Chapter Thirty-one
B urglary in progress at the Wolf’s Den.”
Wren’s heartbeat quickened as dispatch came over the radio. Technically, she was heading back to the station to clock out. It was Christmas Eve, and Sam wanted her to head over to the Winters to visit after she got off work, but there was no way she was going to let Quinton twist in the wind. Especially since he wasn’t a fan of some of the other officers on duty.
She picked up her walkie off her shoulder. “This is Officer Wren Little; I’m headed that way.”
“Thank you, Officer Little.”
After the games, she’d had a few disturbance calls, mostly family squabbles, but the closer she got to the Wolf’s Den, the harder her pulse pounded. She had so many questions about what she was walking into that she got back on her radio.
“Dispatch, this is Officer Little. Do you know how many suspects and if they’re armed?”
Static erupted before their dispatcher, Lisa, got back on the line. “Single suspect is armed and behaving erratically.”
“Thank you. Over.”
Wren’s stomach rolled and twisted as she pulled up front at the same time as Barret. She got out of her cruiser, leaving Duke in the back seat. When the dog started to protest, she firmly said, “Stay.”
He quieted down, but as Wren joined Barret in front of the bar’s double doors, she could feel the canine’s heavy gaze on her back.
“I got your back,” Barret said as if sensing her unease, and she nodded.
“And I got yours.”
They headed to the front door, which was open, hands on their guns. Wren got a look at a skinny guy waving a gun at Quint, and rage pushed through the fear, tamping it down as she watched the bar owner’s pale face.
“This is Mistletoe Police Department,” Wren called out, standing on one side of the open doorway while Barret took the other. “Is everything okay in there?”
“No, everything is not okay,” a high, shaky voice called, “and you need to leave.”
“Do you mind if I come inside, actually?” Wren shot back. “I’d like to talk to you.”
“We’ve got everything under control here. Once Quinton gives me what I want, I’ll be on my way.”
Wren nodded at Barret, who took off for the patio door. “And what is it you want? Cash? Booze?”
“I want the cash that’s owed me.”
“Well, if I put my gun away, could I come inside and talk to you unarmed? See if we can’t work this out.”
“Okay.” The guy sounded young and inexperienced, but that could make him even more dangerous.
Wren holstered her gun and stepped inside, assessing the situation. Quint was on the other side of the bar with one of his bartenders. At the back near the rooms was one of the bouncers, and the other one looked like he had been knocked out cold near the door. Half a dozen patrons huddled in the back.
Wren stopped to check the bouncer’s pulse; he was fine. Then she took a step forward, her hands in the air.
“I’m Wren. What’s your name?”
The skinny guy was shaking. The gun in his hand was almost too big for his thin frame. He looked like he was on something, and Wren’s heart skipped a beat. People on drugs were not usually calm and collected or playing with a full deck in these kinds of situations.
“Ivan,” he said.
“Okay, Ivan, what is the money that he owes you?”
“I came in here and bought stuff from a guy in the back, and it turned out to be nothing,” Ivan said, his gun hand shaking as he pointed it at Quint. “He slipped me a placebo or something, and I want my money back.”
Quint shook his head. “I’ve tried to tell him we don’t sell anything here—”
“The guy who sold you the drugs, what did he look like?” Wren asked, giving Quint a stern look. The last thing she needed was Quint aggravating Ivan and getting accidentally shot.
Ivan’s eyes squinted like he was trying to remember. “Bald, with a tattoo of an eagle on his throat.”
Wren glanced at Quinton, addressing him, but keeping Ivan in her purview. “Do you know anyone who fits that description?”
Quint nodded, his jaw clenched. “I know him.”
“I’ll get that information from you later.” She turned back to Ivan. “I’m going to find the man who took your money, and we are going to charge him, but I need you to put down the gun and let these people go. They’re not involved.”
“I need the money,” he said, almost in tears, and Wren realized he was coming down hard from something. Withdrawal could make someone do terrible things.
“I know you do, but right now I think we need to get you some treatment, and then we will take care of the rest.” Wren held her hand out to him. “Okay, can you hand me the gun?”
Ivan’s wide eyes slicked between her and Quint, and in that moment’s hesitation, she froze. If he didn’t drop the gun and swung it toward her, would she be fast enough to get out of the bullet’s way? Would she be able to pull hers if he aimed for Quint? Would they know to contact Sam and tell him she was hurt?
Her chest seized, thinking of everything the two of them had left to do. She didn’t want to lose him.
Finally, Ivan let the gun swing barrel down and handed it to her.
“It’s not real,” he said softly. “It’s a water gun. I took it from my nephew.”
Wren opened the top, and sure enough, there was water inside. She almost let out a hysterical giggle, but she was afraid if she let loose, she might weep instead.
Wren spotted Barret in the shadows by the stage and called out to him.
“Barret, it’s clear.” She read Ivan his rights, and as she put the cuffs on him, she glanced over at the bar owner. “I’m gonna need that name.”
“I’ll get it for you,” he said grimly. “I don’t want anyone doing that in my bar.”
“Good to know.”
As Wren helped Ivan out to the car, she realized that she had put herself, unarmed, in a situation that could’ve become deadly. As much as Mistletoe was a quieter pace than all the other cities she’d worked in, there was no guarantee that dangerous situations wouldn’t find their way here.
“Hey, Barret, do me a favor,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“Don’t tell Sam about this.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”