William Bratton is taking over the helm of the NYPD, what should be his top priority?
An "ambush" alarm brought West St. Paul officers to a credit union where they discovered a robbery in progress.
The red dot of the suspect's laser sights pinballed back and forth between the Crown Vic and Hernandez.
Weber fixated on the short barrel of Johnson's shotgun, mentally committing himself to fire his Glock if Johnson elevated the weapon to a certain level.
Kennedy could see something was wrong. Molander gave her a "we've got a liar" smirk, and she knew that anytime a passenger started playing a felon's game of Truth or Consequences, there's usually a reason.
Barton's gun swung toward him, and its barrel spit fire. Flashes of amber split the night as Barton's Ruger blazed at Dunnigan a mere 10 feet away.
Officer Holly Mong had just gotten into the vehicle in her driveway and no sooner closed the driver's side door than it flew back open. She was being carjacked.
Ellison then went to work, ramming the door with his shoulder. He repeatedly charged the door, slamming it as hard as his body could withstand.
Sgt. Burnett had worn the vest religiously throughout his career, but on this day he told his wife that for the first time he would go to work without it. She wasn't happy with his decision.
Lessman inched forward. Beyond the refrigerator and deeper into the kitchen was a large table that had been upended on its side. He suspected that the table was shielding someone behind it.
The patrol life of a trainee is never easy. But when you don't have the luxury of getting along with your training officer, it can be damned difficult.