The next day, Ethan arrived at the police station. As soon as he got out of the car, he saw Emmett grabbing Hansen by the arm and walking out the police station door.
—Emmett, where are you taking this idiot?— Ethan asked, approaching.
—He wants to make a deal with the district attorney and testify against Proctor, in exchange for a reduced sentence. Gordon asked me to take him to the district attorney's office to see what evidence he had— Emmett replied, without stopping.
—Okay, be careful.
Hansen took a challenging look at Ethan, who couldn't help but scoff.
—Hansen, you're in a good mood today.— Ethan said to him, patting him on the arm.
—Fuck you! Keep your stinky hands away and wait for my lawyer, you asshole— spat Hansen, with cold sweat on his forehead from pain.
—Hansen, we're going to miss you— Ethan replied, smiling and rubbing Hansen's wounds a little harder.
—Leave it, Ethan. Now, I'm in a hurry, so I'll go first— Emmett said, opening the back door of the police car, letting Hansen in before leaving the police station.
Inside the police station, Siobhan and Brock were sitting at their desks, sorting transcripts. Today there was no room to think about administrative licenses; the whole situation had mobilized them. The Banshee Town Police Department could not afford to close due to the incident on the Amish farm the night before. Hood, as always, was nowhere to be found. No one knew why he was gone.
At that moment, Emmett's patrol was advancing without haste when the sound of the engines grew louder, closer.
In the rearview mirror, Emmett saw two motorcycles fast approaching. The motorcyclists dressed in black, with dark helmets that hid their faces. Something in their behavior put him on alert. He slowed down, waiting for the motorcycles to overtake him, but instead they positioned one on each side of his vehicle.
Suddenly, one of the motorcycles crossed in front of the patrol, forcing him to turn the wheel abruptly to avoid a collision. The other motorcycle approached dangerously next to the driver, its rider pulling out a pistol with a silencer. Emmett had no time to react before the bullet hit the windshield, shattering it into a thousand pieces.
—Shit!— Emmett yelled, stepping on the gas while trying to escape the ambush. But the motorcycles were determined. The one in front stopped dead, and the one next to him shot again, this time hitting one of the rear tires.
The police car skidded, Emmett struggling to stay in control as he felt the vehicle lean dangerously to one side. With a violent turn, the patrol hit the road and crashed into the trees, stopping suddenly in a ditch.
—Central, here Alpha 23! Code 10-33, I repeat, Code 10-33! I'm under attack—
Stunned, Emmett reached for his radio to ask for reinforcements, but before he could finish his call, the driver's door was yanked open. One of the bikers forcibly pulled him out of the car, throwing him to the ground with brutality.
—What the hell do you want?— Emmett growled, trying to get up. But before he could react, he received a blow to the stomach that left him breathless.
The other biker approached, keeping silent as he pulled out a long, sharp knife. Emmett, panting from the pain, saw the glint of the blade and knew his options were running out.
Shortly after sitting down, the radio on Ethan's shoulder issued an urgent call from Emmett. Before he finished speaking, a shot rang through the radio, and communication went dead.
Ethan and the others quickly left the police station, took a couple of shotguns, and left fully armed, heading toward the district attorney's office.
A few minutes later, Ethan saw Emmett's patrol in a ditch on the side of the road. The officers only saw their partner lying on the road, his head bleeding on the pavement, so they quickly went to check it out. Ethan and Brock began to move around the scene, looking for the suspects in the attack.
—Two motorcycles attacked me. The motorcyclists wore black leather jackets and helmets, and there was no registration information— Emmett said, shaking his head dizzily and grabbing Brock's arm.
Brock nodded and quickly returned to the car, started the vehicle, and moved on, but Ethan knew there was little hope. The gunmen had already escaped.
—I contacted Chief Hood, and he is on his way— Siobhan said, hanging up her cell phone.
—Don't move yet, let's see how the wound is.— Ethan examined Emmett; he only had a few slight scratches and concussion symptoms. After confirming that there was nothing serious, he called for an ambulance over the radio and walked to the damaged police car.
—The tire burst, the vehicle lost control. There are several shots on the windshield— they were very professional.— Siobhan reported, shaking her head.— They were coming for Hansen. Maybe Proctor found out he was going to talk. Not the first time.
The glass in the back seat window of the police car was shattered. Hansen lay handcuffed in the back seat, lifeless, his body riddled with bullets— this was a message.
Ethan scratched his head. He hadn't expected Proctor to move that fast. Fortunately, Emmett was fine.
After a brief silence, Ethan processed the scene with Siobhan. Emmett was taken to the hospital and would be under observation for a couple of days, then on leave for a couple more before returning to the station, so both would have to do the corresponding paperwork.
A few days later, Ethan stood in a crowd, holding a bouquet of white flowers. Next to the coffin, a woman in a black dress sang *Amazing Grace* with deep emotion.
The state senator's son had died in the jurisdiction of the Banshee Town police station. Although the main culprit was captured, he was silenced during the escort, and no leads had yet been found. So all members of the Banshee Police Department except Alma attended Reed Schumacher's funeral to offer their condolences.
After the funeral, Ethan returned to the patrol car— his shift had just begun. A moment later, Siobhan opened the passenger door and got in.
—Come on, I really don't like funerals— Siobhan said, fastening her seatbelt.
Ethan started the car without saying anything. He knew Siobhan's story— all the members of her family had died, and she was the only one left. Perhaps the funeral scene had affected her.
Moving slowly down the road, after opening the window to enjoy the wind, Siobhan returned to her usual talkative self.
At that moment, a white limousine stopped in front of the Kinaho Moon Casino. The car halted at the red carpet, and a bald man in a white suit stepped out. The journalists, who had been waiting a long time, surrounded him with cameras and microphones.
Ethan slowed down the car and looked at Proctor and several people from the Kinaho tribe standing at the end of the red carpet, waving to the crowd.
—Is something happening at the Kinaho Moon Casino?— Ethan asked, glancing at Siobhan.
—Saturday night is fight night. They're hosting UFC fighter Damian Sánchez— Siobhan replied, reading the marquee by the roadside.
—What's up? Interested? Want me to stop so you can buy a ticket?— Ethan joked, watching people line up for tickets.
—No, I prefer WWE. That's better— Siobhan replied, smiling.
—Well, you're right— Ethan agreed.
Just then, a car sped past them. Ethan checked the speedometer and saw the vehicle was going way over the limit. He gave Siobhan a quick look and saw she was already bracing herself, giving him a thumbs-up.
Ethan flipped on the police lights, gripped the wheel tightly, and hit the gas. The Crown Victoria roared as the chase began.
After work, Ethan didn't want to go home early, so he drove to The Forge Bar. As soon as he stepped inside, his eyes landed on Hood, sitting alone at the bar while Sugar kept his glass full.
—Hi, Sugar. Long time no see— Ethan greeted, walking straight to where Hood sat and taking the stool beside him.— Chief Hood.
—Officer Morgan. About time you showed up— Sugar replied, sliding a glass toward Ethan and pouring him a bourbon.
—Things have been hectic lately. Lots to catch up on— Ethan said with a slight shrug.
—Seems like you're adjusting well— Sugar remarked with a smile.
—Thanks— Ethan replied, downing his drink and tapping the wooden counter for another. Meanwhile, Hood continued drinking in silence beside him.
—Boss, Gordon didn't invite you over after the funeral? Why are you drinking here?— Ethan asked, turning to Hood.
—I was there, but left early— Hood muttered, staring into his glass gloomily.
Ethan understood Hood's mood. District Attorney Gordon's wife, Carly Hopewell, was his ex-girlfriend.
Over a decade ago, Carly's father, known as Mr. Rabbit, had orchestrated a diamond heist in which Hood and Carly were involved. After securing the diamonds, Hood was supposed to divert pursuit but got caught during the escape, while Carly got away by sheer luck.
After spending more than ten years in prison, Hood learned Carly's whereabouts through old contacts upon his release.
That's right— he'd been locked up for over a decade.
Hood, who hadn't been out long, wasn't the real sheriff. He was an impostor.
Following the clues from his friends, Hood arrived in Banshee Town only to discover his former girlfriend had married and had two children— the eldest daughter, Deva, was his.
He'd wanted Carly to leave with him, but she refused and denied that Deva was his.
Carly had also lied about the diamonds they'd stolen. She claimed someone else took them. Hood had wasted over ten years in prison for nothing. It was a miracle he wasn't completely unhinged.
With Ethan keeping him company, Hood drank even more heavily until he finally slumped onto the bar, unconscious.
Ethan, holding a glass of wine, walked to the jukebox and selected *Burning Love* by Elvis Presley. As the music started, the sharp click of high heels on the wooden floor sounded behind him.
A woman— or perhaps a man who enjoyed wearing heels— stopped just behind him.
Ethan turned his head, a smirk forming as he extended his drink toward the blonde beauty in front of him.
—Miss Bowman.
—Haven't seen you in a few days— Rebecca replied, leaning against the wall and sipping her whiskey.
—I wanted to ask for your number last time, but Mr. Bowman was there. And I had to pretend we didn't know each other— the Amish girl winked at Ethan.
—My father would disown me if he found out I have a phone or meet boys outside the farm.
After exchanging numbers, they moved to the pool table and started a game.
Rebecca chalked her cue, popped a chocolate into her mouth, and eyed Ethan as she lined up her shot.
Then she leaned over the table, swung her arm, and sent the balls scattering.
Standing behind her with his own cue, Ethan admired the curves of her body, feeling the whiskey warm his belly.
When it was his turn, Ethan aimed, calculated the angle, and struck hard— but the cue ball flew off the table, rolled toward a side door, and tumbled into the basement.
Hearing it bounce down the stairs, Ethan set down his cue and shrugged.
Without a word, Rebecca rose, her heels clicking as she followed him to the basement door.
The dimly lit basement was cluttered with boxes and a worn table. Ethan closed the door behind them, the bolt clicking shut. He turned to her, his gaze dark with desire.
Rebecca stepped closer, her breath quickening. Their lips met in a hungry kiss, bodies pressing together with pent-up passion. Ethan backed her against the table, hands sliding over her hips as the kiss deepened.
She responded eagerly, fingers working at his shirt buttons. The air between them crackled with electricity, every touch igniting sparks.
Time blurred as they lost themselves in each other, the bar's noise fading into irrelevance. In that shadowed corner, nothing existed but the two of them.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless and flushed, Ethan caught her gaze in the dim light.
Rebecca straightened before a cracked mirror, fixing her hair with quick motions. Ethan buttoned his shirt, grinning.
—Well, that was... unexpected— Rebecca remarked, avoiding his eyes.
Ethan chuckled, watching her reflection.
—Unexpected? I'd say we've been heading here since the mouse joke.
She arched a brow skeptically.
—You, maybe. I was more worried about wrinkling my dress.
Ethan laughed, adjusting his jacket.
—Right, because *that* would've been the real crime.
Rebecca smirked, slipping her heel back on.
Ethan finished dressing, shooting her a conspiratorial look.
—If anyone asks, we were... inspecting the basement. For safety.
She headed for the door, tossing a wink over her shoulder.
—Of course. Better safe than sorry. See you, *Officer*.
Ethan watched her leave, then exhaled with a smile before following.
The next morning, Ethan monitored an intersection in good spirits, flashing patrol lights to deter reckless drivers.
After two uneventful hours, Alma radioed:
—*Officer Morgan, respond to a call in the Maplewood community. Possible break-in.*
Ethan drove to the middle-class neighborhood of tidy lawns and single-family homes. At the caller's address, he rang the bell.
The door opened slightly, then swung wide when the red-haired woman saw his uniform.
—Mrs. Kendall, I'm Officer Ethan Morgan. What's the issue?—
The mayor's wife, Jenny Kendall— whom he'd met at Reed's funeral— clutched her arms nervously.
—Hello, Officer. Call me Jenny. I saw someone in the Michells' backyard. They're in Hawaii. It didn't feel right, so I called.
—Understood. Go inside; I'll check it out— Ethan assured her.
Once she closed the door, he drew his Glock and circled the property.
Peering through a window, he spotted no movement— until a man in a visor cap bolted from the backyard, dropping a silver candlestick.
—Banshee PD, freeze!—
The man sprinted at the shout. Ethan gave chase, calling for backup over the radio.
The suspect reached into his pocket. Ethan dove aside as a shot rang out.
—Shots fired! Requesting backup!—
—*Emmett here. East side of Maplewood. En route.*—
—Suspect is white male, 30s, jeans, baseball jersey, visor cap!—
—*Copy. Moving to intercept.*—
Ethan pursued the man down another street, where Emmett's cruiser cut off his escape.
—Watch crossfire!— Ethan warned, firing suppressing shots.
Emmett exited his car, grabbed a Remington M870 from the trunk, and racked it. Ethan took cover behind the passenger door.
—Banshee PD! Drop the gun now!—
Emmett fired a warning shot, blasting chunks from the wall.
—I give up! Don't shoot!— the man screamed, tossing his weapon.