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Sergeant Ed Osborn glanced back at the radio. The strain in Tucker’s voice told Osborn they’d both be spending the rest of the watch at the hospital. He dropped his pen and bolted to the dispatcher’s desk in the next room. She handed him a paper with the address.
Osborn ran for the parking lot and looked at the script on the paper. What do they want at a sporting goods warehouse?
He scorched his fingers on the sun-heated door latch and slid into his car, which could do double-duty for an oven. Even the sea breeze off the coast couldn’t do much for that. Seconds later, he had his car started and flipped the switches for both lights and sirens.
He picked up the radio mic. “Car One. Send me one unit for backup.”
The dispatcher relayed the call.
“Car Five. Will handle hostile Eshuvani call with Car One.”
Osborn nodded. Out of that pair, at least Hollis had some experience with hostile Eshuvani. He’d nearly gotten his head blown off to get that experience, but at least he knew to keep his distance.
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