Free 24 Declassified: Head Shot (2009) by David Jacobs

seemed long for a police officer’s. He was clean-shaven, with smooth, bright pink skin. He looked more enraged than the two cops from the roadblock who’d actually made the arrest. That might have been because he had a big, dark patch of wetness staining the crotch and upper thighs of his trousers.
    The cop with the shotgun flashed a wolfish grin, showing a lot of teeth and little mirth. He said, “Holy cow, Fisk! What’d you do, piss your pants?”
    Fisk said, “Never you mind about that, Cole Taggart! I spilled a cup of coffee on myself when we took off after this lawbreaking son of a bitch!”
    “Sure you did.”
    Fisk indicated the female officer. “It’s true! Ask her— ”
    Taggart said, “Of course Trooper Stallings will cover for you, her being your partner and all.” Taggart was the type who obviously liked working the needle, at least on Fisk.
    The pale- eyed cop said, “That must’ve been some hot coffee, Fisk, from the way you’re walking around all hunched over and bowlegged, like a little old man.”
    Fisk said, “Hot? I’ll tell the world it was hot! I like to scalded my— ”
    “Spare me the details. Save it for the medical report.”
    Taggart chuckled. “That should be some report. Good thing Bryce and me was here to catch this speed demon.”
    Fisk said, “We’d have caught him. No way he was getting away after causing me to ruin a perfectly good pair of pants!”
    Taggart said, “Let’s hope that was all that was ruined. Ain’t that so, Sharon?”
    The female officer said coolly, “You’re the one who’s interested in what’s in his pants, not me, Cole.”
    Taggart said, “Ouch! That’s one on me. Though I guess it’s Fisk who’s the one who ought to be saying ouch.”
    The pale- eyed cop, Bryce, said, “All right, can the back chat.” The others fell silent. Bryce was in charge.
    Jack thought that this was hardly the time or place to try explaining that he was a CTU agent who’d been chasing an accomplice to murder. He said to Bryce, “You’ll find my ID in my wallet.”
    Bryce said, “Shut up.” There was no rancor in his tone, which was the same as when he’d told the officers to can the chatter.
    Fisk sidled up alongside Jack, peering narrow-eyed at him. “He’s got a gun, Lieutenant.” He was speaking to Bryce.
    Bryce said, “Is that a fact? That’s a fine piece of detective work, Fisk. Keep it up and you’ll make sergeant in no time.” His voice drawled with mild sarcasm. He reached under Jack’s coat, freeing the pistol from the shoulder rig. He turned it over in his hands, eyeing it. “Nice piece.” He held it under his nose and sniffed it. “Been fired recently, too.”
    Taggart said, “Looks like we got us a real desperado.”
    Jack said, “I can explain—”
    Bryce said, “That’ll take some pretty tall talking, stranger. But you’ll get your chance.” He handed the pistol to Fisk, saying, “Here, hold this.”
    Taggart said, “That there’s what we call evidence, Trooper.”
    Fisk took the gun. His heavy-lidded eyes were smoldering, resentful. He called Jack a dirty name and slammed the flat of the gun against the side of Jack’s face. Jack went down.

THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 6 A.M. AND 7 A.M. MOUNTAIN DAYLIGHT TIME
     
    Mountain Lake, Colorado
     
    The pale- eyed cop said, “Is my face red!”
    It was just a figure of speech. His face wasn’t red, not really, not the way it had been earlier when he’d held a gun to Jack’s head. That had been a product of the heat of the moment, the adrenalized rush of apprehending a suspect. His complexion had since reverted to its normal color, the rugged bronze tones of one who spends much time exposed to the elements in the out-of-doors. His eyes were still pale, though, with clear gray irises that accented the prominence of dark pupils.
    His name was Bryce Hardin, and he was a lieutenant in the state police, the head of a Mobile Response Team that had been formed as a