by Pamela Clare
“You threw yourself off balance there. You’re angry and afraid, and it’s fucking with your concentration. Try again.”
At the end of the hallway on the left, Marc found a man who looked to be in his fifties tied up with an extension cord, a sock shoved in his mouth. Pale and covered with sweat, he looked at Marc with wide, pleading eyes, and Marc knew exactly what he wanted to know. “I’m Marc Hunter, Denver SWAT. Christy’s safe. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Marc pulled the sock from his mouth and untied him, the open safe on the wall and the backpack on the floor telling him what had been happening back here when they’d walked in.
“Thank God! Thank God you came!” The man got unsteadily to his feet.
Marc rested a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I will be. Did they hurt my girl?”
“I don’t think so. Let’s get you out of here.”
When they reached the refrigerator, Darcangelo was binding the shooter’s wrists with duct tape, the kid bleeding from his nose and a cut on his lip. “You’ve got some skills, but you’re not using them for any good purpose. You really fucked up today, and you’re going to pay for it. But the way I see it, this is a chance to rethink your life, straighten your head out.”
The big guy had kicked the kid’s ass—and then gone Zen master on him.
Marc stuck his head in. “You done fucking around, Dickangelo?”
“Yeah, just about.”
Out front, McBride was opening a bottle of water for Christy, who leaped to her feet and ran into her father’s embrace. “Oh, Daddy!”
Then Marc heard a groan and caught a glimpse of Trance—if that really was the kid’s name—staggering out the front door, a hand pressed against his temple.
“Shit.” Hunter started after him, certain the kid wouldn’t make it far, police sirens wailing in the distance.
Then the door opened again, the bell jingling.
West stepped cautiously inside, weapon drawn.
“Sorry, West, but you guys missed all the action.”
“Nope. Not all of it.” He opened the door once more, stepping aside to make room for Rossiter and Sheridan, who were supporting Trance’s weight between them, the kid’s face screwed up with pain, his skin pale, beads of sweat on his forehead.
“What happened to him?” Marc hadn’t hit him that hard.
Sheridan grinned. “West told him to stop, and when the kid refused, Gabe tried to trip him, but ended up kicking him in the balls.”
Marc winced. Ouch! “With which foot?”
Rossiter shrugged. “The titanium alloy one.”
Every man in the liquor store groaned.
# # #
An hour later, the guys pulled into McBride’s driveway, the SUV reeking of alcohol from the liquor in Marc’s clothes, the back loaded with enough microbrew beer, scotch, wine, and champagne for an entire summer’s worth of barbecues—gifts from the liquor shop’s grateful owner. The women were waiting for them when they drove up, McBride having called Natalie to tell her what had happened.
Marc’s gaze sought and found Sophie, who stood just outside the front door holding little Addy. They’d been married five years now, but every time he looked at her, he felt the same hitch in his chest he’d felt that first night they’d had sex under the stars back in high school. “Hey, hon.”
Her eyes went wide when she saw the cuts and blood on his arms. She hurried toward him. “You’re hurt! Ew! You smell like a distillery.”
Marc chuckled, kissed her on the cheek. “One of the kids opened fire, and I ended up crawling through glass shards and a puddle of booze.”
“Thank God no one was hurt!”
“You can shower upstairs, Hunter.” McBride walked past him carrying a case of Fat Tire. “I’ll loan you some jeans and a T-shirt.”
“Thanks.”
A half an hour later, Marc was back in his seat on the deck, a tumbler of fifty-year-old Macallan in his hand, the sun setting over the Rockies, the scent of grilling steaks making his mouth water. Sophie sat beside him sipping champagne, her fingers laced through his, the kids all downstairs watching Up.
While the steaks grilled, the guys filled in the details, telling the women exactly what had happened.
“So then I walk back out with the shop owner, and Darcangelo is trussing the kid up and playing sensei, offering him advice. ‘Find purpose for your life, Grasshopper.’”
“Maybe some of it will get through to him.”
Marc gave snort. “The kid threatened to kill three law enforcement officers then tried to fight me when I was pointing a gun straight at him. I don’t see a lot of hope there for reform.”
Darcangelo shrugged. “When I was his age, I had already killed a man.”
Tessa got to her feet, walked tipsily over to her husband. “Such cheerful conversation. Do you think other people talk about robberies, shootings, and murder over dinner? I’m hungry.”
Everyone laughed.
Kat shifted her sleeping baby boy from one arm to the other, her gaze on her husband. “Did you mean to kick that kid there?”
Rossiter looked sheepish. “Well… Not really.”
West glared at him. “The hell you didn’t. You broke the Man Code, dude. ‘No man shall knowingly and with malice aforethought kick another man in the nuts.’”
“Okay, so I kicked him in the nuts. The little fucker was fleeing the scene of a crime where he’d pointed a weapon at my buddies.”
Kat said something in Navajo that made Rossiter grin.
“Here’s the thing I don’t understand.” Kara got to her feet and walked toward the patio table to refill her wine glass. “You men just had an experience that most of us would consider to be a nightmare, and you enjoyed it. I’d like to think the humor is just your way of dealing with the tension of having been in a life-threatening situation, but I think you actually enjoyed it.”
McBride grinned. “You know what they say—do what you love.”
Natalie rolled her eyes. “You love getting shot at?”
Megan looked accusingly at West. “You’re all adrenaline junkies.”
“Me?” West looked defensively back at her. “Hey, I was in the store buying you, er … something … when this happened, remember?”
That made everyone laugh again.
Marc had his own perspective. “The way I see it, we made a difference in the lives of that liquor store owner and his daughter today. Who knows what would have happened to them if we hadn’t shown up when we did. We weren’t on duty, but we did our job, and we did it well. Because of that, three criminals are behind bars, and those two are safe tonight. When it works out like it did this afternoon, I do enjoy it. It’s one hell of a feeling to go to bed at night knowing you got someone dangerous off the streets or saved someone’s life.”
Natalie raised her glass, looking from one woman to the next. “To our husbands and all the brave men and women like them.”
“Hear, hear!”
“Cheers!”
Glasses and bottles were raised, Marc meeting each man’s gaze before sipping, the scotch burning a sweet path to his stomach.
Sophie looked up at him, her gaze soft. “That was beautiful.”
He kissed her cheek, the scotch and her scent warming his blood. “Thanks.”
Oh, yeah. He was so getting laid tonight.
Other titles by Pamela Clare
I-Team Series (in order)
Extreme Exposure, Berkley Sensation
Heaven Can’t Wait, Berkley Sensation (e-novella)
Hard Evidence, Berkley Sensation
Unlawful Contact, Berkley Sensation
Naked Edge, Berkley Sensation
Breaking Point, Berkley Sensation
Skin Deep, self-published (e-novella)
Kenleigh/Blakewell Family Saga
Sweet Release (ebook)
Carnal Gift (ebook)
Ride the Fire (reissue coming February 2013, Berkley Sensation)
MacKinnon’s Rangers series
Surrender, Berkley Sensation
Untamed, Berkley Sensation
Defiant, Berkley Sensation (coming July 3, 2012!)
About the Author
Colorado author Pamela Clare began her writing career as a columnist and investigative reporter and eventually became the first woman editor-in-chief of two different newspapers. Along the way, she and her team won numerous state and national honors, including the National Journalism Award for Public Service. In 2011, Clare was awarded the Keeper of the Flame Lifetime Achievement Award for her body of work. A single mother with two sons, she writes historical romance and contemporary romantic suspense at the foot of the beautiful Rocky Mountains. Visit her website at www.pamelaclare.com.
Twitter: @Pamela_Clare
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I-Team Group on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/groups/225577747484761/
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