Chapter 103: Valentine’s Mishap (Part 5)

John seized the opportunity to drive his point home: "In fact, we've already visited the bank. One teller seemed very suspicious. Jack and I are nearly certain he's the perpetrator. I suggest we compare the interactions of the victims from the other three robbery cases to see if they dealt with this teller when withdrawing their money."

Jack added with a sly grin, delivering the final blow: "We can also check with the coroner. I noticed at the crime scene that the victim had defensive wounds, indicating they fought back. The suspect likely left DNA under their fingernails. And the teller we saw had obvious scratch marks on his neck and arms—not something left by a cat."

"We also got confirmation from the bank's parking lot security guard—after treating him to some cookies—that the teller drives a blue Honda," Jack continued.

Detective Calderon's face turned red with embarrassment. She grabbed the stack of files from Angela, muttered, "I'll verify this," and hastily retreated.

Angela beamed and high-fived John and Jack in celebration.

With the issue temporarily settled and a couple of hours left before their shift ended, Jack swiped a few muffins from Lucy and went back on patrol with John.

These muffins tasted pretty good, reminding Jack of a type of cookie he had eaten as a child called "Evergreen," which had a blend of almond shortbread flavor.

However, their Valentine's Day was far from over. With less than an hour left in their shift, the dispatch call came through once more.

"7-A-26, we have a reported home invasion. A female caller is locked in the bathroom, stating there is an intruder in her home."

"7-A-26 responding, en route," John replied, picking up the radio.

Jack stuffed the remaining muffin into his mouth, expertly switched on the siren, checked the traffic behind them, and executed a sharp U-turn, drawing gasps from pedestrians as they headed to the scene.

Ten minutes later

"Almost choked," Jack muttered after gulping down half a bottle of water to clear his throat. Not wanting to waste any time, he got out, drew his Glock, checked the magazine, and contacted dispatch again.

"7-A-26 on scene. Inform the resident to stay in the bathroom and not to come out."

In truth, Jack felt a bit conflicted. One of the strangest things about this world was how often low-level patrol officers like him encountered major cases involving gunfire and high stakes. His shooting skills were now so honed that he could easily score a headshot, which often landed him on administrative leave. In just over six months as a cop, he had taken two months of leave due to shooting incidents, a situation everyone around him seemed to take in stride, even though it was anything but normal.

But when the time came to shoot, he would shoot. After all, administrative leave was sweet. He was already itching to use some of his savings to convert his basement into a gun room, just like in those Hollywood movies where a push of a button would reveal glass cases full of impressive weaponry.

Positioned on either side of the door, John and Jack exchanged glances. John held his gun ready as Jack slowly turned the door handle. With a click, the door swung open to reveal a typical small LA bungalow.

The house, with its seven or eight rooms, was neatly kept. They searched upstairs and downstairs but found no signs of a break-in. Even the master bedroom showed no evidence of disturbance.

Perplexed, they exchanged looks. Jack approached the master bathroom and knocked on the door. "Police. We've checked the whole house. It's empty. You can come out now."

There was a rustling sound from inside, and then the door slowly opened. Jack's eyes widened in surprise, and John's gaze darted nervously, unsure where to look.

Standing before them was the alluring blonde woman, heavily made up and wearing a skin-tight, floral mini dress with cutouts that left little to the imagination.

Ignoring Jack entirely, she sashayed forward, her hips swaying seductively, and draped her arm over John's shoulder.

"Officer Nolan, it's you rescuing me again~~~"

"Should I leave?" Jack holstered his gun and began tiptoeing backward.

John was dumbstruck, fumbling awkwardly with his Glock, trying and failing several times to holster it.

"There's still seven minutes left before our shift ends. If you hurry, you might have enough time..." Jack teased, turning to sneak away, but John grabbed him just in time. This was no longer a matter of a few boxes of cigars as hush money. If Jack bolted, even with his bodycam on, John would be left in an indefensible position.

Unlike a deserted stretch of interstate where a highway cop could get away with fooling around with a speeder without any consequences, this was not the place for such shenanigans.

John managed to diplomatically usher the woman back into the living room and had her sit down.

"Your false alarm has legal consequences!" Jack began his stern lecture, trying to keep a straight face as his mind replayed the absurdity of the situation. Not only had she delayed their end-of-shift plans, but her voluptuous figure had also left a lasting impression on his psyche. Worse yet, this was the first time a woman had completely ignored him while he was with John.

"It wasn't a false alarm. I heard someone inside," the woman insisted, still attempting to defend herself.

"Oh, just coincidentally when Officer Nolan happened to be on patrol nearby? I bet if I checked your phone, I'd find an app tracking police patrols."

"You waited for an opportunity, saw us in the vicinity, and then made the call," Jack accused. He hadn't known about such apps until John had inadvertently mentioned them while discussing a setup involving the "Southern Front."

It was time for the good cop, bad cop routine, and Jack willingly took on the role of the bad cop. This woman needed to understand the gravity of her actions, or John would be endlessly harassed in the future. Seasoned cop Tim had plenty of stories about dealing with such situations, and everyone had heard them.

Seeing the woman fall silent, John's natural inclination to play the good cop kicked in. His quick scan of the living room had already given him an idea of the situation.

"Let me handle this," John said, and Jack nodded, stepping aside. He didn't want to be too harsh either.

The items by the fireplace had caught his eye during their search. There was a folded American flag in a wooden frame and several medals.

"Is that your husband?" John asked, looking away from the mantelpiece.

"Yes," the woman replied, her demeanor darkening.

"Killed in action?" John continued.

The woman nodded. "It happened just a year ago. Since then, I've been living in a daze, until today."

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