Mini Boot

Chapter 45

The morning sun sliced through the precinct windows in warm golden stripes, lighting up the buzz of a typical Monday. Officers moved in practiced rhythm-coffee in hand, gear clipped on, radios murmuring as the station shifted into gear for another day of policing the city.

Hazel walked between Grey and Tim, a new glint on her ring finger catching the light.

No fuss. No speeches. Just Hazel, Tim, and Maya at the courthouse last week-followed by pancakes, syrup, and the kind of joy that didn't need an audience.

"Marshall should pick the restaurant for every sergeant's meeting," Grey said, lifting his coffee. "Did you try that breakfast sandwich?"

"No," Tim replied, adjusting his vest. "Hazel's got me on this Whole30 thing. No bread."

Hazel smirked, not even looking up. "Hey, you're the one who's been complaining about his sore back."

Grey chuckled. "Well, you're missing out. That sandwich had four different cheeses. Morning changed my life."

They turned a corner and passed Smitty, who was hunched over the front desk, sipping coffee out of a chipped mug that read "This might be wine."

"Hey, Smitty," Grey called.

"Yeah, Sarge?" Smitty didn't even look up.

"You can't park your personal vehicle in spaces designated for marked units."

"The RV isn't my vehicle," Smitty said, deadpan. "It's my house. #VanLife."

Grey exhaled sharply through his nose. "You can't park your house in marked spots either."

Hazel pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. Tim didn't bother trying.

"Any chance he retires soon?" Grey muttered under his breath.

"You aren't that lucky," Tim said.

Behind them, Smitty was already pulling out a folding lawn chair and unpacking a suspiciously large Tupperware container of lasagna.

The sirens howled as the black-and-white screeched to a stop. Hazel barely had time to unbuckle before Tim was already out of the cruiser, his voice sharp through the radio.

"Burglary. 10:00. Control, 7-Adam-100, we got a burglary in progress. 4-9-1-9-2 Figueroa. Send additional units."

She was right behind him, weapon drawn as they approached the rear of the storefront-shattered glass littering the pavement like crushed ice.

"Hey! Show me your hands!" Tim barked as a figure bolted from the shadows.

"Foot pursuit!" Thorsen's voice crackled from another unit nearby. "White adult male. Black hoodie, jeans, headed south!"

Hazel moved fast, but Tim was faster-cutting down the alley and launching himself at the suspect just as he tried to scale a chain-link fence.

"Get off of me!" the guy shouted, flailing.

Tim tackled him to the ground with practiced precision, but the moment his weight hit, something gave.

"Aah! Oh!" Tim cried out, his hand immediately flying to his lower back.

Hazel reached him in seconds, cuffing the suspect one-handed while kneeling beside her husband.

"It's okay. I got it, I got it." She twisted the suspect onto his stomach and tightened the cuffs, then turned to Tim. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth, clearly lying. "Just... tweaked my back on the takedown."

Then came the groan. Low, raw, and involuntary.

Hazel's eyes narrowed. "You're not fine. You're in agony." She grabbed her radio. "Control, 7-Adam-100, we need medical at our location for a back injury-officer down, non-life-threatening. I'm transporting to the hospital."

"Hazel-"

"No," she said firmly, sliding her arm under his shoulders. "You're not walking this off, Tim. You're going to the hospital. You just got married. Don't make me plan a funeral instead."

He gave her a pained but loving look, teeth clenched. "You gonna carry me, Nolan?"

She smirked. "If I have to. And you better believe I'll hold it over your head forever."

The scent of antiseptic was sharp in Hazel's nose as she helped lower Tim onto the gurney. He was pale and sweating, but still trying to play tough as they wheeled him through triage.

Then the alarm blared.

A metallic, mechanical screech cut through the hallways-followed by a loudspeaker voice: "Code Black. Lockdown in effect. All staff, secure patients. Remain where you are."

Hazel whipped her head around, instinct snapping to attention. Behind her, one of the nurses yelped, and chaos began to ripple down the corridor.

"Nolan!" Tim groaned, one hand gripping his side.

John Nolan appeared from a side hall, badge already in hand and jaw set tight. "You all right?"

"Yeah," Tim managed, teeth clenched. "Uh, fine. What-what's the lockdown status?"

"We've got everything checked off the list," John said, his eyes scanning the controlled chaos. "But someone attacked a paramedic in the ambulance bay and slipped inside. Security doesn't know where he is yet."

Hazel's head snapped toward him. "No. Call Grey. Tell him Tim isn't here as a supervisor-he's here as a patient."

Tim shifted, pushing himself upright with a wince. "Hazel, I told you, I'm fine-agh!"

His body doubled over with the effort, the pain radiating from his back sending a violent tremor through his frame.

"Oh, my God," Hazel breathed, catching his arm. He nearly toppled off the gurney.

"Okay. Okay, I'm not fine," he gasped. "Get me a doctor."

Hazel pressed the call button with one hand while her other braced against his chest, trying to keep him steady.

Across the ER, a nurse ducked behind the check-in desk as security passed through with weapons drawn. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.

John's voice was sharp into his radio. "Grey, be advised-Tim Bradford is injured and not fit for duty."

Hazel looked down at her husband, worry etched into every line of her face. She lowered her head, forehead brushing his temple.

"You're gonna be okay," she murmured. "You just got me. You're not allowed to tap out."

Tim gave her a shaky smile, his hand finding hers and holding tight as the hospital lights dimmed to emergency power.

"I'm not going anywhere, babe. Just... maybe not climbing fences anymore."