"Mr Tuttle? Mr Tuttle, it's Detectives Diaz and Reina. You called several times about noise complaints from your neighbour over several months. We're just checking in," Reina said for what felt like the tenth time, pulling out her gun from its holster and using it to knock on the large steel door again. Her knuckles were red from the last five minutes of knocking. "Seriously. You sure this is the right address?"

Diaz pouted. "Pretty sure it said apartment 101."

"Show me."

Diaz gazed at her from under his heavy brows impishly.

He left the tablet in the car. Of course, he left it in the car. She re-holstered her gun and turned back the way they'd come.

"Where you going?"

"No one's home, D. We might as well come back later before we clock off."

"At three in the morning? You sure?"

"If you want to camp out in front of that door, be my guest. I'll pick you up in a couple of hours."

At that, Diaz snapped into action and followed. "You know, if we turn up at three in the morning, Mr Tuttle will probably file complaints with the Captain that his officers disturbed his peace."

"Di Diaz-Reina." The device at Reina's hips vibrated and crackled alive, cutting Diaz off. The incoming message opened a piñata of memories of her rookie years for Reina. How often that long-range radio used to crackle and pop, and out poured some horror stories and not-so-horror stories. "Please advise your location. Possible hostage situation nearby—may require your intervention..."

"Great. Now even that thing's going off," besides her, Diaz grumbled. "Can't believe we're out here doing the grunt work again. I should be at home sipping Mia tai with a little yellow paper umbrella and streaming the Maldives on my wall instead of this."

"Is that your idea of a holiday?" Reina sniggered at the image of Diaz with his little paper umbrella and retrieved the long-range radio from her hips. She added, "Remind me to take you out for a drink. I know just the place that'll put itty-bitty umbrellas in your drinks without judging," before speaking into the radio, "Go for Rey."

***

"At location. Standby. We may need backup," Reina glanced at her partner as he near-whispered into his radio.

"Standing by."

They were in an even more dilapidated neighbourhood than the one they just left minutes earlier, if that was even possible. Here, houses were not only old but in various stages of physically succumbing to Mother Nature. Nature stripes had long run wild, abandoned cars and utes, some with missing tyres or entire panels, stood rusting against the harsh Aussie landscape. Traces of humanity lay crumbling, piece by piece.

"People live here?" The shock in Diaz's voice was obvious.

"Brighton," Reina said with reverence. She could still picture family trips out here, under the warm Aussie summer sun. Finding parking was always something Dad hated. Never enough. Never close enough. Never long enough. Never cheap enough. They'd walk towards the beach, towards the crowds gathered in droves; every restaurant full, chatter and noise spilling out onto the streets. Sounds of laughter, of family, mixed in with the warm ocean breeze and the gentle waves crashing on the white sandy shoreline. Ice cream, cold and sweet on their tongue, melting down the side of their cones faster than they could eat in the heat. She missed those days. They were simpler, they were carefree; they were full of joy. She missed them like she missed her mum's warm hugs and her brother's chiding comments, even though he loved her to bits. Gone. All gone within years. Now, all who remained were her and Anghad. Two tiny blips in the vast sea of faces etching put a living in a world gone to dogs, and politics.

"This was once a popular beach town, if you can believe that." Reina retrieved the gun from her holster upon hearing screeches of screams echo in the still night air. She held a finger to her lips and signalled for Diaz to approach quietly.

Diaz gave her a brisk nod, mouthing, "Any theories?"

It was their thing, coming up with scenarios they were about to walk into. Today was Reina's turn to come up with something.

"A robbery gone south. Maybe they robbed an immigrant household? Perhaps one of those new industrial-chic, ex-Haven residents home we just left," she started spit-balling in a low hiss, low enough that only Diaz, a couple of feet away from her, would hear as she rushed ahead on the edge of the nature strip. She was hoping it would mask their footsteps—and hoping that on this warm summer night, no surprises lurked in the tall, wild grasses. She hated snakes. Hated the look of them, hated the way they slithered, hated the feel of their cold skin crawling across her neck that one time she went petting zoo with her best friend's family and was too embarrassed to decline the wear-a-baby-python-on-you-neck-to-prove-you're-brave schtick.

"And maybe, whatever they stole is so valuable that they are in-fighting. One thing led to another and fights broke out, and now they are pummeling one another."

"Then who called in the police?" Diaz fired from her left as the cries for help grew louder. "Get behind me." He quickened his steps.

"I don't need you to protect me." Reina followed, right at his heels.

"Who says I'm protecting you?" Diaz was alert now, and despite his back to her, Reina could see the sharp focus ahead, even as he said, "Maybe I need you to protect me."

Within minutes, they entered the premises, an old U-shaped apartment block nearly a hundred years old. Two males were tousling on the ground in the open courtyard. Some units still seemed occupied above them; their stark fluorescent lights flooded out in patches across the bizarre scene that had attracted bobbing heads, one such head having sense enough to call the police.

"Are they—"

"Yup." Diaz gripped his gun tight, coming to a stop a few metres away from the duo. "Police. Hands where we can see them."

But no hands went up in surrender.

To Reina's utter shock, the men rolled around, one of a much stonier build with greying hair, another leaner and taller, with the advantage of height. In his hand glinted a sharp object, an object he seemed to plunge into the older man.

"Hands where we can see them!" Diaz yelled again.

The knife headed down regardless.

"Advice on your situation, Di Diaz-Reina," their radio crackled.

Screams echoed around the block, some from onlookers, some from the victim pinned under longer legs and stronger, rage-fueled arms.

"What do we do, Diaz?" Reina aimed her gun at the young man.

The knife came up and headed down again.

"D? He's going to kill him."

"I'm thinking," Diaz snapped. "Hands!"

When the knife went for round three to the older man's chest cavity, Reina instinctively pulled the safety off her device and placed a finger on the trigger.

"We don't want to shoot you, but we will if we have to," she said as calmly as possible at the younger man. "Put down the knife."

The young man held the knife to the man's throat and glared at her and Diaz. "Come close and I'll kill him and I'll kill you."

"Just put down your knife." Reina stopped moving but didn't lower her gun. "Let us get him some help. Let us get you help."

Perhaps it was the word 'help,' or perhaps it was the fact that she was a woman telling him what to do, or perhaps it was just the rage fueling him from inside. Instead of doing anything she or Diaz asked the kid to do, he gripped the knife tighter and plunged it into the man's chest. A move that forced Reina to act on instinct, instinct she had honed over years working on the force, instincts that had kept her and her child alive all these years. It didn't matter that she wasn't just a cop anymore; it didn't matter that she was now a detective. Those instincts were still as sharp as a tack.

She fired—all to save a life that could still slip away.

WC: 18, 705

A/N: I was trying to build tension between Anghad scenes and mumma bear scenes. Are they working?

Bub and I were under the weather this week so I struggled to whip this chapter into shape. By this time I wanted Reina to put two and two together and solve this, but it didn't go as planned. 

Next up: Her, and the boy she shouldn't have lured away.