"Report, there's a rape and murder at 4946 Pierce Street. Initially appears to be a burglary gone wrong. Two bodies found, one male and one female."
"Unit 7-A-15 responding to 4946 Pierce Street."
"Unit 7-A-26 requesting permission to assist."
"7-A-26, stand by. Continue patrol."
"7-A-26 acknowledged."
After delivering the scripted lines into the radio, Jack set it down and smiled nostalgically. It had been a while since he'd used that call sign, and it brought back memories of his "joyous" days at LAPD.
Meanwhile, chatter continued over the police frequency.
"Dispatching coroner to 4946 Pierce Street."
At the same time, JJ jogged past Jack's unmarked police cruiser in a tight athletic outfit, a phone strapped to her arm. She shot him a playful wink.
"Focus, miss. He could show up at any moment."
Jack cleared his throat and checked the time. It was 8 p.m. Running in a neighborhood with decent security wasn't unusual at this hour. However, JJ's striking appearance had already attracted several unwanted admirers.
Tonight, if someone were to drive around the area, they'd notice an unusual number of attractive, single women out and about—some jogging, others tidying their yards or working on their cars.
In reality, ten teams of undercover female officers, each backed by two plainclothes agents for protection, were stationed around the neighborhood. Their positions formed a perimeter within a two-block radius of the fake crime scene announced over the radio. Additional plainclothes officers and FBI agents were stationed at intersections and major roads, including Jack. Given the killer's impersonation of a federal agent, everyone had agreed on specific code phrases to avoid confusion.
As time passed, Jack kept a close eye on each vehicle that drove by, especially those that slowed down near him. The killer was unlikely to be on foot, and as night deepened, the streets grew quieter.
He glanced at JJ, who was stretching on a porch step, her silhouette illuminated by the streetlights. The scene was almost too tempting for any predator.
"JJ, head inside. It's almost 10 o'clock," Jack called out. It was late, and they risked attracting the wrong kind of attention—like actual creeps.
JJ gave him a knowing look before entering the house. Moments later, her silhouette appeared behind the curtains as the interior lights came on. Jack shook his head, sighed, and was about to check in with the other teams when chaotic static and shouting erupted over the radio.
"Officer down! Officer down!"
"Shots fired! It's that bastard!"
Jack's heart raced. He revved the engine, speeding down the street. After a sharp turn, he slammed the brakes in front of JJ's safe house.
"What happened?" JJ hurried outside, now in her formal FBI attire.
"It's John and Tim's unit," Jack said tersely. He opened the door, and JJ quickly hopped in. The police radio continued to blare as every patrol car nearby activated its sirens and lights, converging on Tim's reported location.
The screeching of tires echoed through the streets as Jack arrived first on the scene. He jumped out of the car and sprinted toward John, who was sprawled beside a vehicle. JJ followed close behind.
Angela was already there, trying to help John up and check his injuries. Nearby, a dark blue Ford Crown Victoria was parked, another man lying beside it. Tim stood over the body, his gun drawn, kicking a pistol away from the suspect's reach.
"Come on, buddy, don't scare us like this," Jack muttered as he knelt beside John, who coughed weakly but seemed otherwise intact.
"I'm... I'm okay," John stammered. With Jack and Angela's help, he unfastened his bulletproof vest and nervously patted his chest, then the rest of his body. Finally, he exhaled in relief.
Angela picked up the vest and gave it a shake. A deformed bullet fell to the ground, having been stopped by the chest plate.
Jack helped the veteran officer to his feet. "Damn, man. You've got the same 'trouble magnet' aura I do—maybe worse. You're lucky to still be standing."
"Yeah... thanks to this vest," John mumbled.
"He's the one," Tim called out, his face tense. "Spiderweb tattoo on his neck."
More police cars arrived, surrounding the scene in a sea of flashing lights. Jack gave John's shoulder a reassuring pat and guided him to lean against the car. He then approached Tim.
"What the hell happened? How did John get shot?"
Tim sighed, frustrated. "The guy's acting was spot-on. He wasn't targeting Angela; he was heading for another house a few doors down. It looked so normal—like he was just visiting someone. Nothing seemed off."
He crouched and pulled a wallet from the dead suspect's inner jacket pocket, handing it to Jack.
"John thought something was off, though. He got out to question the guy, but he didn't recognize him immediately. At first, it seemed like maybe he was a boyfriend coming over to visit."
John, now hobbling over with Angela and JJ's support, added, "I asked him if he lived here, and he claimed to be FBI. That set off alarm bells."
"Then the shootout started?" Jack asked, noting how close the confrontation had been.
"Yeah. I flashed my badge and demanded he show his credentials. He moved just enough for me to see the spiderweb tattoo on his neck. We drew our guns at the same time. He shot me before I could even aim properly," John admitted, still shaken.
"Got it," Jack said. "You were too close without backup. You're lucky that vest held up."
"I hit him once, but he managed to stagger to his car before Tim put him down," John continued.
Tim nodded grimly. "Damn right. I wasn't taking any chances."
Jack inspected the wallet Tim had handed him, flipping through its contents. His eyes widened slightly.
"Guys... this FBI badge—it's real."
(End of Chapter)
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