Cover Blown

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"You're right, Bruno. I did sign two death warrants tonight, but they weren't Sara's and mine. They were mine and yours." The voice of Joe Siri came over the listening device.

Jake jerked the receiver out of his ear. Fuck! He didn't have time to wait for his goddamn backup. Shoving the listening device onto the dash, Jake opened his car door. He could only hope that the recorder was still pointed in the right direction to continue to document events. He sprinted across the street and bounded up the stairs, gun out and ready in his hand.

The doorknob turned under his hand, Dante must have forgotten to lock it behind him. McCarty rushed down the hall, vaguely aware of a shout behind him. The watcher hadn't noticed Jake until it was too late keep him out of the house, but he could come up behind him and shoot him in the back. Shoulder muscles tensed involuntarily at the thought, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

McCarty burst into the room just in time to see Dante cock the hammer on the revolver he was pressing against Siri's right temple. "Federal Agent! Step away and drop your weapon."

"Very funny McCarty." Bruno looked up in surprised amusement.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Jake had his sights lined up with the middle of Dante's forehead. His face was completely serious.

"Noooo, but you've got to admit the idea is pretty funny. You? A fed? Pull the other one kid." Bruno raised a brow, lips quirked up. It wasn't that he didn't think McCarty was serious, the man facing him bore only a superficial resemblance to the over-eager idiot he'd been dealing with, it was just that he was stalling for time.

"Be amused all you want. We can have a good laugh all the way to the detention center. Just step away from Siri and lay down your weapon." Jake took a step forward, moving into the room so he could get a clearer shot.

"No, I don't think I will." Dante shifted, keeping Joe between him and the blonde with the gun. "In fact, why don't you drop your weapon before Dorfman ventilates your back."

The sudden booming of a gun fired at close range assaulted Jake's ears as a shockwave hit him in the back. As he was going down, he heard Dorfman chuckle, "Too late."

The blow had dropped him to the ground, the pain sharp and hard. His vest had kept the shell from penetrating his body, but he'd still been hit in the middle of the back by something going exceedingly fast. All the air that had been in his lungs danced around his head mockingly, and Jake couldn't seem to remember how to breathe it back in.

"McCarty!" Joe tried to get up, to go to the aid of an officer down, but was pulled back by Dante's hand in his collar.

It had been an instinctual response, even though the blonde had only been one of 'his' people for a less than a year before he had retired. Siri was jolted from his guilt-ridden acceptance of his fate. Now it wasn't just his life, there was an officer dependant on him. If he could distract them, McCarty might just get away. Joe narrowed his eyes and waited for his chance.

"Y'know, I've been wondering how such a fucking moron got promoted to detective," Dante looked over at the downed man, "Thanks for clearing that little mystery up for me."

"Whadda ya want me to do with him?" Dorfman grinned down at the man sprawled facedown in front of him, who was beginning to move.

"Secure him. We need to know what he's told his superiors so we can do damage control." Dante made the mistake of taking the gun away from Joe's head to gesture with it.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Siri lunged out of his chair and spun, tackling Dante. "Get out of here McCarty!" He yelled as the two rolled on the floor, each trying to get control of the gun. Joe was older and out of shape. He'd been riding a desk for too long, instincts dulled by grief and alcohol. The struggle didn't last as long as he'd hoped. Soon enough Dante had him pinned, the gun pressed tight against Siri's temple.

"Now, where were we?" Bruno looked down at Siri, who was panting and shaking with exertion. "Oh yeah. Goodbye Joe."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the voice was calm and unthreatening, the sound of the safety being clicked off was not.

Dante looked up to see a squad of black body-armour clad men moving into the room. One was cuffing Dorfman, one was kneeling by McCarty, but the rest had their weapons trained on him. His chest was awash with the glowing red dots of their laser scopes.

"Get off him, slowly, and lay down your weapon." The man ordered in that same calm voice. He could have been asking for the salt, but the look in his flat blue eyes and the unwavering barrel of his pistol made it clear that he expected prompt obedience.

There was no way out of this one, and Bruno knew it. He eased back from Joe and dropped the gun. It wasn't his weapon; he could afford to give it up. It would look like he was cooperating, and might buy him a few seconds of inattention in which to go for his .45.

"Place your hands on top of your head, and lace your fingers together."

Dante raised his hands, eyes alert for any chance, but found none. One of the squad moved toward him, careful to stay out of the line of fire. He searched Bruno with quick efficiency, taking the .45 from his shoulder holster, the snub-nose from the small of his back, and the matching snubby from his ankle. Once he'd been patted down, his right hand was cuffed and then brought down and behind. His left was directed to join the right, the cold metal circling both wrists and ending his ideas of breaking loose, at least for now.

The FBI might have been smart enough to get this far, but the White Bulls were better connected than the one precinct that McCarty had been exposed to. There were bigger fish than he, and he knew some of their secrets. Oh, not all of the skeletons, not by any means. Dante didn't fool himself on that score. But he did know too much to be left to the Bureau's tender mercies.

His second in commandhad standing orders to make sure Irons was informed of Bruno's intention to trade information for a commuted sentence. He would make good on his threat too, prison was no place for a police officer. When he didn't show up for work tomorrow, Orlinsky would know what to do.

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