Malcolm put Dani on speaker, "I just got a text from the unknown sender. An address."
"It's Captain Martinez's," Gil finished. "We go there first."
As the lieutenant spoke, Malcolm got another text, "I just got a second message. Another address: 421 West 45th."
JT's voice echoed through the speaker, "That's my address."
Malcolm stared at the phone in horror. His stomach churned nervously.
Tally.
Gil cursed under his breath, "Go! Bright and I will go to the captain's. Check in as soon as you can. Be careful."
"You too," Dani replied, ending the call quickly.
Bright watched as her name vanished from the screen.
"Shit," Gil smacked the steering wheel in frustration and ran one of his hands down his goatee.
Malcolm was still staring at the now-black phone. "This is my fault," he whispered, swallowing the bile that threatened in the back of his throat.
"It's not your fault," the lieutenant countered. "Bennet was targeting cops weeks before he met you. And he had that list in the works already, too."
"But JT, Tally, that's because of me." A lump formed in his throat, making it difficult to breathe.
Gil respected him enough not to lie. Instead, he moved on, "I don't like that we're separated. This feels-"
"Like a set up," Malcolm finished, rubbing his face with his hands. Gil nodded in agreement. "What do we do?" He looked to his surrogate father for guidance. Desperately hoping there was some veteran-cop wisdom to be shared.
"We don't have much of a choice. We can't take the chance that there isn't a legitimate threat at both locations."
"And they know that."
"Yep." Gil pushed down harder on the accelerator, "You steady enough to actually fire that weapon?"
Malcolm held his hands out in front of him. The tremors had receded from his arms and were confined back to his hands, which was improvement. But they were still trembling. He sighed, "I guess we'll find out."
Dani ended the call. The car screeched, as JT took a sudden left turn.
"Call Tally," he demanded, weaving in and out of what little traffic there was.
She obliged as quickly as her fingers could find the name and put it on speaker.
It rang once.
Then, a second time.
"Come on. Come on," JT mumbled under his breath, willing his wife to answer.
A third ring.
Dani's heart sank when Tally's voicemail picked up, after the fourth ring. She ended the call without leaving one.
"Tally's going to be okay," she assured her partner, looking over at him empathetically. For once, she knew precisely how someone else was feeling.
"How do we know that exactly?" He was trying his best not to lose it. Although, she would have completely understood if he had.
She thought for a second, racking her brain for a reasonable answer. When it actually did occurred to her, she was anything but relieved. "Because you and Tally aren't the targets. Bright and I are. Nothing Joslynn said to me pointed to anyone besides the two of us being her focus." Dani paused for a moment as the realization hit her, "This is about splitting us up. Divide and conquer."
"Again, which part of this is supposed to convince me Tally is okay?"
She was staring at the dash in front of her, as the revelations kept coming. "Joslynn said I would watch as Malcolm was torn apart from the inside out. That I'd be powerless to stop it. This is about what can do the most physical and psychological damage to Malcolm and, by extension, me." Dani wondered if this was how Malcolm felt when the profile laid itself out in front of him and everything started falling into place. "Don't take this the wrong way, but if I were Joslynn-"
"You'd be a raging bitch, whose days are numbered?" he took another screeching right turn, slamming on the gas pedal before they were completely finished.
She huffed a laugh, "Well, yes. But, I was going to say that if I were trying to do the most damage to Malcolm, Tally isn't the first person I'd go after. I mean think about it."
Dani recognized the neighborhood, they were close to JT's apartment.
"By that logic, neither is the captain," he argued.
Shit.
He was right.
They never finished the conversation. The car came to an abrupt halt double parked in front of the building. Neither of them cared. JT was out of the car by the time Dani got her seatbelt off. She pulled her gun from the holster and cocked it as she sprinted up the front steps after her partner.
The Tarmels lived on the top floor of their building. Thankfully, it was a small building, containing only five floors. They raced up the stairs, JT skipping every other one as he went. By the time they reached five, they were both panting. JT fished his keys out of his pocket, as they hurried down the hall as quietly as they could. The door was locked when they reached it. Dani wasn't sure whether that was comforting or not.
Luckily, she had been to their place enough times to know the layout. The door opened into the living room. There were lights on everywhere and the TV volume was just loud enough to be a distraction. Dani noticed the remote on the arm of the couch and turned it down, as the two of them scanned the room. JT walked around the kitchen half wall, while she cleared the bathroom.
Nothing.
He took the lead as they inched down the hallway, weapons raised. Dani opened the door to the spare room. She flipped the light switch and slowly made her way to the closet, throwing the doors open quickly.
Nothing.
Dani hurried back out, following her partner to the master bedroom. The door was cracked. He kicked it open softly and both of them rushed in. There wasn't any sign of Tally or of a struggle. JT took the closet this time, flinging the doors practically off the hinges.
Nothing.
He looked up at her, panic written all over his face, "Where is she?" Then, he screamed, "Tally!?"
No response.
Dani stepped back out into the hallway, her head on a swivel, looking everywhere, "There's no other storage spaces? Hidden closets?"
He shook his head vigorously, "No." His eyes widened, "The roof."
Dani turned on her heels and sped back toward the living room, "Where's the access door?"
"Next to the stairwell!" he answered, right behind her.
They were out of the apartment and down the hallway in a flash. Dani stopped, her hand on the access door. "If she is up there, I'll clear the rest of the roof."
He agreed and she opened the door, letting him lead once again. JT paused, only for a second, at the top of the stairs, before opening the door. Dani rushed out behind him, covering his back. The sun was just starting to come up, leaking streaks of pale blue light between the taller buildings that surrounded them.
JT immediately whispered, "Tall." It wasn't an inquiry; it was a declaration. And it preceded him sprinting across the roof in her direction. Dani cleared the few structures behind which a person could potentially hide, before hurrying back to join them.
Tally's wrists were tied together and connected to the same restraints around her ankles. She was screaming behind a duct-taped mouth, desperately trying to tell them something. JT pulled the tape off.
As soon as any portion of her mouth was free Tally was practically shouting at them, "I'm the decoy! They said to tell you 'I'm the decoy'." She turned to Dani apologetically, "And to tell you 'powerless'."
"Malcolm."
The word somehow left her lips as both a morbid realization and a terrified prayer. "Call Gil," she ordered, fishing her own phone out of her pocket. She could barely unlock it, fear stealing her motor skills.
Five responseless rings and then his voicemail, "Fuck."
"No answer from Gil either," he added.
Dani looked at Tally, who was untangling her ankles, then back at her partner. She cleared her throat, but her voice broke nonetheless, "I have to go, JT."
"No. We have to go," he corrected, turning to his wife. "Go back inside. Get the Glock out of the safe and go to your mother's. I'll call you as soon as I can and come get you when this is all over." He leaned over and kissed her before standing and pulling her up as well.
"Be safe," she said, to both of them. Dani was already sprinting toward the access door.
Once they were on the first floor of the building, she allowed JT to pass her, so he could unlock the car. Then, Dani ran in a panic around the back of the car to the passenger side and practically dove in.
The instant the door shut, she saw him, but at that point it was too late. In the back seat, sat a slender, albeit fit-looking man. He wore dark joggers and a black t-shirt. And his gun was pointed at the back of JT's head.
Dani's hand flew to her holster in an instant.
"If you want your partner's brain matter to decorate his dash, then feel free." The man leaned forward slightly. Then slowly extended his arm, holding his hand out, silently demanding her weapon. She complied, indignantly. "You too," he directed his words to JT through the rear view mirror. He begrudgingly relinquished his gun as well.
When he did, a behemoth-sized man approached the passenger side of the car, opened the door, then stood, waiting. Dani stared at him for a moment before looking back toward her partner.
The man in the back seat spoke again, "The lady will be coming with us."
"The hell she will," JT challenged.
In response, the man simply touched the side of the detective's head with the barrel and pulled the hammer back.
"It's okay, JT," she directed the next portion toward the threat, "I'll go. No one needs to get hurt."
The gun never left its position, as the giant of a man walked around to JT's side and opened his door as well.
"Hands on the wheel," he commanded, his voice unnaturally deep.
When the detective's hands were on the wheel, the man zip tied each wrist to a different section of it, ensuring they could never touch. Once that task was completed, he shut the door and walked back toward Dani's side.
"You have to get to Malcolm," she begged her partner, as a hand from outside the car grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly from it. "Tell him," she added.
The man in the back seat exited after her and straightened his clothing, "Oh don't worry. He'll know."
Gil brought the car to an abrupt halt, illegally, in the space reserved for a fire hydrant.
"Grab the flashlight in the arm rest," he said as he got out. Malcolm grabbed it and exited the car, following his mentor up to the door of the home. As they went up the front steps, he pulled the gun from its holster and cocked it, hands quivering.
"Door's cracked," the lieutenant whispered, carefully pushing it open further.
None of the lights were on. The early stages of sunrise offered little additional lighting in a city full of skyscrapers. The small foyer had no room for more than the coat hooks on the wall and the stairwell to the left. Gil pointed to himself then the stairs and gestured for Malcolm to sweep the first floor. The profiler clicked the flashlight on with his left hand and rested his right atop it, gun pointed. Gil did the same, ascending the stairs as light-footed as possible.
Malcolm crept from the foyer to the living room, the beam from the flashlight bouncing, as his hands shook. The phone in his pocket vibrated. He ignored it and continued, clearing the room before moving on to the next. A swinging door separated the living room from the kitchen. Malcolm tapped it just enough to make it clear the frame when it swung back toward him. Then, grabbed the door and pulled it open in his direction, to make sure no one could hide behind it when he entered the room.
The kitchen was windowless, everything in it bathed in black shadow. He moved the flashlight constantly, making sure he had seen every possible corner, before approaching the island. When he was about to turn around it, heavy footsteps pounded the ceiling above him: a scuffle. Malcolm turned and was halfway to the swinging door when a gunshot resonated from the second floor. The sound paralyzed him, but only for a moment.
"GIL!"
When he yelled, a man jumped out from behind the island and rushed him. Malcolm barely had time to turn in his direction before he was tackled. His flashlight and gun slid across the hardwood floor on impact, while he scrambled to get out from under the assailant he could hardly see. He could, however, hear and the sound of metal was unmistakable. The attacker had a gun.
Malcolm's eyes hadn't completely adjusted to the dark, but he could at least tell what parts were darker than the room. He used this distinction to catch the man's arm as it brought the gun around toward him. He threw his hands out blocking it just enough for the shot to miss him by mere inches. The muzzle flash blinded the profiler for a second; the shot six inches from his ear was far worse. Instantly, the left side of his head went silent. Then the ringing started, high pitched and obnoxiously loud. Malcolm held the man's arm at bay with all his strength, slowly shifting his grip closer and closer to his wrist. Once he was close enough, he squeezed the pressure point with everything he had and bent the man's wrist backwards. The gun fell to the floor and Malcolm quickly smacked it out of reach with his hand.
With both of the profiler's arms focused on one the man's right side, that had previously held the weapon, his attacker landed a square punch to Bright's right cheek, with his free hand. Malcolm's head whipped to the left, tiny white dots flickering throughout his vision. The man tried to go for his throat, but Malcolm swept his arm aside just in time and brought his left elbow to the side of his head, with a crack. At that, the man fell to the side, giving Malcolm enough time to get out from under him and push himself up.
He sped toward his gun, next to the island, and managed to get his hands on it before the man kicked it and his hand. Malcolm blocked his punch, and finally landed one of his own. The attacker stumbled back slightly, then looked down at the island. Bright followed his eye line and immediately started backing up, as the man pulled a knife from the butcher block. The profiler scoured the counters for anything nearby to help defend himself.
The assailant rushed him and Malcolm reversed his way around the island, attempting to get back to where his weapon was. He blocked a couple of poorly executed stab attempts. On the third attempt, the man juked him and faked one way before slashing in another. Malcolm dodged enough that he missed his torso, but the blade caught the top of his forearm, slicing through clothing and skin. The profiler hissed in pain, unable to properly assess the damage.
Fingers are still moving, so it can't be that bad, he thought morbidly.
He risked a look down, and saw a small river of blood running down his forearm and dripping off of his fingers. When his eyes raised back up, he caught a glimpse of something on the counter that could help him. The next time the attacker lunged in his direction, Malcolm grabbed the coffee pot next to him and swung it around as hard as he could, smashing it into the side of the man's head. He went down to one knee, and screamed, pieces of glass sticking out of his skin at various points.
Finally, Malcolm retrieved his gun and pointed it at the man kneeling on the floor. He opened his mouth to speak, when a second intruder came through the swinging door, a gun in each hand, both pointed at him. Bright stared at him, unmoving.
"Drop it," he warned. Malcolm complied and he yelled to his companion, "Let's go!"
The injured man got up slowly, and walked over to pick up his gun. When he did, he turned angrily and cocked it, pushing it into Malcolm's temple.
"Not yet!" the second man ordered, "Not until she's ready." He gestured toward the door and Bright's attacker slowly lowered his weapon, before disappearing from the kitchen. The second man kept his weapons raised, giving the first enough time to escape the home. "See you soon, Malcolm Bright," he teased, before backing out of the swinging door and making a run for it as well.
Malcolm didn't think twice about the two of them. He holstered his gun and sprinted to the foyer and up the stairs, "GIL?!"
Muffled yells came from down the hall. When he turned into the room, he saw the captain and his wife on the floor, leaning against their bed, tied and mouths taped. Captain Martinez jerked his head to the left and Malcolm stepped further into the room, around the antique wardrobe that had been blocking his view.
On the floor, in a slowly spreading pool of blood, lay Gil.
Everything shifted into slow motion. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. The ringing within them intensified. He didn't even make the conscious decision to speak.
"Dad?" the words exited as a whimper. Malcolm rushed to his side.
The wound, almost dead center of the torso, was oozing crimson.
"Gil? Hey! Open your eyes for me," He leaned his whole body weight into putting pressure on the wound, grabbing his phone with his other hand and dialing.
"I've got an officer down. GSW to the middle of the torso. 350 Central Park west. Second floor last room on the right. He's lost a lot of blood." He didn't wait for the reply. Instead he tossed the phone to the floor and brought his other hand to the wound as well, pushing harder. Gil groaned when he did so.
"Hey, it's Bright. Medics are on their way."
The lieutenant's eyes flickered open. "Bri-" was all he could manage to say.
"You don't have to talk. Just stay awake for me. Okay? Just stay with me, Dad."
Gil's eyes met Malcolm's and the corner of his mouth twisted up, almost imperceptibly, beneath his facial hair. Then, his eyes rolled back, and his head fell heavily to the side.