The moment Helen's trembling voice came through the phone, Hawk was already moving.
Screech!
The black Audi A8 skidded hard across the asphalt, tires howling as it spun in a sharp turn and came to a halt right in front of Palm Street 521A. The car slid over the grass and stopped at the garage door.
By then, Hawk and Gwen were no longer inside.
New Amsterdam Hospital.
Before Gwen could even blink, the world blurred—and when her vision refocused, she found herself standing at the hospital corridor, right in front of Helen, who still clutched her phone, frozen mid-call.
"Mom!"
"Gwen!"
Helen, usually calm and graceful, now looked completely shattered. She turned, saw her daughter appear out of nowhere, and didn't even question how—it didn't matter. She just broke down and hugged her tightly.
Her voice shook. "Your father's in surgery."
"What happened?"
Gwen's voice trembled as well, her arms tightening around her mother.
Hawk's gaze turned toward the glowing red "Emergency" sign above the operating room doors. With his Sixth Sense—Vision, he saw everything clearly.
On the operating table lay George Stacy—unconscious, intubated, and surrounded by frantic doctors.
Hawk's senses penetrated deeper, scanning the injuries.
Abdomen—perforated.
Shoulder—through-and-through.
Neck—grazed.
One to the gut, one to the shoulder, one at the throat.
Precise. Lethal. Professional.
Hawk exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening as he pulled his focus back. His eyes followed Gwen's toward the woman standing nearby—a detective keeping watch beside Helen.
Detective Hale.
The name fit—she was a light-skinned Black woman, one of the best under George's command in the 21st Precinct. She was also close to Helen, so Hawk had no reason to distrust her.
As he always said—his morality had flexibility.
And right now, all that mattered was George.
Ignoring how suspiciously fast they had arrived, Hale began explaining what she knew.
"I was at the 21st when the call came in," she said grimly. "The shooting happened over in the 12th Precinct's territory."
Details were scarce, but here's what she'd learned so far:
Earlier that morning, two uniformed officers from the 12th were on patrol. They stopped near a multi-level parking structure to grab coffee—when they suddenly heard gunfire inside.
They immediately radioed in the shooting code.
By the time backup arrived, the gunfire had stopped—
and both patrol officers were down.
George Stacy was there too.
He was also lying in a pool of blood.
The arriving units called out the Code 999.
Every cop knew that code—
Officer Down.
It was the most serious call in the system.
Instantly, every nearby squad mobilized, and an ambulance from New Amsterdam Hospital rushed to the scene.
Three officers were taken away.
Two declared dead on arrival.
One—George Stacy—was barely alive.
The doctor who recognized him radioed the 21st Precinct, and soon word spread—their captain had been shot.
By the time Helen arrived, so had Hale.
"Detective Mahoney's already at the scene," Hale added quietly. "The deputy commissioner's negotiating with the 12th's captain, trying to claim jurisdiction—but it's a long shot. The 12th lost two men. They'll never let go of it."
She was right.
The 21st was furious their captain had been hit.
The 12th was furious two of their own were dead.
Emotions would be explosive on both sides.
Hawk frowned. "Mahoney's there?"
Hale nodded. "Yes."
Hawk took Gwen's phone, stepped aside, and pulled up Mahoney's number.
He'd met both Hale and Mahoney at George's home before—they were his two most trusted detectives, the backbone of the precinct's success rate.
At the parking structure, Mahoney was standing near the bloodstained concrete when his phone buzzed.
He frowned, saw the caller ID, and stepped away before answering. "Mahoney speaking."
"Detective Mahoney, it's Hawk."
Mahoney exhaled heavily, relieved. He'd half-expected the call to be from Gwen or Helen—and he wouldn't have known what to say if it was.
"Hawk. You and Gwen made it to the hospital? How's Helen? How's George? What's the doctors saying?"
"They're both worried sick," Hawk said. "George is still in surgery."
He paused. "What happened?"
Mahoney rubbed his temple. "I was afraid you'd ask that."
"Why?"
"Because I don't know yet."
"What?"
"I just got here. Still trying to figure out why the captain was even in the 12th's territory this morning."
"You don't know?"
"No. I checked with his assistant—George had a budget meeting scheduled for this morning. But last night, he called in to cancel it. Didn't say why—just cleared his whole morning."
Hawk's eyes narrowed. "Could it be related to that case you two were investigating? The one from before Christmas?"
He remembered—George had been working that case before Hawk and Gwen went to Smallville. When they came back, George was still working it.
As captain, George shouldn't have been taking field risks—but old habits died hard.
In his own words: "The captain's desk is the last stop of my career. Might as well make it count."
Mahoney hesitated. "You mean that one? The case was closed."
"Closed? When?"
"Last month. Officially."
"Officially?" Hawk pressed.
Mahoney sighed. "You know how it goes. We chased a lead for three months. Then suddenly a suspect turned up—full confession, evidence lined up perfectly. Pressure from above was heavy. So George closed it."
He paused, then lowered his voice. "But he didn't buy it. He told me there was a bigger fish behind it and wanted me to keep digging quietly."
Hawk frowned. "And you don't know what he found?"
"No. But I do know he mentioned a contact—some kind of informant."
"Who?"
"No idea. We were supposed to meet over lunch to compare notes. Then this happened."
"So George ends up in surgery."
"Yeah." Mahoney's voice dropped to a whisper. "I think someone set him up."
"The informant?"
"Most likely. Yesterday, George said his informant had finally reached out. He was trying to arrange a meet and get more info."
"I offered to go," Mahoney added. "But George said the informant would only trust him."
"And now…"
"Yeah. I checked his office for any trace of the contact—nothing."
"The study," Hawk muttered.
Mahoney blinked. "What?"
"You said he canceled his schedule last night. That means he probably got the message at home. If there's any trace of this informant, it'll be in his study."
Mahoney's eyes lit up. "Good thinking."
"I'll check it," Hawk said firmly. "If I find anything, I'll call you."
"Appreciate it," Mahoney replied. "I'm still here trying to wrestle jurisdiction from the 12th. If not, we'll push for joint investigation."
"Understood. Talk soon."
"Talk soon."
Hawk ended the call and returned to Gwen and Helen.
The red light above the surgery room still glowed.
The hallway was silent—except for the quiet sobs of a mother and the steady hum of hospital machines.
(End of Chapter)
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