was at the southern end of the Strand, almost half a mile away from the station. Besides, their bullet-proof vests were in the car. They were tearing down Manhattan Avenue, just crossing over 9th Street, when Carrie Shaw’s radio call came in.
Jessie looked over at Ryan and could tell that they were thinking the same thing. Part of her wanted to warn Shaw to hold off on entering alone. But if someone was screaming in distress in the home, every second might be the difference between saving a life and losing one.
Ryan pulled the car over at the corner of Ocean Drive and 3rd Place, the closest that vehicles could get to the Strand on that block, where they both hopped out. Jessie ignored the sting in her back as she pushed herself out of the seat. They strapped on their vests as they ran to the address.
“Should we try to enter through the window she mentioned?” Jessie asked.
“No time to look for it,” Ryan said. “We just have to get in there.”
They arrived at a side door and he kicked it, hoping it would fly open. It didn’t budge.
“Backup plan,” Ryan said, pulling out his gun and taking aim at the knob.
He fired, sending a deafening echo throughout the quiet neighborhood. Then he kicked again. This time the door offered no resistance. He led the way in, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other. Jessie followed close behind, assuming the same posture.
“Shaw said the light was on the third floor,” Jessie reminded Ryan, even as he made his way to the stairs.
They moved up quickly, trying to stay quiet enough to pick up the sound of voices or a physical struggle. To Jessie’s dismay, they heard nothing. Occasionally they stepped on a creaky step and hoped it wasn’t audible upstairs. When they got to the third floor, they inadvertently made even more noise when they reached the top of the landing. Their weight made the floor below them groan softly. They looked down both ends of the hallway but didn’t find any lights on.
“You want to go left?” Ryan whispered. “I’ll check out the rooms on the right.”
Jessie nodded and began moving down the hall. The fact that Officer Shaw was nowhere to be seen or heard was deeply unsettling. She tried to force that concern from her head and just focus on the path in front of her.
She flashed her light into the first bedroom she came to but saw nothing out of order. She was just approaching a second open door when she heard what she thought was a grunt from the last darkened room at the end of the hall. She turned back to alert Ryan by waving her flashlight. But his head was turned away as he stepped into a bedroom, disappearing from sight.
She thought of going after him but a second grunt told her there wasn’t time. Instead, she moved toward the sound as quietly as she could. When she reached the open door, she took a deep breath and slid into the room, shining her flashlight.
Lying on the ground, conscious but clearly in bad shape, was a young woman in a police uniform who Jessie assumed was Officer Shaw. Jessie moved the light around the room, looking for anyone else, but found no one. She moved deliberately over to Shaw, who was looking up at her and seemed to be saying something in a raspy, nearly unintelligible voice.
“Bind doe.”
Jessie kept moving, even as she tried to process the woman’s words. She was almost to her when she figured it out.
Bind doe. Behind door.
She spun around just as the shadow of someone appeared on the wall, swinging something downward toward her. Jessie managed to get her arms up over her head, blocking the worst of the blow as what appeared to be a golf club came crashing down.
Unfortunately, the club did manage to come down forcefully on her right forearm, knocking the gun from her hand. The figure swung at her again. This time she jumped back, avoiding it. But she didn’t avoid Officer Shaw, who was right behind her. Stumbling over her, she fell backward onto the floor.
Jessie scrambled to her feet, anticipating another swing of the club. In the distance, she heard Ryan calling out to her. The man, who she could now more clearly identify as Pierce Cunningham, paused on his upswing and dashed over to the bedroom door, which he locked. Then he turned back around, an expression of