Page 90 of Nothing Special X: The Last Stand

“Copy that, were gonna box him in.”

“Stay tactical guys,” Tech said, voice sharp. “Don’t overdo—”

The warning was cut off by a blast of horns, and a crash so loud Cassidy flinched away.

“I’m being robbed!” a man yelled.

Sirens whooped in the distance.

Police voices crackled through Ruxs and Green’s open channel.

“LAPD! Get on the ground! Hands behind your heads! Do it now!”

Ruxs chuckled, not even winded. “Um, Free?”

Free’s answer was flat. “Nice going.”

“I think you better call God,” Green murmured.

Tech slumped down in the front seat. “And trouble strikes again.”

Cassidy closed his eyes.

Day

Day hated nice police stations on principle.

He was used to Atlanta’s station, where the lights flickered when it stormed, the break room smelled like burnt coffee, the walls were scuffed and scarred, and half the chairs had been repaired with duct tape.

The bullpen was overrun with phones ringing, outdated printers sputtering, detectives cursing, citizens complaining and needing help, and his captain threatening someone’s life and career before nine in the morning.

The LAPD precinct lobby was lavish with steel, glass, and warm lighting that made everyone look as if they’d just started their shift.

The floors were polished, real potted plants lined the walls, and a coffee station sat near the far corner with carafes and a tray of fresh pastries as if they’d just been fucking delivered.

A reception desk staffed with five officers in starched uniforms helped people check in at a digital kiosk.

Day made a low irritated groan.

Free leaned toward him. “If you say anything ridiculous, I’m going to laugh, and we need to be taken seriously.”

“We are serious,” Day muttered. “I seriously hate this place.”

Tech adjusted the cuff of his shirt beneath his vest. “Well, it’s clean.”

Steele made a quiet sound that might’ve been agreement or indigestion.

God was silent, walking slightly ahead of them, because of course he did.

His husband moved through the lobby as though he owned the building, everything inside it and within a ten-mile radius.

His long hair was loose around his shoulders, falling over the tight white T-shirt stretched across his chest and arms. His faded jeans sat low on his hips, held by a thick black leather belt. He wore his badge around his neck, resting on his chest like a warning label.

He didn’t hurry, fidget, or appear impressed. His confidence saturated where he stood, and Day watched half the room respond to it before they knew what it was.

The stares held until they reached the main desk.

“Get me your lieutenant,” God demanded.