Disclaimer: Knight Rider was developed and belongs to Glen A. Larson as is
all characters related to that series. Trinity Colte is my own character
created for this story as is all characters related to her existance. The
Los Angeles Police Department is a service of Los Angeles, California.
*****
The lock clicked as it gave way to the turn of a key. Trinity Colte stumbled forward through the door after it became unstuck, dropping the bag of groceries she had in hand. Silently cursing under her breath, she picked up the contents of the broken bag and set them on the nearby table. First thing in the morning, the land lord would be getting a call.
Tossing the bag in the trash, Trinity began to put away the food. The blinking red light of the answering machine caught her attention. Trinity sighed and rewound the tape to listen.
"Ms. Colte, this is the First National Bank..." the tape screached as she fast forwarded through the message to the next one.
"Trin, hey, its, uh, Zeke, from work. I, uh, wanted to know if, um, you wanted to go out, er, Friday night..." screach, next message.
"Trinity dear, it's mom." Colte let out an annoyed sigh, but let the message play. As she listened, she finished putting the food away and started to clean up. Her apartment was a mess. Clothes and empty TV dinners were strewn about the living room. This was the life of the L.A. police officer.
The message from Trinity's mother, Patricia Colte, had finally ended. She had asked her daughter to come home for dinner and to spend some time with the family, next week. Trinity made a mental note to clear her schedule. With an arm load of clothes, Colte headed for the bathroom to dispose of them into the laundry basket. Just at that time, there came a knock at the door.
"Just a minute," she called over her shoulder as she headed into the bathroom. Only the sound of a more persistant knock followed her. Trinity just shook her head and threw the clothes into the basket. As she emerged from the bathroom, the knocking continued.
"I'm coming, just hold on a sec!" she was slightly annoyed at how impatient they were being. As Colte reached the door, she had just barely unlocked it when she was forced backward. The wood splintered from the impact and burst open. A large, burley man stepped through the door frame and drew a gun. Recovering from the blow, Trinity managed to get to her feet and look at the assailant. She recognized him as one of the henchman of Billie Maddison, a cocaine dealer she had taken out only the week before. He had vowed revenge on the rookie cop, but Trinity brushed it off as an empty threat.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Trinity backed up slowly as the potential killer advanced. The man just grinned and raised the gun. Colte desperately searched for something, anything, that would help prevent the inevitable. Realizing that she was near the fire escape, Trinity decided to make a run for. As she turned around, the gunman set his weapon and aimed. Trinity didn't even make it as far as the window before the blood-chilling shot rang out. The body of the young cop fell lifelessly to the floor just infront of the window. With a sadistic laugh, the killer left the apartment.
An off tune beep filled the room as the answering machine switched to the final message. The rich, deep, British voice was calm and collected.
"Ms. Colte, my name is Devon Miles. I work for the Foundation for Law and Government..."
*****
The lock clicked as it gave way to the turn of a key. Trinity Colte stumbled forward through the door after it became unstuck, dropping the bag of groceries she had in hand. Silently cursing under her breath, she picked up the contents of the broken bag and set them on the nearby table. First thing in the morning, the land lord would be getting a call.
Tossing the bag in the trash, Trinity began to put away the food. The blinking red light of the answering machine caught her attention. Trinity sighed and rewound the tape to listen.
"Ms. Colte, this is the First National Bank..." the tape screached as she fast forwarded through the message to the next one.
"Trin, hey, its, uh, Zeke, from work. I, uh, wanted to know if, um, you wanted to go out, er, Friday night..." screach, next message.
"Trinity dear, it's mom." Colte let out an annoyed sigh, but let the message play. As she listened, she finished putting the food away and started to clean up. Her apartment was a mess. Clothes and empty TV dinners were strewn about the living room. This was the life of the L.A. police officer.
The message from Trinity's mother, Patricia Colte, had finally ended. She had asked her daughter to come home for dinner and to spend some time with the family, next week. Trinity made a mental note to clear her schedule. With an arm load of clothes, Colte headed for the bathroom to dispose of them into the laundry basket. Just at that time, there came a knock at the door.
"Just a minute," she called over her shoulder as she headed into the bathroom. Only the sound of a more persistant knock followed her. Trinity just shook her head and threw the clothes into the basket. As she emerged from the bathroom, the knocking continued.
"I'm coming, just hold on a sec!" she was slightly annoyed at how impatient they were being. As Colte reached the door, she had just barely unlocked it when she was forced backward. The wood splintered from the impact and burst open. A large, burley man stepped through the door frame and drew a gun. Recovering from the blow, Trinity managed to get to her feet and look at the assailant. She recognized him as one of the henchman of Billie Maddison, a cocaine dealer she had taken out only the week before. He had vowed revenge on the rookie cop, but Trinity brushed it off as an empty threat.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Trinity backed up slowly as the potential killer advanced. The man just grinned and raised the gun. Colte desperately searched for something, anything, that would help prevent the inevitable. Realizing that she was near the fire escape, Trinity decided to make a run for. As she turned around, the gunman set his weapon and aimed. Trinity didn't even make it as far as the window before the blood-chilling shot rang out. The body of the young cop fell lifelessly to the floor just infront of the window. With a sadistic laugh, the killer left the apartment.
An off tune beep filled the room as the answering machine switched to the final message. The rich, deep, British voice was calm and collected.
"Ms. Colte, my name is Devon Miles. I work for the Foundation for Law and Government..."