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“FBI,” I told the skittish officer.
“On the ground, face down, hands behind your head. Interlock your fingers,” he screamed.
I put my hands behind my head and lowered to my knees. “ID, right back pocket.”
“Face down,” he yelled again. His voice cracked in fear.
He’d probably never executed a takedown in the real world before, which was scary, given that he was holding a Glock and had his finger on the trigger. With no safety, it was no gun for an amateur—accidental discharges were all too common.
I went to the ground.
One of the other officers put a knee on my back. He had to be way north of two hundred pounds. He pulled my Kel-Tec PF-9 out and threw it to the side before frisking me for more.
“FBI. ID, back right pocket,” I repeated slowly.
The second officer had a cuff on one wrist before I felt the third pull out my creds.
“FBI,” I said again.
A sergeant arrived, huddled with Mr. Jitters, and studied my identification while they kept me pinned. “Let him up.”
“But he had a gun,” Mr. Jitters complained.
The sergeant took Mr. Jitters to the side, patted him on the back, complimented him, and sent him off.
The other officer wrestled with his handcuff key before finally getting the metal bracelet off me.
I rubbed my wrist as the sergeant took my weapon from the uniform who’d picked it up.
“This isn’t standard Bureau issue,” he said as he released the clip and cleared the chamber.
“Undercover,” I told him. My PF-9 was a lot smaller and easier to conceal than our standard service weapon.
He handed me back my unloaded weapon and clip. “Don’t you ever come armed and unannounced on my street again, or I’ll shoot you myself.”
“Yes, sir,” I told him, eager to get as far away from here as possible, as quickly as possible.
I gathered up Kelly, and we retreated north toward her house.
She shivered against me. “That was scary.”
What I’d planned as a special sight had ended up endangering her.
“Sorry,” was the only word I had as we walked.
* * *
Kelly
Adam wassilent as we walked back.
I couldn’t have asked for a nicer way to spend the day. I gripped his hand. “Thank you.” Up until the gun incident, this had been a wonderful, relaxing gift.
“For what? Almost getting you shot? I should have known better.”
He was still focused on the negative instead of the positive the entire rest of the day had been.
“For taking me around. It’s something I never would have done on my own.”
