The Rookie (The Intelligence Unit #1) - Kimberly Kincaid Page 0,3

crowds, but luckily, most people deferred to the flashing red and blue lights on the cruiser. Xander measured both his breaths and his heartbeats in time with protocol. Inhale, survey the entire scene upon arrival for potential threats. Thump-thump, clear the scene so paramedics can administer first aid to the victim. Exhale, take statements. Canvas the area. Search.

Do whatever it takes to help the person who needs it.

Each neighborhood grew shabbier than its predecessor as they went deeper into North Point. Xander’s pulse always worked differently up here, as if the neighborhood that had given him the rough edges he’d tried so hard to sand down could see right fucking through him. Sure, he’d gotten out. Lived in a nice apartment. Had a good job. Food in his fridge. An eighty-year-old neighbor who checked on him as much as he checked on her, because that’s what people did downtown.

And after two years, North Point only needed two seconds to make him feel like an imposter.

“Okay,” Xander said, dumping himself out of his thoughts and into the right-now of Broadmoor Street. “The house should be right up here, on the left.” He slanted a gaze over everything the cruiser’s over-bright headlights touched. “I don’t see anyone.” After a glance in the side-view mirror, he added, “But it looks like the ambo’s right behind us.”

“Copy that,” Dade said. “Keep your head on a swivel.”

“Always,” Xander promised.

Putting the cruiser in Park in front of the nondescript single-story house, Dade radioed in their arrival, then got out of the car. Xander moved in tandem with her, both of them treating the scene to one last heavy visual before turning toward the ambulance that had pulled to a stop at the curb.

“Hey, Xander,” came a familiar voice from the driver’s side of the ambo. Cops and firefighters were like peas and carrots around the Thirty-Third, and EMS totally counted. Quinn Slater leaned through the open window, her husband/paramedic partner, Luke, sitting right beside her. “You want us to hang back?”

“For a minute, yeah. We’ll move as fast as we can to secure the scene.”

Dade tilted her head toward the house to indicate that this wasn’t a tea party, and right. Time to go.

He fell into step beside her, his heart striking a brisk rhythm against his ribs as they approached the front door. The house was quiet, the single porch light casting a dingy glow over the worn boards, the flimsy screen door, and—

“Door,” Dade murmured. Her hand moved to her weapon at the sight of the splintered front door jamb and the sliver of light spilling onto the porch from the interior of the house.

Xander didn’t have time to register the knock-knock/who’s-there between his adrenal glands and his pulse. At Dade’s nod, he shouldered his way over the threshold, his own weapon drawn and all five senses on full alert. The house was small enough for them to clear it quickly—just one front room, a kitchen, and a small dining area. Dade lifted her chin at the short hallway, which presumably led to a bedroom, and Xander metered the tightness in his lungs with a nod in reply. She led the way into the lone room in the corridor, moving soundlessly to the door on the far side of the room as Xander took the opposite side. Searching the tiny closet behind him took seconds, and he moved to the far side of the bed to clear the space.

Only a woman lay unconscious on the narrow stretch of carpet, a small but very real pool of blood beneath a wound at her temple, and Xander’s body moved before his brain even realized the command to do so.

“Woman down,” he said, at the same time Dade said, “Clear.” Holstering his weapon, he yanked the pair of nitrile gloves he always had in his pocket over both hands, then knelt carefully beside the victim.

His exhale came fast and hard. “She has a pulse.”

Relief flickered through Dade’s dark eyes for the briefest of seconds before she reached for the radio on her shoulder to give Quinn and Luke the all clear. Xander stabilized the victim by cradling her head in his palms, trying not to let his gaze linger on the jagged gash spanning from her temple all the way into her matted blond hair.

She stirred at the contact, her eyes flying wide a half-second later.

“Whoa, okay, it’s okay,” Xander said in a rush. “My name is Xander Matthews, and I’m a police officer. I’m here to