Nothing Special VI: His Hart's Command, page 21
part #6 of Nothing Special Series
Vasquez looked like a deer caught in headlights. He must’ve thought when Free said war that he was gonna agree to meet him in a back alley and duke it out with him. Fuck that. He wasn’t in a fight club, and he’d never really excelled in his self-defense classes. He fought the only way he knew how—cyberwar.
“And God constantly says to never reveal one’s strategy—that the element of surprise is best—but this strike is just too bloody clever to keep secret. Can you guess what my kill-shot will be? It’s three terrifying words. I’ll shorten them for you so your feeble mind can understand. The I.R.S. Those evil bastards take your dreams, man. And they absolutely detest being told they made a mistake, or their computers are wrong. So, I’m gonna go ahead and schedule an audit of your last five years tax returns.” Free jerked forward until he was face-to-face, toe-to-toe, his own fury unleashing on Vasquez. Finally! “That should be enough to keep you busy and out of my goddamn face! And if that’s not enough…”
Free tapped his screen, “I’ll just get rid of your annoying ass permanently.”
Vasquez’s own sleazy voice played back from Free’s tablet. “I’m not one you want to fuck with. I don’t care if I have to make up something, I’ll take you dick-sucking bastards down one-by-one.”
Vasquez gaped. His chest deflating like a pricked balloon.
“Quite incriminating, yes. Ahh, technology. Gotta love it. Boy, I would hate for your sergeant…or worse, the captain to hear this.”
Vasquez looked as if he wanted to tear the device out of Free’s hand and stomp it into a zillion pieces.
“Don’t even bother. Anything I do on this tablet is automatically sent to my hard drive.” Free opened the elevator doors. He stepped into the hall on Hart’s floor and turned slowly, glaring at Vasquez. “I think we’ll both agree that I’m not the one to be fucked with. Because what I listed is just a start. Now stay the hell away from me and don’t you ever threaten my friends again.
“And, I’ll say this one time and one time only—stay off the fuckin’ elevator with me, or the next time I’ll send your ass crashing to the parking garage.”
“Freeman, you sonofa—”
“Close,” Free said, cutting Vasquez off as the doors slammed shut.
Free exited out of the building’s maintenance server on his tablet and watched the elevator descend. Holy shit. He let out a harsh breath. He couldn’t believe he’d just done that. He wanted to jump in the air, whoop and pump his fist. He’d actually done it! His victim days were over. Now he wanted to kiss the man who was partly responsible.
Hart
Hart sat on the sofa in his office, with papers strewn on the table in front of him. He’d been calculating numbers for hours in order to have his budget submitted in time for their quarterly meeting. He stretched his back and worked at the kinks that’d formed in his neck over the last hour. He dropped his hand, wishing it was Free rubbing his tension away.
He checked his watch. It was after six. Free had been off work over an hour. He wondered what he was doing down there in the office all by himself. Just when he picked up his phone to message him, he heard his boyfriend’s familiar tapping at his door, before it slowly eased open. Free’s eyes went to his empty desk.
“I’m over here.” Hart drew Free’s attention to the far side of his office. “Hey, baby.”
Free’s smile was brighter than he’d ever seen it. He was practically bouncing on his feet as he hurried over to him. He looked sexy in his blazer and tight jeans. “Where is everyone? Your office looks as deserted as mine.”
“Most of them went downstairs to the cafeteria, but Fox should be in his office. Carlos has gone home already.” Hart removed his reading glasses and tossed them onto the table. “C’mere. Why are you so happy?”
Free ignored him when he patted the cushion next to him, and instead went to his blinds and rotated them shut. Hart felt a thrill rush through him. He stretched his arms along the back of the sofa and asked, “What are you up to?”
“Just in a really good mood and would like a little smooch from my boyfriend, if that’s all right with you?” Free chuckled, moseying around Hart’s table and straddling his lap.
Just a smooch?
Hart held onto Free’s waist while he leaned in and kissed him. His tongue was probing, forceful, almost dominant. Hart groaned when Free gripped his wrist and pried his hands off his body and forced them down to his sides. Whoa! Hart broke off from the kiss, having to practically tear his mouth away.
“Damn, Len. What the hell has gotten into you?” Hart breathed, while Free took the kisses he wanted. Hart didn’t stop him. He had to admit he was loving this wild animal that’d taken over his boyfriend’s body. “Don’t stop.”
He knew better than to be doing this in his office, but he was helpless to end it. Besides, this was Free’s doing. “Grrrr,” Hart growled when Free tugged on his beard, forcing his mouth to him.
“Growl all you want,” Free snarled back. Hart’s hips jerked when Free yanked on his leather belt. His nimble fingers made quick work of it, then the button of his cargos.
Holy hell. Was he really about to let this happen here? Now? Where anyone could knock. It was unlikely they’d be interrupted, but…it was still risky. Hart rolled his head on the back of the couch, exposing his throat. He was helpless to fight this. What they were doing was fulfilling one big ass fantasy of his. Hart sucked in a quick breath at the feel of Free’s sharp teeth on his throat, his beard still in a strong clutch.
“Get your dick out. Now,” Free ordered. His voice was deep and commanding, and Hart fucking loved it. His strength was impressive, and Hart was quick to do as he was told. Sitting firmly on his groin, Free didn’t give his big hands much room to work, but he did his best. He had his zipper halfway down when Fox’s side door burst open.
“What the…! Fox, goddamn—”
Hart’s tirade was cut-off in his throat when he saw the urgency on Fox’s face. His gray eyes were wide as saucers and he moved as if he had no time to explain. He didn’t say a word, just shot through the office, almost leaping over his desk. His steps were all over the place and his arms flailed as if he was doing a Jack Sparrow impression. Hart was shocked when Fox practically yanked Free off his lap. His boyfriend yelped at being dragged backwards by his collar and shoved into Hart’s uniform closet. What the hell is going on? Hart stood in front of the couch feeling ridiculous with his belt and pants unbuttoned.
“Fix your face, dummy, and your clothes,” Fox hissed and just barely closed the closet when Hart’s office door rattled on the hinges from the three loud bangs, right before it was flung open.
“Hart!”
“Commander Lark. Chief.” Hart hurried and tucked in his shirt as the two older men filed into his office. “I just got out the washroom, what’s going on?” Man, he hoped he didn’t look as discombobulated as he felt. That was so fucking close, his hands were trembling.
“We have an emergency. Got a hostage situation at a men’s shelter around the block on McPherson. One person’s already been wounded. Your team still here?”
“Yes. Let command know we’re on it. We’ll get the details in the APC.” Hart said, getting back into work mode. He tightened his belt and hurried around his desk to his phone, jabbing his finger on Dinah’s direct line. As soon as she answered he wasted no time with pleasantries, “D, get everyone upstairs, now, we got a one thirty-six in progress.”
“This could get real, Hart. Threat level’s already red. So, I want you guys in full tack gear. We’ll be at headquarters listening. I know you and God’s team have been under a lot of heat, but I need your team to do what you do. Get there, breach and get any hostages out safely,” his commander said, then left with the chief.
Hart rushed toward his closet just as Fox was coming out. Hart was humiliated. His lieutenant gave him his classic sly grin and bumped his shoulder on his way past. “I told you that side door would come in handy. You owe me, friend.” Fox said, rushing out of the door, barking at the team to move faster.
When Hart went into his closet to get his gear, Free was leaning against the wall with his head down, his creamy cheeks flushed a dark red. Oh baby. Hart wished he could go to him and laugh about their close call but he had to move his ass. “Len.”
His smile was shaky and it was obvious he felt bad, but Hart wasn’t mad at him for trying to give them experiences they’d both missed out on their entire adult lives. “Len, baby. It’s okay. I gotta go, all right?” Hart threw his vest over his head and clamped the straps together. “I’ll be home as soon as I can, and then you can finish what you started.”
Free appeared more relieved, finally looking Hart in his eyes. He was just so damn sexy. No wonder he’d been about to have his dick out and balls hanging right there in the workplace. And, he couldn’t say it wouldn’t happen again. “You had me by the beard, baby. I was all yours, you know that.” Hart winked.
Free’s laugh was warm, and damned if he didn’t want to leave him. “Yeah. I’ll finish you off later,” his boyfriend promised. He gave Hart’s loaded uniform a good inspection. “You look badass, but be careful out there.”
“I will.” Hart yanked his helmet and safety googles off the shelf.
“Here.” Free opened the flap of a pocket compartment on his shirt sleeve. “Take the prototype.”
“In case I wanna end up like Van Gogh.” Hart teased.
Free laughed loudly, clamping his hand over his mouth, “You ass. What happened to it saving lives?”
“Hart! We’re moving!” Fox yelled.
“I gotta go. Let’s hope I won’t need it.” Hart pecked Free’s cheek and ran out of the closet.
“I’ll wait up.”
He heard Free softly throw those beautiful words at his back as his team jogged out of their department.
Hart
Hart held in his groan of irritation when the chaotic scene came into view. It’d taken them eight minutes to arrive, having been debriefed by command on their way in. The beat officers had already sectioned off the home and surrounding areas. A news crew was setting up just outside the caution tape in hopes of getting live footage. He’d have to keep an eye on that.
The boarding house was actually a converted office building purchased by a non-profit organization that assisted homeless and disabled men with residence placement and jobs. It was supported by local business, charities and fundraisers, but it appeared to be struggling. The two-story structure was rundown and shabby. Its cinderblock exterior had been painted a depressing slate blue at some point, which was long past needing a paint job. He was sure it wasn’t all it required, with its cracked windows and corroding bricks. Hart would’ve bet most of the house wasn’t up to code. The negotiator on scene had already cut the power and water off, making the building look haunted.
Several officers had suspects lined up on the opposite side of the street, face down on the grass, frisking them.
Dinah rolled their APC in front of the multitude of unmarked cars and cruisers.
His team got the green light to breach before they’d even come to a complete stop. The negotiator hadn’t been able to get through for the last twelve minutes and couldn’t confirm if the director and his wife were still alive. Multiple shots had been fired as SWAT assumed command. The first thing Hart did was to make sure his entire team was in position and his snipers were on perch before they unloaded onto the lawn.
The negotiator approached them with his armed four-man team. Hart recognized him from the sixth precinct. He quickly shook his hand. “What you got?”
The officer read from a small spiral notepad. “According to one of the regular residents, your suspect’s a white, homeless male in his late thirties. He came this afternoon looking for a place to sleep for the night, but had been turned away. Several witnesses said the man was extremely drunk and on drugs…that’s why he wasn’t allowed in. Two hours later, he came back with a gun and forced his way inside. Now he has the resident director and his wife hostage in one of the upper rooms.”
“No other hostages?” Hart confirmed.
The negotiator frowned. “From what we’ve learned, most of the men abandoned their rooms and ran outside after the first shots were fired. One man was hit in the leg, he’s been transported to Emory. We believe there are others still hiding inside, presumably looting or stealing.”
“Why don’t you have a definite count yet?” Dinah asked.
The stern man looked at Dinah as if she’d stepped out of her place. His mouth set in a firm line.
“Answer my sergeant’s question!” Fox snapped at the negotiator.
The officer unclenched his jaw. “We don’t have the director or co-director. They’re the only ones who’d know that information. The guys we interviewed—that would even talk—say it’s first come first serve. And it’s hard to tell if they were full tonight.”
“How many rooms?” Hart asked.
“Twelve, all on the upper floor. The downstairs is living area,” he answered.
Hart dismissed him and got his team into position.
“Alpha team with me, move,” Hart ordered.
His three entry teams broke into different directions, two of them racing around the back with him, and his officers at the front. The door had already been blown off the hinges and his shield-bearer had no problem bursting through the remaining wood. Hart scanned the left, knowing Fox was scanning the right. He tapped the shield-bearer’s shoulder, moving him in the direction of the stairs, while his Bravo and Delta team made entrance and fanned out to sweep the lower level.
Their hostages were presumed to be on the top floor. They hurried up the stairs, his shield holding at the top step. He could hear men’s muffled voices down the hall and his team was unsure if they were hostiles or hiding. At this point, anyone who wasn’t being held at gunpoint was being treated as unfriendly.
A couple of flash grenades went off downstairs and the Delta team noted they’d removed two men hiding in a pantry in the kitchen. His team crouched at the sound of more gunshots fired upstairs.
“Alpha Twenty, we got a fire,” his Delta officer said over their comms.
Fox responded, “Alpha Twenty to command, requesting fire engines.”
“Copy, Alpha Twenty.”
Sometimes the flash grenades caught carpets or furniture on fire when they exploded. The team working downstairs called out several more ‘clears’ then joined them on the stairs.
Hart quickly peeked around the corner but all he saw in the darkness were several open and closed doors. He pressed his mic. “Sienna one, you got heat signatures?”
“Negative. Concrete’s too thick,” she answered.
“Alpha Ten to command, we got multiples on the upper floor,” Hart said into his mic. He wanted to do this by the book with a news crew on site. They’d had very little planning time with hostages involved, but that was never taken into consideration if they made a mistake. Hart heard their own negotiator still trying to contact the gunman through the APC speaker. No response. Only hostility.
“Command to Alpha Ten. Give them a warning.”
“Copy,” Hart answered.
Standing at the end of the dark hall with his shield-bearer in front and three of his officers at his back, he bellowed down the narrow entryway, “Atlanta PD SWAT. Come out now with your hands in the air! This is your final warning!”
Three men came running out of the rooms, hands slightly raised, shielding their eyes from the bright flashlights at the ends of their M16s.
“Hands up! Let me see those hands!” Dinah yelled, storming past with her Bravo team, quickly securing the men, and leading them out of the house.
Hart felt Fox’s nudge against his back, and he pushed into his shield-bearer to get them moving again. They cleared each room down the hall, none of which held their hostages. Hart caught movement to his right, a dark figure darting out of his hiding space. Hart quickly pulled a flash grenade off his chest, yanked the pin out with his teeth and tossed it in the runner’s direction at the same time Fox swung his rifle around to cover him. The grenade exploded with an ear-piercing bang and an intense blinding light that shocked the senses. The man went down hard to the floor, crouching in the fetal position, covering his ears. Hart kept advancing, confident his Delta team would clean up behind him.
“Sienna Two to Alpha Twenty. Fire’s looking hot down there, boss. Time to clear out.”
“Copy,” Fox answered.
They were almost to the last door. Of course it’d be the one, marked Director’s Residence. Hart tapped his shield’s shoulder, slowing them down. He tried to listen to the argument going on inside, but the voices were too muffled to hear around his helmet and earpiece. His negotiator wasn’t making any headway and command had instructed them to bring the op to an end. Hart could smell the smoke consuming the downstairs and he still hadn’t heard the fire engines. He needed to get his hostages and his team out of there ASAP.
“We can’t throw a flash because we don’t know the condition of the hostages. We don’t want to hit one of them with it.” Fox commented.
“I know. We’ll have—”
“Back up! Back up!” the gunman yelled, carefully emerging from the room with one man crawling around his legs and a woman held firmly in front of him.
“Just let my wife go. You can stay here as long as you want, just please,” the man at the gunman’s feet pleaded. He’d been beaten, possibly pistol-whipped. One eye was swollen shut and his lips were busted and bleeding. An angry purple bruise covered most of his scruffy jaw. He reached for their suspect’s pant leg and was kicked in his stomach.
“Don’t touch me!” the gunman shouted. “All I needed was a place to sleep. It’s what you do here!”
