What I've Done (Morgan Dane #4)(10)

Being married to a cop wasn’t easy. Not everyone could handle it.

“She is adorable, isn’t she?” Smiling, Ted adjusted his belt under the small paunch he’d developed since they’d graduated from the academy together two years before. “Eliza put me on a diet. I’m starving. I’m getting an all-meat sub with a side of meat.”

“If you went running with me, you wouldn’t have that gut,” Sharp said as he veered right toward the cold cases in the back of the store.

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.” Ted had many great qualities. Athleticism wasn’t one of them. “Grab me a Coke,” he called over his shoulder.

“That’ll kill you too,” Sharp said.

“Stop nagging.” Ted laughed. “I already have a wife.”

Sharp walked down the junk food aisle and stopped in front of a refrigerator case. He selected a Coke, then moved two doors down and grabbed a bottle of unsweetened iced tea for himself.

A woman screamed from the front of the store, the sound high-pitched and terrified.

Sharp froze, his hand automatically going to his sidearm.

“Hands up!” a man shouted. Someone started sobbing.

A robbery.

Sharp’s heart kicked into gear. He glanced at the curved mirror mounted in the corner of the ceiling. In the distorted reflection, the customers in line at the register held their hands over their heads. At the head of the line, a man in an army-green jacket pointed a revolver at the clerk. Under dirty black hair, his face shone with sweat, his eyes were wild, and his chest heaved.

The robber had angled his body sideways to have a view of the clerk, the five customers in line, and the front door. Agitated, he shifted his weight as his gaze darted back and forth.

Sharp registered the nightmare scenario: innocent people and an armed meth head.

The robber did not know two cops were in the store. If he’d approached from the front, he wouldn’t have seen their patrol cars hidden behind the dumpsters.

Sharp looked for Ted but didn’t have a view of the sandwich counter on the other side of the store. He set the drinks on the floor without making any noise and silenced his radio. Then he drew his weapon. Quieting his breath, he eased to the end of the aisle, put his back to a display of Hostess Cakes, and peered around it.

“Empty the register.” The robber jerked the barrel of his gun toward the clerk.

With shaking hands, the clerk pressed a button on the register. The drawer opened with a clang. He scooped the cash into a bag and handed it to the armed man.

The robber glanced in the bag. His angry gaze cut to the clerk. “It’s not enough.”

“That’s all I have.” The clerk’s voice trembled.

The robber raised the gun until it was aimed directly at the clerk’s face. The barrel shook as if it had a vibrate setting. “Open the other register.”

The clerk turned toward the second register on the other end of the counter. He opened it and removed a wad of bills.

“That’s all that’s here,” the clerk cried, tears streaming down his face as he handed the cash across the counter.

Where is Ted?

Sharp couldn’t use his radio. The robber would hear it, and the meth head was already unstable. If he saw two cops, he’d surely lose his shit.

The robber shook the gun harder. His face reddened, and his chest heaved with rapid breaths. “It’s still not enough! I am not leaving here with a lousy hundred bucks.”

Sharp didn’t have a clear shot. There were too many customers in the way. He eased back and crept along the aisle. A man huddled on the floor, shaking. He raised a frightened gaze. Sharp motioned toward the floor, telling the man to stay down.

At the opposite end of the aisle, Sharp looked through a display of candy bars. Two customers were still in Sharp’s line of fire. The small store was too crowded for a clean shot. The robber’s body language and tone felt desperate. Sharp used another ceiling-mounted mirror to scan the distorted, bird’s-eye view of the store. If he could work his way over one more aisle, he should have an unobstructed shot.

The robber shifted his aim from the clerk to the line of customers. He arced the gun back and forth. “I need more money or somebody dies.”

Sharp crept around a revolving magazine rack. A shadow caught his attention. Twenty feet away, Ted crouched behind the ice machine, gun in hand. He pointed at Sharp and made a circular motion with his hand, indicating he wanted Sharp to circle around to the front of the store. Then he tapped his own chest and pointed down the aisle between them.

Sharp shook his head. There was no way he was letting Ted confront the robber while Sharp batted cleanup. Ted had a family.

Sharp pointed to his own chest and motioned down the next aisle. Without waiting for Ted to agree, he crouched lower and started down the aisle. In his peripheral vision, he saw Ted turn around and head toward the end of the aisle.

Sharp checked the overhead mirror and waited until Ted was in position. Their rough plan should work. Sharp would shout out, and the robber would turn toward him—and turn the gun away from the civilians. The robber would be flanked by Sharp and Ted, with the civilians out of the line of fire.

His heartbeat slammed through his chest. His pulse echoed in his ears. His vision tunneled down to the robber and the few feet around him.

With a quick breath, Sharp stood and pointed his weapon over an ice cream chest at the robber. As he shouted, “Police,” a crack sounded from Ted’s direction. A can of dog food rolled across the floor.