Iturned and sprinted to the end of the block, pulling my phone free from my pocket as I did.
“Did you find him?” Monroe answered.
“Both of them. Need backup, now. Daisy Days. They have Scarlett,” I told him, punctuating my words as I barreled full speed to the back alley behind the building.
“Do not go in until I get there,” he warned.
I disconnected the call without responding. He was delusional if he thought I was waiting a fucking second longer.
An earsplitting scream filled the air. Sounds of shattered glass followed by more screams.
Shit. My feet propelled me forward, every cell in my body echoing the screams, needing to get to Scarlett.
“Go back to the front. I’ll get in from back here,” I yelled to Wes.
I got to the back door and tried the handle. Locked. I wanted the element of surprise, but I didn’t have that luxury anymore. Getting to her was the most important thing.
I pulled my leg back, adrenaline surging as I rammed my foot into the door just below the latch. With a loud crash, it swung open.
I charged into the back room, through the array of pots, vases, and crates of flowers, stepping into the showroom to a flurry of movement and ruin.
Shattered glass and ceramic littered the floor. What were once colorful flowers were trampled and smashed bits, left scattered throughout. Tyler was now at the front door; blood dripped from between his fingers where he held his nose. Steve Langston was halfway through the showroom. He must have been heading to the front door when he heard me crash through the back.
“Police, put your hands up. Get on the ground.”
I didn’t see Scarlett. Where was she? Was she okay? My pulse skyrocketed when I couldn’t find her.
Langston spun around. His hand went to his hip. I drew my service weapon before he could react, the years behind the desk making his response time slower.
“Don’t do it, Steve. Get on the ground,” I warned.
“It isn’t what it looks like, Wilder. I can explain,” he said, removing his hand from his holster slowly and cautiously.
“Fuck this,” Tyler said, making his way for the door, catching it in the face as it flew toward him with force. The thunk of the metal frame against his skull sent him rearing back.
Wes pushed his way in. His large frame towered over Tyler. He grabbed him by the neck of his sweatshirt with one hand and pulled him off his feet. With the other hand, he tore the blade from Tyler’s grasp, letting it fall to the floor, then kicked it away.
“Scarlett’s not here,” I told him, a bone-deep fear making my skin feel too tight. She was my only concern. My sole focus.
“She’s safe. She got out.” Wes’s growled words abated some of that gnawing feeling, but until I had eyes on her again, it wasn’t going away.
Wes put Tyler back on his feet, spinning him around and dropping him to his knees on the floor. With another shouted order from me, Langston conceded as well.
“Steve Langston and Tyler Cress, you are both under arrest,” I said. More movement at the door caught my attention. Monroe had his Glock in his hand, aiming it at the ground as he took in the trashed state of the shop. “Cuff him.”
Monroe handcuffed Tyler, Wes holding him down as he thrashed around, trying to resist it. I looked down at Langston, his head downcast, his hands behind his head. This scum of a man was someone I had looked up to at one time. Disgust clogged my throat as I pulled his arm behind his back, slapping the first of the cuffs on his wrist. As I moved to add his other arm, he tried to offer some version of an explanation.
“I wasn’t going to let him hurt her, Luke. I swear. I came here to stop him,” he said quietly. His eyes met mine, pleading with me to believe him.
“You had a chance to stop him. You’ve had months to stop him while we were off chasing a rabbit down a hole. You let him get away with Alana’s murder. You taught him there were no consequences. This is on you too.” I pulled his other arm down, locking his cuffs in place. “If anything happened to Scarlett because you were protecting him, hell wouldn’t be far enough away to escape my wrath.”
I pulled him to his feet, shoving him toward the door. Two more cruisers skidded to a halt in front of us. Officers Leanne Shapiro and Ricardo Neves hurried around their vehicles before stopping dead in their tracks.
“Captain? Wilder?” Shapiro’s eyes jumped from me to Langston, her brows furrowed in confusion.
The door of my car flew open.
Scarlett hopped down, her blue eyes rimmed in red. But she was safe.
