POV: Briar

The kidnappers arrived twelve minutes early.

People who believed the police would protect them arrived late. People who knew the police were part of the crime did not waste time.

I watched the white medical van turn into the abandoned weigh station through a slit in the tarp covering our tow truck. North County Recovery had removed its name from the doors, but not the pale rectangles left behind by years of sun.

Ronan lay beside me in the truck bed, close enough that his shoulder warmed mine through two jackets.

“Your heart sped up,” he whispered.

“A vehicle connected to five missing women just arrived.”

“I was hoping it was me.”

“Your confidence should be registered as a public hazard.”

“You noticed it, though.”

I raised one finger without looking at him.

“Is that police code for deep affection?”

“It is biker code for shut up.”

He smiled. I could hear it.

Across the road, the van stopped beside the decoy ambulance. Public-integrity officers waited in an unmarked vehicle beyond the trees. A state investigator monitored the operation from the highway. Every warrant was signed. Every camera was running.

Our problem was the woman we were trying to save.

Dana Pierce, thirty-two, had called a domestic-violence hotline after her husband broke her wrist. Her husband supervised transport at the county jail. By morning, Nolan Keene had entered a psychiatric evaluation under her name despite never meeting her. A fake family-stabilization order authorized the removal of Dana and her seven-year-old son.

We had reached her sister first.

Dana and her son were already safe.

The kidnappers did not know that.

The rear doors of the medical van opened. A thick man in blue scrubs climbed out with a clipboard. The badge clipped to his chest read VINCE HARLOW, PATIENT ADVOCATE.

He wore a gun beneath the scrubs.

His partner remained behind the wheel.

Harlow approached the decoy ambulance. “You’re late.”

The undercover medic shrugged. “You’re early.”

“Where are the packages?”

Packages.

Ronan stopped breathing for one beat.

The undercover medic tapped the ambulance. “Mother’s sedated. Kid’s asleep.”

“Paperwork first.” Harlow held out his hand. “And phones in the box. New rules after the Quinn mess.”

So they knew Evelyn had escaped.

The medic handed over a prepared envelope. Harlow counted the copied bills inside, then removed two plastic wristbands from his pocket. One was labeled DANA PIERCE. The other read OWEN PIERCE, DEPENDENT TRANSFER.

No patient numbers this time.

Names.

“Destination?” the medic asked.

Harlow gave him a flat look. “You don’t get paid to know.”

“I get paid to hand over two breathing people. I’d like to know where they’ll stop breathing.”

Harlow’s hand moved toward his waistband.

The driver of the van saw the movement and reached beneath the dashboard.

“Now,” I said.

The weigh station exploded with motion.

State officers blocked the exit. The undercover medic dropped behind the ambulance engine. I threw off the tarp and came over the side of the tow truck with my weapon drawn.

“Hands where I can see them!”

Harlow grabbed for his gun.

Ronan hit him before I could fire.

He crossed the space with inhuman speed disguised as a very fast human tackle. Harlow struck the pavement. The gun skidded beneath the ambulance.

The van driver accelerated.

The medical van shot toward the exit, found it blocked, and swerved directly at us.

Ronan was still on the ground with Harlow.

“Move!”

He rolled. The bumper missed his boots by inches.

The van crashed through a wooden barrier and dropped its front wheels into the drainage ditch. Air bags burst. Steam rose from the crushed hood.

State officers pulled the driver out through the passenger door.

Harlow fought beneath Ronan, reaching for a knife strapped to his ankle.

I planted my boot on his wrist.

“Try it,” I said.

He looked from my badge to Ronan’s leather vest.

“You brought gang members to a police operation?”

“Mechanic,” Ronan corrected. “Today I identify as a mechanic.”

“Get off me.”

“Ask the patient advocate nicely.”

“Ronan.”

“Getting off.”

He rose only after I had Harlow cuffed.

The state investigator searched the medical van under the warrant. The first cabinet held restraints, sedatives, blank commitment forms, and four prepaid phones. The second contained children’s juice boxes, coloring books, and a roll of stickers.

That cabinet disturbed me more.