the tiny gaps in the titanium security shutters.
“Open the shutters, Constance,” I commanded. “Now.”
“I don't know the code!” she lied, her eyes darting nervously toward the hallway.
A heavy, booming voice echoed from the front of the house, followed by the terrifying sound of a specialized steel battering ram striking the reinforced oak front door. BOOM.
“Charlotte PD! Open the door!”
BOOM.
The door frame splintered. Heavy tactical boots pounded across the marble foyer. Three officers, weapons drawn, swept into the master bedroom.
Vance immediately threw his hands in the air, his face twisting into a mask of pure, victimized terror. “Officers! Thank God! My sister-in-law broke in! She attacked me! My wife had a fall, and she just broke in and attacked me!”
Officer Jenkins, a rookie I had trained, looked at Vance, looked at the Taser in my hand, and then looked at the blinking red light of my body camera.
“Detective Hart,” Jenkins said carefully. “What’s the situation?”
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“Suspect is Vance Whitmore,” I said, not taking my eyes off him. “Assault on a pregnant female. Unlawful detention. Paramedics are outside. Get them in here now. We’re losing her.”
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