Headlines (Prime Time #3) - Ella Frank Page 0,1

passenger door pushed open and Vincent climbed out. I cursed and lowered the binoculars.

“Fuck.” Jenkins’ little traffic holdup had put us in a bit of a bind.

“We can’t wait for them, Sean. If we wait, we’ll miss our chance.”

No shit. I knew Nichols was right, but the idea of just the two of us against these assholes didn’t sit well. Not at all.

I took another quick look through the binoculars to see Vincent was now holding a black bag—the money. Motherfucker. If we were gonna do this, it needed to be now. I tossed the binoculars on the dash and glanced at my partner.

“Let’s go.”

I shoved open the door, climbed out, and reached for my gun. As Nichols rounded the hood of the car, we darted across the street, heading toward the front of the apartment building, out of sight.

The adrenaline was pumping now, the possibility of discovery higher with every step we took, and still no fucking backup. I plastered myself to the brick building by the broken-down stairs, and when Nichols came up alongside me, I gave him a clipped nod.

He returned the gesture, and I peered around the corner to check out exactly what we were dealing with. Just as I’d seen from the car, there were three men—Vincent, Johnny, and Trevie—all of whom would be armed. So we needed to get in and get the upper hand before any of them drew their weapons.

Nichols and I waited in tense silence as the three went back and forth with one another, and when Vincent finally handed over the bag of cash, I gave the signal. The next second, the two of us burst around the corner, guns drawn and leveled on the three assholes now looking our way.

“Chicago PD! Drop the bag and put your hands up where we can see them!”

Vincent’s eyes ping-ponged between the two of us as we continued forward. Nichols had his gun trained on Johnny and Trevie, but my focus was on the big fish of the family—good old Vinnie.

“Drop the bag and put your hands up!” Nichols shouted when no one moved.

My heart pounded as we drew closer, my attention never leaving the fucker watching me with cool focus. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement.

“Hands up, Johnny,” Nichols said. “Don’t make me fucking shoot y—” Before he finished his sentence, though, Johnny reached for his weapon and Nichols had no choice. The gunshot rang out in the night air, and Johnny fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, his gun landing on the gravel, his body unmoving.

Trevie then went for his weapon, but Nichols was already on that. A shot to his thigh had him crying out and dropping to the ground as Nichols ran over and kicked the piece out of reach. I kept my eyes trained on the man daring me to blink, as a cruel smile slashed his thin lips.

Vincent barely spared his brother a glance before he decided his best bet was getting the fuck out of there, and without another thought, he took off.

Nichols gave the go-ahead from where he was slapping the bracelets on Trevie, and that was my cue. Booking it down the back alley between the apartments, I took off after Vincent, gun drawn, legs pumping.

I could see the asshole up ahead and reached for the radio clipped to my vest. “Squad. This is 2457. Suspect Vincent Martinelli is running. He’s heading west on Thirty-Second in the alley between the apartments. Plain-clothed officer in pursuit on foot,” I said around labored breaths. “I repeat, suspect is running. In pursuit on foot.”

Vincent grabbed a trash can and threw it to the ground, causing me to half slide, half hurdle the thing, but luckily I made it to the other side without losing too much momentum.

“Stop! Chicago PD!”

The muscles in my thighs were burning as I forced them to work harder, refusing to let Vincent out of my sight as he took a left down the side of one of the abandoned houses toward the street.

Following his lead, I banked left and cursed when I saw him climbing a fence—really? First fucking case back and I’m doing shit worthy of the Olympics.

“Give it up, Martinelli! You know how this is gonna end.”

Perched up top of the fence, Vincent looked down at me, and I stopped, aiming my Glock his way. But before I could get a clear shot, he swung his leg over the metal and dropped to