Page 106 of Fatal Pattern

Barclay’s jaw worked side to side. His gaze flicked to Damien, held there for three seconds too long. Damien’s chin dipped once. Stryker caught the signal that passed between them. They were men who’d done business before. Dark business.

Damien’s lip curled into a smile. Like he’d been expecting this interruption all along.

Stryker’s fingers locked around the loose cuff. Damien could expect whatever he wanted. This ended now. No more wife beaten bloody. No more kid cowering in corners. Stryker snapped the second cuff around Damien’s wrist and cranked the ratchet until metal bit flesh.

“King, I need a word.” Barclay’s hand landed on Stryker’s shoulder, fingers pressing down like a vise. “Outside.”

The pressure guided him toward the door, but Stryker planted his feet. “Sullivan’s under arrest. I’m reading him his rights.”

“Outside. Now.”

The grip on his shoulder increased until Stryker’s collarbone creaked. He had no choice but to move, leaving Damien cuffed in the hallway.

Rain pounded the porch roof and drove needles into Stryker’s cheeks. Barclay shifted, blocking the door. Water dripped from the sergeant’s cap, pooling shadows where his eyes should be. Just two black sockets staring back.

“You know what the blue line means, King?”

Stryker’s jaw muscles bunched. “It means we protect and serve the community.”

“No.” Barclay stepped closer. “It means we protect each other. Brotherhood. Family. You don’t turn on family.”

“Damien’s beating his wife and kid. That’s not brotherhood. That’s—”

“Maybe you’ve taken one too many hits to the head in that ring.” Barclay leaned forward until his breath fogged the space between them. “Maybe you’re not thinking clearly anymore. Maybe you need to decide which career you want to keep.”

Stryker’s lungs forgot how to work. The walls of the cramped porch alcove pressed inward, the sergeant’s bulk filling every inch of escape route.

Through the screen door, he caught movement. Corbin peered out from his bedroom door, face pale as milk in the dim light. The boy’s eyes held a flicker of hope, like maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time someone would help.

He clenched his molars until his temples throbbed. A headache bloomed behind his eyes, sharp and insistent.

“Uncuff him, King.”

The words felt like swallowing broken glass. Stryker looked at his hands, at the key ring hanging from his belt. At Barclay’s face, carved from granite and just as unforgiving.

He walked back inside.

Damien grinned and stretched his fingers as the metal snapped apart. Barclay stepped closer and dropped a hand on Damien’s shoulder. He steered him toward the hallway, their heads bent together. Words spoken in hushed fragments. Dates, names, what needed disappearing.

The closet door gaped open like a wound. Corbin’s face collapsed, hope draining from his features until only recognition remained. The boy understood now. No one was helping. No one ever would.

Stryker locked eyes with the boy. A contract sealed without words. This isn’t finished.

Outside, he dropped behind the wheel and yanked the door shut, hands on the steering wheel for a long second before turning the key. The window shuddered in its frame. His fists hammered the steering wheel until his knuckles cracked open. Blood smeared the crevices of his fingers. Beating the car wasn’t going to help. He dropped his head and pressed his forehead against the wheel as rain machine-gunned the roof.

“God, what do I do?”

Barclay commanded this place. But God commanded everything else. The storm settled into a steady drum. Then came the whisper, threading through his chest.

Choose a different way. When the time is right, rescue the ones they abandon.

Good and evil sprouted from the same soil. You couldn’t separate them until the end.

Stryker lifted his head. Rain hammered the windshield, blurring the house into watercolor streaks. The voice had come before. Cutting through doubt, demanding action when the department demanded silence. When the brass ordered him to look away while people suffered.

He reached for his badge. His fingers worked the pin loose from his shirt, and he held it in his palm. The shield caught what little light filtered through the storm clouds.

He opened his hand and let the badge tumble onto the passenger seat.