Page 46 of More Than a Hero (Baytown Heroes #12)

Pete’s SUV screeched to a halt at the edge of the Careway Senior Apartments. Jeremy was already out of the passenger door, weapon drawn but lowered, eyes sweeping the quiet complex. A few unmarked vehicles followed in behind, deputies piling out with grim, tight expressions.

Pete had gotten the voicemail from Robert three minutes before the dispatch call came in.

He didn’t need more details—the names Tamarcus, Robert, and Angie in the same sentence lit a fire in his gut he hadn’t felt since Cora had been held hostage in the hospital’s morgue. He now knew how Jeremy had felt.

He scanned the U-shaped curve of the buildings. It was quiet for a few seconds, then suddenly erupted. A few of the seniors popped their heads out of their apartments, and he spied some of his kids peeking out as well.

“Back inside, now!” Pete shouted, bending low to race to the closest apartment. “Bertram! Harold! Get them inside and lock it down. Go! Get into Rosetta’s or George’s, I don’t care which. Just keep them together and away from the front.”

The kids turned and raced back inside, with the exception of Caleb, who darted out, ducking and weaving as he ran to Pete. “Hey!” he called, breathless, pointing toward the other side. “They’re still inside! Mr. Marty’s apartment! Tamarcus has Ms. Angie in there!”

“Got it! Now, get back behind the deputies’ vehicles!” Pete’s jaw locked as adrenaline surged through him.

“Jimmy still there?” he asked.

Caleb nodded fast. “Jimmy and Robert are there too. Said he was gonna protect her. There’s a back window that goes into the apartment’s bathroom. You can’t see it from the living room, but the back door is visible.”

He radioed, “Multiple hostages inside apartment 101.”

Jeremy stepped beside him. “We need to get to the back.”

Pete didn’t wait. He and Jeremy took off at a dead run, boots pounding the narrow concrete strip as they raced around the back corners of the building. The trimmed grass behind the units was silent, broken only by the humming of old AC units and a few flapping trash can lids.

“Marty’s on the far end,” Pete muttered, his eyes flicking to every movement, every possible angle. As they rounded the last corner, two back doors cracked open—George and Harold again, peeking out, heads low.

“Stay inside!” Pete snapped, voice low but firm. “Lock it up. Don’t come out again, you hear me?”

George gave a tight nod and was pulling the door shut when there was movement at Marty’s window. Robert crawled through and turned to assist someone else.

Pete raised his weapon instinctively, but froze as he registered who it was. Robert was helping Marty to the outside. Robert looked to the side, and his gaze begged for assistance. “Help!” Robert whispered. “He’s hurt—he’s bleeding!”

Pete signaled to a deputy, who ran over. “Get rescue here. Have them come to the back.”

While the deputy made the call and signaled the other law enforcement in the area, Jeremy helped get Marty out of the window. As soon as the older man was clear, Pete could see Jimmy on the inside.

“Jimmy,” he breathed.

Robert had his shoulder under Marty’s arm, struggling to keep him upright.

Pete looked over his shoulder to see Bertram hustling down the back sidewalk.

George was already at the door, rushing forward with Bertram.

Together, they helped Marty into the neighboring unit, their movements fast but careful.

Marty’s face was pale, blood in his hair, his eyes dazed as he mumbled something about not being able to hear right.

Robert stood, his face tight with fear and effort as he looked up at Pete. “What do I need to do?”

“Get into that apartment with them and stay there until it’s clear,” Pete ordered, pointing at George’s back door.

Robert hesitated. “But Jimmy’s still in there,” he whispered, pointing at Mr. Marty’s apartment.

Pete said, “You did good. Now keep doing good by following orders, okay?”

Robert nodded and followed Bertram into George’s apartment.

Pete and Jeremy rushed forward to Marty’s window again, still seeing Jimmy inside. “What happened?”

“Marty got hit in the head. Tamarcus dragged Angie outside and then back in because Bertram parked behind him and blocked his car. Now, he’s got her inside again. Tamarcus has a gun. He fired inside but didn’t hit me ’cause Ms. Angie pushed his arm. Then he fired again outside to scare everyone.”

Jeremy swore under his breath. Pete’s stomach clenched.

“Can we go through the back door here?” Jeremy asked, inclining his head toward Marty’s rear entrance

“No… it’s visible from the living room. This bathroom only leads to the bedroom.”

“Okay, come on out?—”

“No, you get in. I’ll stay here,” Jimmy insisted.

Pete didn’t have time to argue, so he crawled through the window, which was just barely big enough for a large man in full tactical uniform. Once in, he turned to Jimmy. “Give me the layout.”

“No halls in this place. Bedroom leads into the dining area. The kitchen is next to that and is open to the living room.”

Pete radioed the instructions to the other law enforcement. “Suspect. Male. Gang leader. Armed. He is in the end unit of Careway Senior Apartments. Maintain the lockdown at the Careway Assisted Living next door. Suspect has hostage. Female. In living room.”

He bent low to hold Jimmy’s gaze. “Get out of here now. You’ve done all you can. And you did good, man. Couldn’t have done better.”

Jimmy nodded, and Pete added, “Get out and go to George’s back door. The ambulance is on the way.”

With that, Jeremy helped Jimmy out the window before he climbed inside with Pete.

Jeremy turned to Pete. “You okay?”

“Not even close.”

Jeremy nodded. Then they moved forward, slowly opening the bathroom door. The bedroom was clear, and they stepped silently inside. From the living room, a male voice shouted and cursed.

Angie’s voice followed, muffled, tense but not panicked. No matter what happened in the next five minutes, Pete was going to get Angie out of there. Even if he had to walk through gunfire to do it.

Pete eased into the bedroom, shoulder brushing the doorframe, every sense on edge. The room was dim, lit only by the daylight seeping in through the curtains. He crouched low, eyes narrowing.

Tamarcus was pacing, cursing under his breath, his voice sharp and agitated. Pete couldn’t make out every word, but the tone said enough. Tamarcus knew he was backed into a corner.

Pete couldn’t see Angie. For one chilling beat, he feared the worst, but then Tamarcus stopped pacing, standing just at the edge of the window, holding the curtain open with two fingers as he peered out. His other hand still gripped the gun.

Pete tracked his movements, slow and quiet, staying in the shadows. Then Tamarcus said something, voice lower, directed downward. Pete’s chest tightened. She’s on the floor.

He shifted slightly, angling himself for a better view. Tamarcus leaned again toward the curtain, peeking through the edge, just a sliver. He was probably watching the squad cars forming a perimeter beyond the garden and seeing his precious plan go up in smoke.

Pete’s pulse beat steadily in his ears. His body was still, calm, but his mind calculated every inch of cover, every second between movement and engagement.

He glanced back, caught Jeremy’s eyes, and gave the hand signals.

Behind him, Jeremy crept back into the bathroom.

A beat later, Pete heard the faintest murmur of Jeremy whispering into the radio.

“Suspect still armed. Standing near the front window. Civilian female hostage on the floor. Hold position. Standby for breach.”

Pete moved into position behind the bedroom doorframe, raising his service weapon slowly. He was angled just enough to see Tamarcus’s profile and the gun in his hand—but Angie was still out of view.

Then suddenly he could see her. She shifted while still on the floor and turned her head, just enough for their eyes to meet. Even from across the room, Pete could see the fear flash in her eyes, but then hope.

He couldn’t risk spooking Tamarcus but prayed she’d understand. Stay down, sweetheart. Just a few more seconds.

Tamarcus turned from the window again and resumed pacing. He muttered louder now, swearing about “this hick-ass town” and how “nobody gets to screw up my deal, not after everything I worked for.” He stopped in front of Angie, his shoes just inches from her.

Pete’s finger tightened slightly on the trigger.

“Get up,” Tamarcus snarled. “You’re my ticket outta here. You’re gonna walk with me nice and easy, and nobody’s gonna shoot a pretty bitch.”

Pete’s breath hitched. No fucking way. He adjusted his grip and tracked the angle of Tamarcus’s arm.

And then, as though her knee couldn’t hold her weight, Angie dropped and landed flat on the floor. Pete couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not, but in that split second, the line between him and Tamarcus cleared.

Pete took the shot. Tamarcus jerked hard, his right shoulder snapping back—the one holding the weapon. The Glock dropped from his hand and hit the floor with a dull clatter. He screamed and staggered back, his hand clutching his shoulder as blood poured.

Pete was already through the doorway. “Angie!” He was at her side in an instant, pulling her behind him, shielding her body with his as Jeremy came in like a storm from behind and tackled Tamarcus to the ground.

The apartment exploded with shouting—Jeremy barking commands, Tamarcus screaming in pain, other voices crackling over the radio. Pete stood, still half shielding Angie, as the front door burst open. Deputies poured in. Detectives followed. Relief mixed with the flood of movement.

Pete helped Angie sit up, his heart hammering. “You hurt?”

She shook her head, stunned. “Just—my knee. Twisted when he was dragging me outside.” Her breath came fast and shallow, but her hand curled around his forearm like she was grounding herself there.

“I’m here,” he murmured, crouching in close. “I got you. You’re safe now.”

“Marty?” she cried.

“Okay… the kids got him out. He’s at George’s place.”

“The kids?”

“All okay,” he assured, realizing as he said the words, he was assuring himself as well.

Outside, sirens wailed closer. Pete looked through the now open door as an ambulance pulled into the garden loop just as Bertram flagged it down.

Paramedics ran into George’s place to get to Marty.

Pete saw the kids come pouring out of the apartments across the garden.

Darius, Jimmy, Robert, Jalen, Mike—wide-eyed and wild with emotion.

The seniors followed, staying with the kids. Other seniors who lived there but weren’t part of their group joined the others.

Hunter Simmons jogged over as the deputies had Tamarcus handcuffed to a gurney being loaded into the back of an ambulance. He ordered the deputies to stay with him and make sure they followed legal procedures at the hospital. “We don’t want that asshole getting off on a technicality.”

Pete knew Hunter would have raced over to help no matter what, but the fact that Belle, his wife and mother to his children, was in lockdown at the nursing home next door would have had the big man on edge.

Terry and Colt hustled over to oversee the scene and check on everyone.

Pete stepped out of the front door with Angie in his arms. The kids raced over, all clambering to make sure she was okay.

A second ambulance rolled up. Angie hesitated. “I don’t?—”

Pete just shook his head. “You’re going. You’re gonna let them check that knee. No arguing.”

She looked up at him. Her eyes filled with tears, and she nodded. She looked over at the kids and seniors. “Thank all of you so much. Marty and I are okay because of you.”

Pete kissed her forehead, brief and protective, just as the paramedics rolled up with the gurney.

As they rolled her toward the ambulance, Pete looked around—the chaos giving way to relief, the senior community gathering to witness what had just unfolded.

He caught Jimmy standing next to Robert.

He offered both a chin lift. They grinned, their chests heaving with nerves and adrenaline. Then they smiled.

Jeremy said, “Go with Angie. We’ll process the scene and get all the witness statements.”

Terry agreed. “This will take a while.” He chuckled. “You go be with your girl while we deal with it.”

“I need to make sure the kids get home?—”

“We’ll call their parents before we talk to them, then we’ll get them home safely,” Terry assured. “We certainly want them safe and the DA not to have any reason to object to our investigation.”

Bertram, George, Harold, Hannah, and Rosetta moved closer. “We won’t let the kids out of our sight until their parent or guardian comes,” they promised.

Nodding, he let out a sigh of relief, but in his chest, the pounding hadn’t stopped. He’d come too close to losing something he didn’t even realize he needed so badly.