“Asshole,” Trey snarled.
“Pay fuckin’ attention,” Bryson yelled back. “I don’t want to lose the goddamn game because your mind is somewhere it shouldn’t be.”
“My mind is exactly where the hell it belongs, which is right where I should be too. With Brittany.”
“Yo, don’t you mean on Brittany?” Cedric called.
Trey spun on his heel. Cedric was just a couple of inches shorter but he was lean. They’d been friends for about a year. In that time, Cedric had only known Trey’s shallow, callous views on relationships. In another time and place, he might’ve thought the comment funny. But not now and damn sure not about Brittany. “I’m ignoring that comment.”
“That is my goddamn sister, Cedric.”
A satisfying thud and grunt followed Bryson’s yell. Trey knew Bryson had thrown the ball at Cedric and it had found its mark.
The cell phone clipped to Trey’s waistband vibrated. Hoping it was her, Trey saw Mitchell’s number. He snatched the phone from his clip. “Wilson,” he answered, wondering what information Mitchell had come up with about what had taken place last night.
“Trey!”
“One more game, Romeo,” Cedric called, distracting Trey from the call. “Give us a chance to win.”
“You haven’t won any of the games today. What makes you think your luck will change after two and a half hours?” Trey returned. “Lieutenant Thom—”
“Get the fuck home. Now.”
Dread pitched through Trey’s gut. “What’s wrong?”
“Someone broke into your apartment.”
“Motherfucker! I’m on my way. Where’s Brittany?” he barked.
“I assume in the bedroom that’s locked. I don’t fucking know if she’s injured or not. I can’t get in the goddamn bedroom. It’s barricaded.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Bryson asked.
“The uniforms are pouring in.” Mitchell sounded groggy. “Get the fuck home. Now.” With that final order, he hung up.
“Someone broke into the apartment, Bryson,” Trey explained, already in motion, his heart pumping with fear and dread.
“Wait, goddamn it. I did ride over here with you.”
“Then hurry the fuck up. I’m leaving.”
After reaching his truck and climbing inside, Trey gunned the engine. Bryson barely had time to jump in before Trey roared out of the parking lot.
“Mitchell said one of the bedroom doors is locked. I presume mine.”
Visions of Brittany, hurt, scrambled through Trey’s mind. How many times had he been on crime scenes and seen broken, bloodied bodies? Gunshot victims. Stabbing victims. Rape victims. His blood ran cold and he pressed on the accelerator. Bryson sat next to him in tense silence.
Several minutes later, Trey turned into the parking lot of the apartment building. Patrol cars were swarming everywhere.
“Fuck!” Trey exploded out of the truck and reached for his gun, too late remembering it wasn’t strapped to him.
“Hey, Sarge,” a male voice called, a rookie whose name escaped Trey.
Trey was already in a dead run, Bryson hot on his heels. Ignoring the elevator, they barreled up the staircase, reaching the third floor in record time. Police officers filled the hallway. Mitchell, talking on his cell phone, held an ice pack to the side of his bloody head. Trey took in the busted frame, the door hanging from its hinges.
He brushed past Mitchell, the question of why Mitchell had sounded so uncoordinated answered. Bryson was yelling and Mitchell responded in an expletive-filled tirade, their words meaningless to Trey.
“Where’s Brittany?” Trey asked the man in front of him—a fellow officer, but at the moment, Trey couldn’t remember this man’s damn name either. “Is she still in my bedroom?”
“If you’d just shut the fuck up for a moment, Donovan, and listen to me,” Mitchell snarled.
“Where the fuck is Brittany?” Trey’s brain buzzed. The scene was reminiscent of the day his father had been killed. The hospital his father had been taken to, dead on arrival, had been swarming with officers and, later, the cops had descended on Trey’s parents’ house to give comfort to a grieving widow and her son.
“Still barricaded in the bedroom. I can’t get her to open the fucking door and we can’t get in. She has something against it.”
His chair most likely. He hurried down the hall to his door. “Brittany?”
She whimpered.
“Brit. Baby girl. It’s me. Trey. I need you to open the door for me.”
A sob met his statement, the most pitiful sound he’d ever heard in his life.
“Open the door.”
Bryson stopped next to him, shaken and subdued. He touched the door, not bothering to try the knob. “We’re not going to let anyone hurt you, sweetheart. You have half the precinct here. I’m here.” He glanced at Trey. “So’s Trey. Let us in.”
The fact she was moving around in there was a good sign. She was working to push the chair out of the way. Still, when Trey turned the knob he found it locked.
“You’ve got to unlock the door.”
“I-I have to change,” she answered tearfully.
Trey ignored the various scenarios running through his mind. He swallowed. “You can’t remove any evidence.”
Silence. “I’m covered with v-vomit,” she said in a small voice.
“Whose?” Bryson asked.
After another interminable silence she said, “My own.”
“Let me come in to check,” Trey coaxed.
More movements. Drawers opening and closing. Intermittent sobs. Finally the door swung open. She stood there, her eyes and nose red from crying, her lips trembling.
Trey rushed to her and wrapped her in his embrace. She clung to him, sobbing against his chest.
Police officers were rushing into the room. Trey was aware of Bryson’s presence. He was aware of his heart settling back into his chest. The bone-numbing fear Brittany had been injured dissipated as he felt her warm and alive in his arms.
“It’s okay. We’re here. You’re safe.”
She nodded against his chest.
“Tell me what happened,” Mitchell demanded, angry and grim.
Trey looked back at him, remembering the lieutenant had been injured.
“What happened to you?”
“I stopped by to talk to you about the incident last night,” he said harshly.
“Instead I find your door busted opened.” He adjusted the ice pack on his head and glared at Trey. “I called for Brittany. I wasn’t sure if you and Bryson hadn’t busted through the door fighting. I get no answer so I draw my weapon. The next thing I know I’m flat on my fucking ass, conked in the fucking head.”
Brittany clutched handfuls of Trey’s T-shirt and trembled.
“Did you see anyone?” Trey asked.
“No,” she answered, a whisper. “I had just gotten through dusting. I-I was thinking about how I was going to tell you and Bryson I want to change majors. Take off a year. Live here with you,” she babbled. “The doorbell rang and I-I asked who it was but no one answered. They banged on the door. I asked who it was again. And…the knob…you need a peephole. I couldn’t see who it was.”
“The knob. What about the knob,” Trey pressed.
“It was turning but since the door was locked it didn’t rotate too much. But I-I didn’t know what to do. I-I r-ran in here and locked the door. Somehow I got the chair there. I went to the closet and then I heard whoever it was trying to break down the bedroom door. And…and…”
“And what, Brit?” He tightened his arms around her.
“And I threw up. I vomited all over myself.”
Before anyone could comment, another voice inserted itself.
“I was passing by and I saw the place swarming with units.” Concern laced Karl’s voice. “What the hell happened here?”