“So tell us. What do you do, Liberty?” Mom asks Liberty twenty minutes later when we’re settled at our table in the small Italian pizzeria we’ve been coming to since we were kids.
Liberty’s eyes come to mine first before answering. I know she remembers my reaction a couple of weeks back, and now she’s searching for my approval. I give a quick nod, letting her know it’s all good.
I’m the only sorry bastard who’s still messed up by my father’s death.
“I’m a youth worker,” she answers, and I find myself anticipating it. Mom's eyes take on a memory, and she gets lost in it.
“Oh, wow, so you’re pretty, funny, and amazing. Where do you work?” Kota takes over the questions when she notices Mom’s small lapse into the past.
“Over at Boys Haven.” Liberty notes my mom's reaction but doesn't ask about it.
“That's great. Do you work full time?” Kota continues the conversation, not drawing attention to Mom. Not sure what else to do, I reach out and grab Mom’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. She comes back at my touch, turning her head to look at me. It’s a silent question. One I’m not sure I understand. Before I can read into it any further, my cell rings.
“Sorry, need to get this. I’m on call,” I tell the ladies as I stand and hit accept.
“Yeah?” I bark into the phone once I am far enough away to hear clearly.
“We have a hostage situation on the William Jones off-ramp.” The voice on the other end is Sterling. He gives me the rundown, letting me know kids are involved, and the full team is needed on this one.
“I’m fifteen minutes out. I’ll meet you on scene.” I hang up the call and stalk my way back over to the table.
“I’m sorry, Mom. We gotta run.” I lean down, drop a kiss to her forehead and move on to my sister.
“Oh, do you have to? We just ordered,” my mom asks, not understanding the situation.
“SWAT call out. You know how it is.”
“Well, Liberty can stay. I’ll take her back after lunch,” Kota offers. My head turns to Liberty, trying to get a read on her.
“You wanna stay?” It’s not something I would normally impose, but I’m time sensitive, and I need to get on the road.
“Yeah, you go. I’ll stay.” Liberty offers an uncomfortable smile.
“Okay, I’ll see you later.” I lean down and press my lips to hers, offering a quick, chaste kiss before turning and heading out to my truck.
It’s only when I’m speeding along the freeway back into the city, I catalog the smile. It’s a smile that says ‘whatever is coming out of my mouth right now is all a lie. Do not do what I am suggesting you do.’
I half chuckle, half swallow my unease. Jesus, I can just picture how annoyed she is going to be later. Knowing I don’t have time to worry about Liberty, and whether my mom and sister are taking it easy on her, I push it to the back of my mind and spend the rest of the drive focusing on the task at hand.
SWAT has been called in. A hostage situation involving kids.
Me and my boys needed to be prepared.
These call-ins were the ones that could really mess you the fuck up.
“What are we looking at?” I ask the lieutenant and the on-scene commander as I step into the tactical operations vehicle ten minutes later. The familiar sounds of Velcro grates in the air as some of Team One and Team Two begin to suit up in their tactical gear.
“Norman James, father of three, picked his kids up from Trebook Elementary,” the on-scene commander, Parker, commences filling me in. “Custody arrangement only gives him access every other weekend. Mom called it in after getting a text from him saying he was taking them and not coming back.” He points to one of the monitors, showing a picture of Norman James. White male in his early forties. Though he's fighting a slightly receding hairline, I would have placed him in his early thirties.
“Amber alert went out as well as a bolo on his car.” Parker continues to give me all the information we have to work with. “Patrol officer picked up his tail over on Kensington. When he failed to stop, he led them on a chase through town, ending when he pulled up to a stop on the off-ramp, and one of his kids jumped out, making a run for it.” My eyes move back to the monitors' live feeds from the overhead chopper. The closest police cruiser fills two of the six screens we have available.
“The kid give us anything?”
“No, too shaken up to talk.”
“Weapons?”
“Patrol officer thinks he saw a handgun. Kid’s not saying so can’t be sure.”
“Have we established any communication?”
“We tried his mobile, but he’s not picking up.”
I take everything in. The initial rush of the moment settles within me as I pull up a chair in front of the monitors.