“Hey, buddy, it’s the police. It’s okay, you can come out now,” he said over the sounds of the screaming baby. Tristan walked into a pink room covered in boy band posters and headed straight for the double white closet doors. He set the safety on his shotgun and set it aside.

He lightly knocked on the closet door. “Hey, buddy, this is Detective Black. Are you ready to come out yet?”

“H-how do I know you’re really a police officer?”

Tristan went down on his haunches in front of the double doors. “Well, I guess you have me there. What if I show you my badge? Will that work?” he asked softly, trying not to frighten the poor kid anymore than he already was.

The baby still screamed as the boy considered it. “I guess,” was his response after a short pause.

Tristan pulled his badge off his belt and slipped it beneath the door. A few seconds later the door tentatively opened and a little boy in pajamas, who couldn’t have been older than ten years old, crawled out on his knees barely able to hold the screaming baby boy in his arms.

The boy sniffled as he struggled to stand up. Tristan reached out slowly and took the baby into his arms, not wanting to frighten the boy. The baby continued to cry, but Tristan didn’t care. He was so relieved the kids were safe and unharmed.

“I-I tried to get him to be quiet, but he’s hungry.”

“You did a great job, buddy,” Tristan said as he cradled the baby in one arm and took the little boy’s hand in the other. He gave the little boy’s hand a reassuring squeeze as they walked into the hallway.

*-*-*-*

Marty watched the house nervously as she tried to comfort the very distraught mother, who’d come home to a nightmare barely ten minutes ago. “My babies!” the woman cried. “I just left to pick up their medication! How could this happen?”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Marty said soothingly, giving the woman’s shoulder what she hoped was a comforting squeeze.

The woman shook as they watched several police officers drag two cuffed men out of the house. They appeared unharmed, which meant…..oh no, Tristan was shot. Marty forced herself not to panic. He was fine. He had to be.

“Are you okay?” the woman suddenly asked, making her realize that she was trembling as well.

Marty forced herself to smile. “Yes, I’m fine.”

Seconds later a teenage girl and a young boy ran out of the house and straight for their mother. “Mommy!” the little boy cried.

Marty dropped her arm from around the mother’s shoulders and watched with a small smile as the woman ran to her children. She covered their faces in kisses as she hugged the life out of them. After a moment, Marty’s gaze returned to the front door. She watched as several officers came and went, but there was no sign of Tristan.

“Where’s your brother?” the woman asked through sobs.

“He’s in there.” The little boy pointed towards the house as his face squished up. “He pooped! The officers are in there arguing over who has to change him.”

That startled a laugh out of the little boy’s mother. “I guess I should go in there.”

An officer standing nearby held up a hand to stop her. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m going to have to ask you to stay out here.”

“But, my baby-“

“The detective has it covered, ma’am,” the officer explained with an understanding smile.

Marty nervously licked her lips. “So, Detective Black is-“

“He’s fine, ma’am,” the officer said.

“The gunshots?” she asked, forcing herself to remain calm.

“The perps' guns went off when they surrendered. No one was hurt.” As the officer spoke, Marty felt herself relax against the squad car.

“There he is, Mommy! There’s the officer who saved us!” the little boy cried.

Marty watched as Tristan strolled out of the house with a baby in his arms. The baby was suckling a bottle while looking up at Tristan adoringly. Tristan kissed the baby on the head and rubbed his back. Marty was a little taken aback. She’d never in her life seen a man who looked more comfortable with a baby in his arms than Tristan did. He looked like he was made to be a father. It sent a weird rush through her body that she quickly squashed. This was not the time or man to have those feelings about.

“Thank you so much!” the woman said as she took the baby into her arms.

Tristan gently rubbed the baby’s head. “You’re very welcome.” He smiled down at the little boy and gently clasped his small shoulder. “Your son did a good job, ma’am. He kept the baby calm and did a great job by calling 911.”

Tristan noticed the daughter looked upset so he added, “Your daughter also kept the boys safe by not informing the men that they were in the house. That ultimately gave your son the opportunity to call for help.”

The woman put an arm around her daughter and gave her a hug. “How did they get in?”

Tristan absently rubbed his injured shoulder. “It seems they busted in through the basement. After my men get what they need, they’re going to attach a better lock for you, ma’am.”

“Thank you for everything, Detective,” the woman said through tears.

Tristan ruffled the young boy’s hair again. “You’re welcome.”

“Ah, lad, yer hurt again,” Shayne said a moment after he popped onto the scene.  “I can see the pain in yer eyes, lad. Ye need to get that looked at.”

Tristan couldn’t agree more. His shoulder was on fire from dragging those men into the living room. He wasn’t too surprised that Shayne had abandoned his Gilligan's Island marathon to come to him. He could sense when Tristan needed help. For some reason they were connected, always had been.

With a forced smile, he excused himself, leaving Marty to follow after him. Without a word, he tore off his body armor. He climbed into the passenger seat and waited for Marty. After a slight pause, she climbed in and adjusted the seat by sliding it forward several inches until she could reach the pedals.

She delicately cleared her throat. “Where to?”

Chapter 8

“Detective Black, stop squirming!” Janice snapped as she mauled his shoulder. Tristan buried his face in his office couch and gritted his teeth.

“Gad, that looks like it hurts,” Shayne said.

“Of course it hurts! I’ve got Attila the Hun trying to give me a massage!” Tristan snapped, uncaring at the moment that he was talking to Shayne in front of Janice, the masseuse from hell, and Marty.

Janice's hands stilled. “There’s no need to insult me.”

“Bullshit!” Tristan snapped. “Who the hell taught you how to give a massage? Freddy Kruger? For f**k’s sake, Janice, cut your goddamn nails!” he snapped the last part as she commenced with her backrub.

He wasn’t kidding about her nails. What kind of masseuse had inch long nails with flowers painted all over them? They kept digging into his skin, sending more fire straight into his injury.

“I don’t know, lad, maybe ye shouldn’t keep pissing her off. It looks like she’s being rougher,” Shayne said nervously.

“Ah, Janice?” Marty piped in from her desk.

“What?” Janice asked, not stopping in her assault, ah, massage.