Chapter 7 Dawson
DAWSON
Finally.
Six months of tracking this monster, and it came down to this—some isolated house on the outskirts of Anchorage where Ravak thought he could make his final stand.
The house sat like a wound against the white landscape.
A single-story rambler with peeling paint and broken shutters.
Snow had drifted against the foundation, and the front porch sagged under the weight of neglect.
Through his binoculars, Dawson could see movement in the front window—a shadow passing back and forth with the restless energy of a caged animal.
Ravak.
Finally cornered after six months of running.
Dawson adjusted his position behind the police cruiser, his radio crackling with updates from the perimeter team. They’d gotten here faster than he’d thought—probably thanks to Flynn and a perhaps urgent pleading with the Chief.
But okay, backup wasn’t a terrible thing.
The storm had died, leaving behind a crystalline silence that made every sound sharp and immediate. His breath formed white clouds in the predawn air, and a chill slide under his tactical vest where his body heat met the subzero temperature.
Four in the morning on Christmas Eve day. Most of the city was asleep, dreaming of presents and family dinners. But Dawson had been here for over an hour. Watching. Waiting. Feeling the familiar itch between his shoulder blades that told him something was wrong with this whole situation.
The car he’d spotted at the ER sat in front of the house.
And inside the house, he’d heard screaming. So, that was…just swell.
They needed to get in there, now.
“Dawson, what’s your status?” Chief Blackburn’s voice cut through the static.
“Subject is mobile inside the residence. I count at least three rooms with activity.” Dawson lowered the binoculars, wiping ice from the lenses. “No visual on the child.”
“ETA on SWAT is twenty minutes. Hold your position.”
Twenty minutes.
Dawson checked his watch and his jaw tightened. He’d been holding position for over an hour already, watching Ravak pace inside the house, like a man working up to something.
Waiting was the wrong call. Ten years of instinct told him that.
“Chief, I think we should move now. This guy’s getting agitated.”
“Negative. We do this by the book. No cowboy moves, Dawson.”
By the book.
Dawson stared at the house. The book said wait for backup, establish perimeter, negotiate from a position of strength. But the book hadn’t spent six months studying Ravak’s violence.
The man possessed a sort of mental illness that, honestly, put a fist into Dawson’s chest.
Dawson pulled up his cell phone and dialed.
The man picked up. “Ravak. This is Detective Mulligan. I know you can hear me.”
Silence stretched across the frozen landscape. Then the front door cracked open, and the barrel of a rifle appeared.
“I hear you, Detective.” Ravak’s voice carried the slight accent that had helped Dawson track him through three different identities. “You’re the one who’s been hunting me.”
“I’m the one who wants to help you end this peacefully.” Dawson kept his voice steady. Professional. “You’ve got nowhere to go. But you can still do the right thing here.”
A harsh laugh echoed from the house. “The right thing? I’m just an honest businessman, trying to make a living.”
Dawson’s jaw tightened. Honest businessman. That was rich, coming from a man who’d been running fentanyl through three states and trafficking women from Eastern Europe. But he bit back those words. Instead, “Would you agree we want this to end peacefully? No one gets hurt?”
Ravak hung up. Shoot. Dawson reached for his radio.
“Chief, ETA on SWAT?”
“Fifteen minutes out. Hold position.”
“Sir, I’ve been studying this guy for six months. He’s not going to surrender. He’s a sociopath—he honestly believes he’s right. And the longer we wait—”
“Detective.” Chief Blackburn’s voice carried warning. “You will hold your position. That’s an order.”
Dawson released the radio. Lifted his binoculars again. The shadow in the window had stopped pacing.
Oh no. No pacing meant—a decision made.
His phone rang.
“Detective. You want to talk? Let’s talk.”
“I’m listening.”
“Six months you’ve been chasing me. Six months of disrupting my life, my business, my family. Do you know what that does to a man?”
“Tell me.” Dawson kept his voice calm despite the adrenaline coursing through his system. Never mind his wife, in the ER, probably fighting for her life.
“How many families have you destroyed with your badges and your reports and your court orders?” Ravak’s voice rose. “You people think you know what’s best for everyone. Think you can tear apart what belongs to me.”
He caught movement in his peripheral vision—the other patrol units repositioning for better angles.
“Nobody wants to tear apart your family. We want that little girl to be safe.”
“Safe?” Ravak’s laugh was bitter. “You want to put me in a cage and hand my daughter over to your broken system. Hand her over to people who don’t understand that she belongs to me.”
“We all want her to be safe, Ravak. Let’s make that happen—”
“Stay away!” The shout carried across the frozen landscape, raw with fury. “Everything I’ve built, everything I’ve worked for—it’s mine. And you’re not going to take it from me!”
Through the sheer curtains of the window, a small shadow moved behind Ravak’s larger form. The child was there, close enough to her father that any tactical move would put her directly in the line of fire.
He muted the phone and got on the radio. “Chief, Ravak has positioned his daughter in front of him. Hold.”
Now, to Ravak, “Let me come in and talk to you face to face.” Dawson kept his voice low. “Just me. No weapons. We can work this out.”
“Dawson, negative.” Chief Blackburn’s voice cut through the radio. “Do not approach the residence.”
But Ravak was already responding. “You think I’m stupid, Detective? You think I don’t know about your SWAT team setting up behind the trees? About the snipers finding their angles?”
A gunshot split the morning air. Dawson dropped behind the cruiser as the bullets sparked off the hood.
“Next one won’t be a warning,” Ravak called.
Dawson’s radio exploded with chatter. “Shots fired, shots fired. All units maintain cover.”
“SWAT, what’s your ETA?” Chief Blackburn’s voice was tight.
“Ten minutes to full deployment.”
Ten minutes.
Dawson pressed his back against the cruiser. Closed his eyes. Ten minutes for Ravak to work himself into whatever lather meant a grand finale.
And his daughter caught in the middle.
Ten minutes too long.
“Detective.” Ravak’s voice carried clearly across the frozen yard. “You know what I’m thinking right now?”
“Tell me.”
“I’m thinking about all the years I’ve spent building my empire. All the merchandise I’ve moved, all the business I’ve conducted. And how you people want to destroy all of it because you don’t understand how the world really works.”
Dawson’s stomach turned. Time. He needed to buy time. “How does it really work, Ravak?”
Merchandise. The man was talking about human beings like they were cargo. “The world works fine without people like you exploiting it.”
“People like me make the world work. We provide services. We fulfill needs. We understand that everything has a price, including loyalty.”
“Does that price include your daughter?”
Silence.
“Let her go, Ravak. Keep her out of this.”
The pause stretched long enough that Dawson could hear his own heartbeat. Then, “She’s mine. And what’s mine stays with me. Forever.”
Oh, and right then, a stone fell through him, landed. Something…wait…
The radio in Dawson’s ear crackled. “SWAT is five minutes out.”
Five minutes.
Dawson lifted his binoculars. Studied the house again. The front window was empty now. No shadows. No movement. Ravak had moved deeper into the residence, taking his daughter with him.
Away from the windows. Away from potential sniper angles. Into whatever room he’d chosen for his final stand.
“Chief.” Dawson kept his voice low. “We need to go now. He’s positioning for something, and it’s not surrender.”
“SWAT will handle entry. Stay put, keep him talking.”
“Sir, I know this guy. I’ve studied his pattern for six months. He’s a trafficker, Chief. Women, drugs, anything that makes money. He’s done negotiating.”
He blew out a breath, his heart thumping.
“Listen. He really believes he’s just a businessman.
He’s been trying to find an angle, a way to negotiate his way out of this like it’s just another deal.
” Dawson stared at the silent house. “And when men like Ravak can’t make a deal, they destroy the inventory rather than let someone else have it. ”
Dawson’s voice dropped. “He’s going to kill her, Chief. Because to him, destroying what he owns is better than letting someone else have it.”
He pressed the walkie to his forehead. Please—
Static filled the silence. Then: “SWAT is two minutes out.”
He wanted to throw something. “C’mon!”
“Hold position, Detective.”
He shoved the walkie into his belt, then pulled out his weapon. Checked it.
Breathed.
Hold. Position.
And then, “Dawson.” Flynn’s voice came through the walkie. “I’m thirty seconds behind you.”
He froze. “Flynn, what are you doing here?”
“Backing up my partner.”
Wait—what about—
“SWAT is ready,” came the radio update.
He spotted them moving toward the house, and scurried up behind his car.
Please, don’t let anyone die.
Flynn slipped up beside him, breathing hard, weapon drawn, eyes sharp. “Ready?”
She wore a vest, too, so clearly she wasn’t going anywhere but with him.
“On me.”
He stayed low, moved with the SWAT team toward the house.
The darkness hid him, although his eyes had adjusted and the streetlights upon the snow helped.
He reached the front porch. The door was locked, but the wood around the frame was old and warped.
“Breach,” said the Chief.
The SWAT officer stepped forward with the ram. One solid hit and the door exploded inward, wood splintering, frame giving way.
They were inside.
The house smelled like fear and cigarettes and the metallic tang of something that might have been blood. A narrow hallway led toward the back rooms, and light spilled from what looked like a bedroom doorway.
“Ravak!” he called. “It’s Detective Mulligan. We’re here to talk.”
“Too late for talking.” Ravak’s voice came from the back room. “Too late for deals.”
Dawson moved down the hallway. SWAT flanking him, Flynn at his back.
“There’s still time to do the right thing here, Sergei.”
“The right thing?” Ravak’s voice carried no emotion now. “The right thing is making sure what’s mine stays mine.”
He glanced at the SWAT officer, gave a nod.
In a second, the door banged open, and he rolled into the room, came up, his gun on Ravak.
Time slowed.
Ravak pushed the little girl in his arms away, toward Dawson.
Aimed.
Dawson grabbed her, threw her down—
Flynn shouted behind him.
Dawson glanced at Ravak. For a split second their eyes met across the dim room.
Then the world exploded in muzzle flash, heat and pain.
And everything went dark.