by Diana Duncan
“No.”
All righty then. The man needed to learn how to play. To laugh. She’d work on warming him up.
Though a few minutes ago, he’d surpassed warm and rocketed to scorching. And damn he smelled yummy. She’d never before noticed a guy’s scent, but now possessed new respect for pheromone theory. Aidan O’Rourke was packing major sensory ammo. And her neurons had surrendered without a shot being fired.
They entered the cozy yellow kitchen. Shelly sat at the table, a wooden bowl piled with shiny scarlet apples at her elbow lending both color and a crisp, fruity aroma. The homeowner had decorated the small house in bright colors and homey accents. Zoe had felt welcome the second she’d walked in.
Unexpected longing ambushed her. She yearned to put down roots. To have a place that was hers, a place that fit. A place no one could snatch away. She straightened her spine. This wasn’t about her right now.
Liam, O’Rourke brother number three, sauntered in the back door with his K-9 partner Murphy alert at his heels. She knew better than to pet the big German Shepherd when he was working, his posture all business. The dog’s intelligent brown eyes watched Liam, awaiting a hand signal or verbal order. “No explosives or booby traps, at least outside the residence.”
Aidan’s youngest brother Grady, who was a paramedic as well as a helicopter pilot and SWAT officer stood on the other side of the kitchen, speaking low, rapid-fire medical jargon into a cell phone.
Each time she watched Aidan and his brothers in action, her admiration grew. She’d love to dip her toes into the incredible gene pool that had produced four handsome, courageous, selfless men. The boys all resembled pictures she’d seen of their dad. In contrast to her murky background, the O’Rourkes had inherited awesome DNA to pass along to future generations.
Liam flashed her a five-hundred-watt smile. His sunny grin was dazzling, yet her previously jazz-dancing hormones had taken five. Funny, she’d always preferred bright, sunlit days—but lately, she’d grown partial to storm clouds.
Liam tweaked her with their running joke. “Hey, Woodward, how’s Bernstein?” The opposite of Officer Scowly, easygoing Liam was rarely without a grin, and accepted her as one of the gang. He offered no-strings affability, a rare and valuable commodity in her experience.
“Hey yourself, Deputy Dog. Want to give me breaking details on this situation?”
Aidan and Con had rich, warm brown eyes like their dad. Grady’s eyes were crystal gray-green, and Liam’s were deep, true emerald. Now they twinkled at her. “And get pounded by A-Man? Pass.”
Zoe offered Shelly a wave and an encouraging smile, glad to see the previously wan woman looking more hopeful. A testosterone tsunami could do that to a gal. If the O’Rourke brothers couldn’t save her children, nobody could.
Aidan turned to Zoe, his handsome features carved in granite. Their near-miss kiss might never have happened. “Stay quiet, you can stay. One intrusion, you’re gone. Clear?”
She nodded. She didn’t expect his attention on her in the midst of a hostage crisis, nor would she respect him if it were. Yet his cold dismissal stung. “As ice.”
Greene drew the men aside to show them several diagrams. As Aidan’s formidable focus targeted the intel, he seemed to forget Zoe existed. She caught a peek of the emergency dynamic entry plan, formed in case the team had to storm in and rescue the kids.
Where was Wyatt Cain, the team’s negotiator? He was essential during a hostage crisis. She stayed still, barely breathing, not drawing attention to herself as Greene continued to speak to Aidan.
“Cain is stuck on the other side of the city with Bravo Team. You’ll have to negotiate.”
Well that answered one question.
Aidan didn’t bat a long, dark, gorgeous eyelash. “Brief me.”
“The wife says since Joe got fired, he’s continually spiraled downhill. Another potential job flatlined yesterday, which sent him over the edge.”
“We’ve seen suspects crash and burn over less.”
“True, that. He’s been on a four-day bender. Booze, coke, uppers and downers ... which reached critical mass last night. Shelly made some extra tips at her waitressing job the other night, and he stole her cash for his binge, then accused Shelly of cheating on him for those tips and beat the shit out of her. A real prince.” Greene’s words were even, his expression fierce. “When he finally fell asleep early this morning, she left the kids with a neighbor and went to the pharmacy for a prescription. He woke up and discovered her gone, saw the kids playing outside in the neighbor’s yard and snatched them. The neighbor called dispatch and said he threatened her with a large knife. Joe refused to allow Shelly in, or let the kids leave the house.”
Aidan frowned. “With all that crap in his system, his behavior is totally unpredictable. And when his high plummets, Christ only knows how he’ll react. He’s a freakin’ time bomb.”
“Gets worse. The medication Shelly went to refill was for the four-year-old, Emma. Kid has asthma. There’s an inhaler inside the house, but we don’t know if Davis has allowed her access. And it’s nearly empty.”
Nausea churned in Zoe’s stomach. How could a husband and father do such horrible things to his family? A tremor shuddered over her. Stupid question. She and her mom had spent their lives on the run from her own father.
The fact that Zoe didn’t know who he was, or anything about him only intensified the terror.
The past is over. I’m done running from the bogeyman.
She forced her attention back to Shelly.
“Doc Holliday is briefed and prepared to treat an asthma attack?” Aidan glanced at Grady, who nodded. All SWAT team members had code names. Aidan was Alpha Eight, because he was the last of the eight Alpha Team members inside, last to take cover. The rear guard, the man who protected everyone’s backs.
Zoe had researched the teams since the mall incident. The more she learned, the more awe she felt. SWAT officers possessed amazing bravery and dedication. Unflinching in the face of death, they performed the most dangerous jobs, took the hairiest risks. When other cops dialed 911, SWAT answered the call. True-blue warriors, they did their jobs and left. Without special accolades.
Riverside SWAT officers made a whopping dollar more per hour for life-threatening duty, and donated hundreds of free hours of their own time to train. And unless a situation escalated, like today, nobody even knew the officers’ lives had been on the line.
Soon, she’d have enough material to propose a week-long feature to her boss. She burned to inform the public about the sacrifices these men made to protect them. They deserved admiration and respect. She’d lived in more than a dozen cities and never paid any attention to SWAT teams until recently.
She reported the truth, but these selfless men lived it.
Aidan continued his briefing with Captain Green. “Has Davis beaten his wife before?”
“Affirmative. Has a history of domestic violence.”
A muscle ticked in Aidan’s cheek. “What about the girls, he smack them around, too?”
“The wife says no.”
“One thing going for those little ones.” His voice was tighter than his jaw. “Let’s hope he doesn’t cross that line today.”
“We’ve tossed in the throw phone. Go ahead and attempt to establish contact.”
Zoe glided to the table and sat beside Shelly. The woman reached for her hand, and Zoe gave it a squeeze.
Aidan turned away to access the throw phone. “Hello, Joe?” Concentration hummed in every controlled movement. “This is Officer Aidan O’Rourke with Riverside PD. How’re you doing?”
The throw phone had a speaker, so everyone in the room could hear Joe Davis’s slurred answer. “Fuckin’ ball-and-chain called 5-0, huh? Figures.”
“I’m here to help.” Aidan kept his tone low and soothing. “In order to do that, I have to know what’s happening.”
“The bitch has been sleepin’ around on me,” Davis said in a self-pitying whine. “But nobody
gives a shit about me.”
“I care.” Sincerity rang true in Aidan’s words. “I want everybody to walk out of your house safe and sound, including you. How are Kylie and Emma?”
Shelly’s desperate grip on Zoe’s hand tightened.
“I can’t get a fuckin’ job nowhere, man. They won’t even hire me to sling goddamned fries.”
“That’s frustrating, and must make you feel angry and powerless.”
“Fuck, yeah.” Davis’s voice rose and fell randomly. “I got no money, and my wife don’t want me no more.”
“Your wife is very worried about you. Of course you want to talk about your problems, Joe, and I want to listen. But I need to know your daughters are okay. Are they?”
“Can’t you hear the brats? Shut the fuck up!” His shriek was muffled, as if he’d moved the receiver away from his mouth.
“They’re just little girls, and they’re scared. They don’t understand that you’re not angry at them.” Aidan paused, presumably to let the statement sink in. “Listen, Joe, I know you don’t want to hurt your daughters. And if you do hurt Kylie and Emma, there won’t be any way I can help you. The police officers surrounding your house will take you to jail.”
Zoe pursed her lips. For a man who ruthlessly restrained his own feelings, Aidan excelled at pinpointing Joe’s.
“Aw, they’re okay. The little one’s whining about not breathing too good, but she always snaps out of it.”
Shelly’s hand spasmed in Zoe’s. Zoe slid an arm across her shoulders and hugged her. “It’ll be all right,” she whispered in Shelly’s ear. “Aidan will find a way to save your children.”
* * *
Over an hour later, Zoe’s certainty was sorely tested. Aidan had tried every damn thing to convince Joe to let the children go, or at least allow Grady inside to treat Emma. Aidan balanced on a tightrope, sympathizing with Joe while at the same time controlling him, and doing an incredible job. But Davis wouldn’t budge.
“Work with me here, Joe. Send out Emma and Kylie, and I’ll give you something you want.”
“Hey, man, you got any Z-bars?”
“You know I can’t give you drugs.”
“Why the fuck not? Everybody knows cops got the best quality candy.”
Aidan ignored the jibe. “How about some smokes? Or maybe you’re hungry? Let’s order out for burgers, or a pizza.”
“You’re starting to piss me off, pig!” Joe shouted like a sulky, spoiled child.
Shelly had remained quiet throughout the entire ordeal. But as Joe’s anger escalated, her agitation grew more apparent. Pale and visibly shaken, she leaned over and whispered in Zoe’s ear, a mere thread of sound. “When Joe is stoned, he loves to play his electric guitar and perform for his loser buddies. Maybe the cops can use that.”
Zoe grabbed a pen, scribbled a note on the back of a blank intel report, then jumped up and passed it to Aidan.
He skimmed it. Nodded. “I understand you play the guitar. What’s your jam?”
“I’m all about the hard rock, dude.”
“I get that. Send out the girls, and you can play and sing for us. Over fifty cops out here. Lotta rock fans in this crowd.”
Not only tempting to Davis, but a subtle way to let him know he was totally outnumbered. Her cop was good!
“Fuckin’ rad idea, man! Are there reporters? I can wail on live TV!”
“I might be able to put that together, if you release Kylie and Emma.”
“I wanna be on TV first. Then ... I might let ’em go.”
Aidan rolled his shoulders. “All right. Can you hold on while I try to arrange it?”
“Sure.” Joe giggled drunkenly. Obscenely. “Don’t got nowhere else to go.”
Aidan pressed a hold button and turned to Greene. “No way. God knows what he’d do on live TV. Besides, if we televise him, every lunatic in the city will be clamoring for their shot at ‘The Voice, Cops Version.’”
Zoe tiptoed back and whispered to Shelly, “Do you have cable TV?”
Shelly whispered back, “We used to, but can’t afford it anymore.”
Zoe strode up behind Aidan. “Aidan,” she ventured. “I think I can help.”
He swiveled, face stony. “I told you to butt-out.”
“I have an idea.”
“You have plenty of those.” He dismissed her with a brusque wave. “But I’m not interested in good ratings.”
“Hey, bro?” Liam shifted his stance, and Murphy’s ears twitched. “Chill, and at least listen to what she has to say. You’re sure as hell not getting anywhere.”
Aidan shot Liam a look that would melt steel, but turned back to Zoe. He crossed his arms over that broad chest. “Okay, let’s hear it, Lois Lane. What’s the million dollar brainstorm?”
She tamped down her own anger. Personal grievances could wait. They had a singular goal—save those children.
“The Davises used to have cable TV. With a couple hundred feet of coaxial cable, connectors, and a splitter, you can hook a camera feed into their cable jack from outside, and also to a monitor inside the SWAT armored truck. Get a cameraman into the house, and the closed circuit will ‘broadcast’ Joe’s performance to both. He’ll think he’s on live TV.”
Aidan studied her. Was that a flare of admiration in his eyes? “Gives Davis what he wants, gets an officer inside with a camera, and Command can get a visual on the kids.” He offered her a nod of respect. “Smart, Zagretti.”
His rare compliment gave Zoe a case of the warm fuzzies.
Pathetic, Z.
Greene turned to Liam. “Procure the equipment, set it up in the war wagon. And send a uniform to get A-Man’s civvies out of his car!”
Zoe swallowed so hard it hurt. Aidan would be the officer going inside with the camera. The man facing the threat.
Liam jogged out with Murphy trotting at his side while Aidan told Joe he’d soon be on “live TV.” Again, he tried to convince him to set the girls free. No luck.
In less than fifteen minutes, SWAT had borrowed a camera from the news team— who were still confined behind the police barricade—and the camera had been connected to the Davis’s cable jack, then to a wide-screen monitor inside the huge armored truck the guys referred to as the war wagon. A remarkably short time to pull everything together.
Zoe’s stomach tightened. To a tiny girl trapped with a raging junkie and struggling for breath, it would seem like an eternity.
Shelly waited in the temporary command center house with several uniformed officers. The SWAT team and Zoe reconvened inside the war wagon after the driver parked it in the neighbor’s driveway facing outward, so the team could storm out the back doors and into Davis’s house if they had to conduct an assault-and-rescue.
She’d imagined the vehicle’s interior as dark and cramped, with assault rifles and battering rams hanging on the walls. Instead, white cabinetry lined the clean, airy space, and the dove-gray ceiling sported bright LED lights. If she didn’t know that the cabinets bristled with weaponry, she’d think she was in a cozy office.
The body-armored team, including Grady and Liam, with Murphy alert at his feet—dressed in his own dog-sized bulletproof vest—waited on padded gray benches on either side of the back doors. Toward the front of the vehicle’s interior, Zoe assisted Aidan and Captain Greene with the equipment hookup. A narrow counter held a laptop and the separate screen where Greene would monitor Aidan’s progress.
Now dressed in jeans, with a Kevlar vest beneath his white shirt, Aidan stood next to Zoe as she showed him how to operate the camera. Her palms sweated with the effort to appear unaffected. This was the first occasion they’d spent any time in close proximity, and even under the tense circumstances it was an exercise in sensual torture.
She pressed a button and the team swam into view. Captured in the viewfinder, Liam gave a thumbs-up. “This model is a little focus-challenged, so you’ll have to keep adjusting.”
“No problem.” Aidan’s big, warm hand brushed hers
as he manipulated the controls, and her insides jittered. “Davis is a little focus-challenged himself. He’ll never notice.”
Whoa, a joke? She grinned at him in pleased surprise, and he cocked a sardonic brow. What’d you know? Her cop had a sly sense of humor lurking under his perpetual scowl.
For a man about to confront a volatile, knife-wielding druggie, he was amazingly calm. Not that she expected otherwise. Even last winter when his unarmed brother was trapped in the mall with DiMarco’s murderous gang, Aidan had coordinated the rescue as coolly as a Fudgsicle in Antarctica.
He never showed fear. Did he feel afraid? She didn’t have enough personal experience with men to tell. Especially tough guys. News anchors didn’t count, hell, they freaked if their hair looked bad or ratings dropped two-tenths of a point.
Aidan passed her the camera while he secured a gun in an ankle holster. He already wore an earpiece and hidden throat mic that would keep him in verbal contact with Greene if he had to abort the visual transmission. He tugged his pant leg into place, and shrugged on his brown leather jacket. An inhaler for Emma was in the pocket.
Aidan took the camera from Zoe. “Appreciate your help.”
“Be careful.” She gave his hand a brief squeeze.
His inscrutable expression didn’t divulge any of his secrets. “Better to be smart.”
He strode toward the doors. As one, the team stood. The men offered smart-ass comments and claps on his back underscored by genuine concern.
Grady, Liam, and Aidan slapped palms and said in unison, “Fortune favors the brave.” From the looks of it, a familiar pre-battle ritual. Their eyes locked and a silent, heartfelt exchange passed between them. For one poignant moment, they were brothers instead of cops.
A smiling Liam punched Aidan’s shoulder. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
Aidan snorted. “Short list.”
Grady tsked. “If you end up on the injured roster, I’m not notifying the wedding party the best man is out of commission.”
Aidan rolled his eyes. “Con would understand.”
Liam’s smile widened into a wicked grin. “On the other hand, the mothers, bridesmaids, and bride-to-be... Holy shitstorm! Facing a mob of furious females in formal wear? Fucking terrifying.”