Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone reading and following thus far! I'm glad you can come along for the ride with me. I'll be presenting at a five day academic conference this weekend, so I won't have an update for you for about a week, if not a bit longer. Can't wait to see you then!
A huge thank you to my lovely guest reviewers from last chapter. I appreciate your support!
Chapter Eleven | Welcome Back
Tinycakes Bakery. An unlikely place for a drug operation. But as the Uber she'd grabbed from the hospital paused behind a grey sedan, Illinois plates, Imogen double checked the address Voight had sent her. Apparently news traveled fast in Intelligence. Even faster than she'd expected.
She'd grabbed lunch at Chicago Med's cafeteria to celebrate passing both her psych and physical evaluations. The doctors warned her to be careful not to lift too much weight or slam into too many doors, but other than that, she could get back to work. Imogen had been relishing a slice of mediocre pizza when Voight had texted an address and orders to meet Ruzek.
Her badge stayed hidden under her grey shirt and leather jacket. As the sedan pulled over a couple of blocks from the bakery, she thanked the driver, a scruffy haired Latino male in his twenties, and scanned the area for Ruzek. It didn't take long to find him.
Leaning against the sun-bleached brick of a coffee shop a couple of doors down, he had sunglasses down to cover his eyes as he held a white paper take out bag in his left and phone in his right. Imogen strolled over.
"Hey," she said. When Ruzek looked up, she couldn't suppress her smile any longer. "Got a spot picked out yet?"
Ruzek took off his sunglasses. He hooked them onto his shirt collar. "Yeah. Here." He gave her the bag. "Ready?"
Without checking the contents, she just nodded. Ruzek led the way across the street. They'd lucked out; an empty apartment faced the bakery. Tenants had moved out two days ago and the new ones didn't show up until next week. No need to stake out on a pigeon-poop covered roof under the afternoon sun. He'd already moved supplies inside.
The apartment stood above a used clothing store. Black paint had chipped off parts of the wooden stairs, each step creaking as they made their way to the second floor. Ruzek unlocked their door effortlessly. Imogen pushed inside.
Cherry wood floors stretched down the small hall into the main living space of the one bedroom apartment. To their right stood the kitchen. Ruzek had lined up cameras, computer, and tablets on the grey Formica bar countertop.
"Welcome home," Ruzek said. He eased off his jacket and tossed it onto one of two wooden chairs at a small matching table.
Imogen let out a small laugh as she did the same but on the other chair. Grabbing her gun out of the take out bag, she strapped it to her waist. "You're too kind, buying me a place so I can move out of Jay's." She grabbed one of the larger cameras before settling down on the floor beside the window sill.
"I know how to treat my partner right," Ruzek said.
"If you want to stay on the laptop, I'll take photos. Run plates and facial rec for me."
"Yes, ma'am."
Imogen paused. She stopped looking through the camera. Turning back to him, she sighed. "Hey, sorry. I'm used to being the one in charge of my work."
Ruzek waved her off. He had retrieved the laptop and started moving back over to join her on the floor beside the window. Turning back to her work, Imogen bunched up her jacket a bit more to provide an angled shelf for the camera. She didn't want to sit in the window. From her current angle she could look through the lens without much issue and stay partially concealed behind the window sill.
"So I know you gotta be all secretive and stuff," Ruzek said, "but I am partnered with you now. Do I get some inside information?"
Imogen kept looking down the camera lens. The front of Tinycakes looked pristine: white brick, red and pink signage, hand drawn art on the windows. She snapped a photo. "Inside information on what?"
"You."
She looked over at him. He finished attaching the USB from her camera to his laptop and glanced up. He just shot her a cheeky smile.
"What do you want to know?"
"What'd you do for the Feds?"
Imogen snapped a photo as a group of white teenage boys left Tinycakes. Without looking away from the mark, she just shook her head. "Classified. I worked out of DC though. Primarily." As he started to half whine over her answer, she smirked and took another photo. "My turn."
"Yeah."
"You and Burgess. Are you two-?"
Ruzek let out a breathy laugh. "Nah, nah. I screwed that one up years ago. Timing's a bitch."
That explained the bickering. He clearly still had feelings for her. Imogen didn't push it any further.
"So. You and Jay?"
She'd seen that one coming. Imogen didn't respond right away, instead focusing on the bakery. Still all quiet, unfortunately. So she put the camera down and turned back to him.
"What about us?"
"Ah come on, Adler. Don't play dumb."
Imogen scoffed. "No. We dated in different circles," she said. But then she paused. Glancing back to him, she added, "Timing's a bitch."
They passed the next twenty minutes mostly in silence. Imogen took photos of anyone and everyone going in and out of Tinycakes. She got the license plates off anyone who parked or dropped off. Ruzek had yet to make a suspicious ID.
"Midge, you have ears on?"
She'd left her phone on speaker. They both startled at the sudden interruption. She picked it up. "Go ahead, Jay."
"Be on the lookout for a silver 2014 Acura TL, Illinois plates, X-Ray-Nine-Eight-Four-Six-Four-Zero."
Ruzek typed into his computer. "Registered to Melanie Perez?"
Imogen pressed the button on her phone and repeated Ruzek's question. Jay confirmed it.
"When it left us here, it was being driven by a Hispanic male, forties, bald and heavy set with a dark goatee. Passenger was also a Hispanic male. Younger, maybe twenties. Not sure they're headed your way. If they are, proceed with caution. Both are armed."
"Got it."
The room fell quiet again. Ruzek concentrated on the laptop, clicking between screens Imogen couldn't see. She turned her attention on the bakery front again. Hailey, Jay, and Atwater had been in the undercover van ten minutes away at least. If the suspicious vehicle had just left them, she and Ruzek still had some time.
"Melanie Perez's cousin is Emile Perez, 42, previously pinched for burglary and resisting arrest, did a few years in prison."
"Latin Kings?" she said.
"Not officially. Younger half brother is registered with them."
She looked away from the camera to see the mug shot Ruzek had pulled up. Emile Perez stared back at her through the screen, looking exactly as Jay had described except maybe a decade younger than she imagined. Imogen nodded. She turned back to surveillance.
"What's with the nickname Midge?"
She didn't turn to face Ruzek. "I owe Will for that. He started calling me Midge because I wouldn't leave him and his friends alone when we were kids. Said I was 'like an annoying little gnat'," she added, mocking her memory of thirteen year old Will Halstead.
"Damn," he said, but she could hear the laughter in his voice. "Never knew Will could be so cold."
"He was trying to be cool. Didn't need the neighborhood girl from two doors down following him around when heading to middle school. I get it."
Silence again. Only the occasional shutter sound of Imogen's camera clicks or burst of typing from Ruzek's laptop filled the empty room. Imogen glanced down at her watch. Almost 3pm. A knot formed in her stomach. Schools would be letting out soon. Some probably already had.
A chill ran down her spine as a silver four door sedan pulled into a parking spot. "Hey, I've got eyes!" Imogen popped into a crouch. She could see into the car. Two male Hispanics.
"What are they doing?" Ruzek muttered. The just sat in the parallel spot, turned on, not moving, with both men inside. "Something's not right."
Imogen put down the camera. Her hand instantly went to the gun at her side. She felt it there, cold metal smooth against her grasping fingers. Still, the men didn't move.
"On me," Imogen said.
She left no room for discussion, pulling the gun out of her holster but keeping it hidden, flush against the back of her leg. She would've liked Jay there, up in the room with a rifle trained on the action below. But he wasn't there. She just had Ruzek, and she didn't know his strengths.
Her boots pounded against the wooden stairs until hitting the ground with a firm thud. Two more steps and then she stood against the door to the sidewalk. Imogen held up a hand for Ruzek to wait.
There couldn't have been a worse spot for a shootout unless they'd been in a fenced in playground. Several families strolled down the sidewalks. Cars moved up the street. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel here. Except the fish were civilians.
"Call Dispatch-"
Three piercing screams pulled her attention away from Ruzek. Imogen didn't wait. She couldn't. She pushed out onto the sidewalk. Screams came from the left. The direction of the Acura. She heard car doors slamming.
But from the right? Imogen whipped around to face the three slammed doors. They belonged to a blue Toyota Tacoma, partial plate George-Five-Seven. Shit. The three men who had gotten out held pistols and one a shotgun. Imogen pulled out her radio.
"5021-Zebra, suspected armed robbery in progress, lots of civilians. Roll patrol here. Advise responding, plain clothes officers on scene." Imogen turned to Ruzek. "Blue pickup."
Staying as low as she could while still being able to run, Imogen led the way four cars down. The truck was still running. A Hispanic male, mid thirties, sat behind the wheel. He saw her a split second too late.
"Hands on the wheel!" Imogen ordered. "Hands on the wheel, do not move!"
She kept her pistol trained on his forehead as Ruzek yanked him from the truck and onto the ground. As he cuffed him, Imogen heard two things happen at once. Police sirens blared all around them, and gunshots echoed from inside the bakery. Imogen grabbed the keys out of the pickup.
"Stay here," Imogen said.
Ruzek didn't have time to object because she took off across the street, dodging an abandoned vehicle whose driver had fled. Adrenaline flooded her body. Imogen took a deep breath as she plastered herself flat against the brick wall space between the large display window and the front door. She breathed one more time.
"Chicago PD!" she said
Before she could do anything, five rapid shots shattered the display window. Shards fell to the ground like rain, a few exploding outwards towards her. Imogen cursed as she covered her eyes. At least the street had cleared of civilians.
"10-1, 10-1, shots fired at police," she said, grabbing her radio.
Imogen looked at the glass shards. Glancing up, she saw Ruzek rush towards her, the offender from the truck apparently in custody. He nodded.
"Go," she said.
Both spun towards the window. Imogen heard more shots inside, but could only see two up front. Smashed cakes littered the floor, icing smeared on counters. Two men, both masked, stood with guns trained forward. Imogen didn't hesitate before taking one out. The other got a shot off, but Ruzek dispatched him quickly. He called in their shots fired.
As they cleared the front, Imogen tried to picture the length of the building versus what they could see. There must've been at least twenty five feet missing. Passing the counter, her heart leaped into her throat. A Latina girl, late teens or early twenties, lay splayed out on the floor. Her dark blood seeped onto the floor from two gunshot wounds to the chest, mixing with vanilla icing and strawberry filling amidst the shards of porcelain and glass. Ruzek bent down, fingers to her neck.
He glanced up at her and shook his head. Imogen nodded. Together they approached the door to the back. Imogen took the right side. Ruzek took the left.
"Ready?"
She nodded. "Go."
Ruzek twisted the bronze knob and pushed open the door. Moments later, Imogen had shot one offender in the chest and subdued a second. Ruzek pushed the third, Emile Perez, against the wall. Bodies littered the floor around them. There were four unidentified Hispanic male bodies in addition to the one Imogen had shot. Ruzek called in the crime lab and ambulance as patrolmen grabbed the offenders in custody.
It looked like a drug rip gone bad. Imogen glanced around and didn't want to move from where she stood near a table covered in white powder, afraid to trample evidence. But it definitely looked like cocaine.
She could hear voices outside. Ruzek must've been catching Voight up to speed. Careful not to step in any of the blood, Imogen headed out. She paused in the doorway to the bakery front room. Voight, Burgess, and Ruzek stood around the counter while Antonio knelt beside the body of the cashier.
"You good?" Voight said, turning to Imogen.
"I'm fine." She stared down at the body for a few seconds longer. Then she turned to Voight. "Here. Four offenders came from the pickup truck outside." She plopped the keys in his open hand. Figured they were the getaway car."
"So you took the keys? Nice," Antonio said. He stood up away from the body as the crime lab moved in.
"A habit I picked up over the last few years. Containment is tougher on your own," she said. "Got any leads?"
Jay interrupted. He picked his way around shattered plates until he stood near them in the entrance. "Plates on the truck came back hot. They're registered to a Donald Mulligan of Springfield, Illinois. He reported it missing two days ago." He slid his small notebook back into his pocket. "Hailey and Kev are getting POD footage and looking for security cameras."
As Voight, Antonio, and Burgess followed Ruzek back to see the drug operation, Imogen wandered outside, Jay in tow. He handed her a bottle of water.
"Thanks," she said. It cooled her throat and helped her calm down, the adrenaline fading quickly. "Here."
He also took a drink. With a rueful smile, he added, "Welcome back."
Imogen half coughed, half laughed at his dry comment. She shook her head, watching the patrol cars cordon off the area and push civilians away from their work. She ran her thumb over the metal of the police badge at her waist. Welcome back, indeed.
