Even as Isaac Rhodes thought it, he knew he would never do it—not unless Nate Washington dumped him. “C’mon, Rhodie,” Wash hissed from the darkened doorway. With a resigned sigh, Rhodes followed him, staying close behind as they climbed the narrow stairway that smelled like pot and urine. On the third floor, they flanked the door of apartment 304 and Rhodes drew his gun. Wash did his usual incomprehensible hand signals and Rhodes rolled his eyes. He didn’t know why his partner did that—it wasn’t as if this was their first time. Pivoting to face the door, Rhodes opened it with a single kick and then they were inside, moving fast. When they burst into the bedroom, Terry Glade had barely made it out of bed. His girlfriend started screaming, a piercing, air-raid siren of a shriek, and clutched the sheet to her drooping breasts. Wash tackled Terry, easily flipping the smaller man over onto his stomach and digging a knee into his back. Rhodes stayed back to cover the room. They didn’t need someone popping out of the bathroom with a semiautomatic.
