by Olson, Mal
One of the guys dimmed the lights.
Deputies Greenwald and Gillespie took their positions, assuming the roles of the suspected troublemakers.
Every muscle in Brandy’s body tensed. Damn, the simulation pumped almost as much adrenaline through her system as the real thing. She rested her right hand near her hip against her holster and gripped the Taser with her other hand, keeping it pointed at the floor. She and Christiansen approached the two agitated men.
“Sheriff’s department,” she called out. “Someone phoned in a complaint. May we come in?”
The man who opened the imaginary door backed away, his expression digressing to a thousand yard stare. The two men were unarmed. As soon as she and Christiansen entered, a huge black silhouette of a third man popped out from nowhere. Blade, AKA Badass Wielding a Gun.
Within two seconds, Blade had fired, and Christiansen had bought the bullet while Brandy hesitated before whipping out her pistol, which allowed Blade to rush her and disable her in a hammerlock while she watched her partner bleed out soap pellets.
“Round two goes to the bad guys,” Blade said.
Shit. Brandy puffed out a breath and avoided eye contact with her FTO.
“Come on, Brandy, we’ll get the next one.” Christiansen patted her shoulder and holstered his pistol.
“Okay, here’s the setup,” Blade said. “Wilcox, Christiansen, you’re answering an attempted burglary in progress. The minute you jump out of the squad car, start your assessment.”
“Got it.” The temperature in the gym crept toward roasting. Brandy ignored the fact that her T–shirt stuck to her back like swamp slime.
“You’re at a small ma and pa grocery store near the lake. Assess.” Blade clipped off the particulars. “How many suspects? How old are they? Are they agitated? Professional thugs? Or punks with fake weapons? Are your subjects in fight or flight mode?”
She nodded.
“Work the adrenaline, people. Make sure you and your partner walk out of there alive this time.
The lights dimmed.
Camera. Action.
For the third time, Brandy’s right hand hovered over her holster, the left clutched the Taser, and she was determined to work with the epinephrine galloping through her veins. No more screw ups.
She and Christiansen split up. He took the rear exit while Brandy crept in the front door. A dark silhouette stood by the cash register. He jerked his head, spotted her, and shouted, “Cops! Let’s get the hell out of here.”
He obviously had an accomplice. And he wore a bandana, the symbol they used in training to indicate a person was a minor. He appeared to be weaponless. He swiveled. Was he charging her? No, he was headed for the exit. Brandy tasered him.
Simultaneously, someone rushed in from the back. Should have been her partner. It wasn’t. The accomplice, as in Beringer, sprinted toward her and body–tackled her, knocking her to the floor. She hung onto her Glock like it was riveted to her hand. Little good it did. He pinned her wrist to the floor with one hand and reached for a weapon in his waistband with the other.
She kneed him. He groaned. When his grip loosened, she rolled away and aimed her pistol at his chest. “One wrong move and your dead.” She didn’t have to fire.
***
Blade kept his grimace and his smile to himself.
Damn good idea, the protective under–gear they wore during training sessions. She’d gotten in a good one with that knee. “Okay, that was better.” He glanced at his watch. “Take five, everyone, then we’ll hit the shooting range.”
Hopefully, with training, the concept of decentralizing would become second nature to the rookie…Wilcox… Brandy. Like a shot of smooth Remy Martin V.S.O.P, her name sent heat racing to his gut, and lower. Keep your mind on business, Beringer.
He hoped she didn’t have a hang–up regarding the use of lethal force, but she hadn’t fired her Glock in any of the scenarios. And yesterday, when they were under attack, she hadn’t fired to kill. Or was she simply a bad shot? Her records said otherwise.
On the plus side, she wasn’t a loose cannon. During the last scenario, he’d primed her, had tried to trick her into shooting first and asking questions later, but she hadn’t fallen for it. She’d assessed, realized the robber was under age and had no lethal weapon, and she’d made the right choice.
Okay, she should have shot Blade, who was armed, before he body–slammed her. But bottom line, she’d kicked some serious ass, and had gotten the job done.
“Nice work on that last go ‘round, Wilcox.” He tossed her a towel, and they ambled out of the building toward the outdoor firing range. Law enforcement targets, multiple life–sized paper images of a man pointing a gun, lined the far end of the range.
“Thanks.”
Blade shoved a magazine into his pistol, and she followed suit. They covered their ears with protectors. Blade took his position, aimed, and squeezed off a couple shots. Headshots, well within the parameters of the deadly zone.
Once a fresh target was in place, Brandy fired a quick round of six shots. A tight cluster of hits dead center in the target’s forehead. For someone who was hesitant to shoot at a breathing target, she sure knew how to place a bullet.
“So, what’s going on? You were really uptight during simi training.”
She shrugged and fired off a couple more perfect shots.
“You’re good with a pistol in your hands.”
Her head flipped around.
Whoops. Too late, he realized the innuendo and mentally cringed, even as heat surged to his groin. A reaction that was becoming habitual around her. Stutter–stepping for solid ground, he said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean…” He cleared his throat and tried for professionalism. “Listen, Wilcox, it’s my job to see that you get the best training possible. I’ll try not to be a prick about it.”
A comment that dredged up a roll of her eyes.
“Seriously, when we’re working an assignment, we’re equals. I’ll respect you and your judgment as long as you prove you’re worthy.”
“Really?” Her brows lifted in surprise.
He measured her reaction by the sparkle in her eyes and the grin she was unable to suppress.
“Absolutely. Your partner is your lifeline. We have to depend on each other.”
“You know, your predecessor, Hank Bresten, was one of the good ol’ boys. He barely tolerated the dreaded chore of training a woman. I never got the impression he depended on me.”
Blade found her directness refreshing. “Well, I don’t have anything against women. And the way you can shoot tells me I’ll be in good hands.”
She grinned, and Blade’s stomach fluttered. He zeroed in on the targets. “You’re good, but don’t let it go to your head. Remember, in high–stress situations, accuracy goes down. And using deadly force isn’t an easy choice.”
Bam–bam, bam–bam, bam–bam. He got off six shots. “Two to the chest, two to the head, two to the groin.”
Her top teeth sank into her tempting bottom lip—pink, plump lip that reminded him of some kind of exotic fruit.
“I’m the best damn shot in the department. So why do I suck when it comes to decentralizing a human target?”
“You’re cautious. That’s not bad. Taking a human life is the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do.”
Christiansen approached, waving a computer printout. “Sorry to interrupt, but I thought you might like to see this, Lieutenant. Sheriff Noble’s doubling the patrol units in the Elk Ridge section. The supremacist contingency started peddling their hate propaganda down at the Scuppernong Indian Reservation, trying to run them out of Idaho. Typical white supremacist crap.”
After reading the message, Blade stared across the valley at the road that snaked into the Coeur d’Alene Forest. “We’re looking for a bunch of pricks in a haystack the size of Idaho’s panhandle.”
Christiansen’s glance slid to Brandy, then back to Blade. “Enough heat around here to smoke ‘em out.” He sauntere
d away.
What the hell? Was the chemistry between him and the rookie that obvious? They were co–workers. Period.
Brandy glanced up, her gaze stalling on his. Like windswept fire, heat licked at Blade’s willpower. Maybe the freaking non–fraternizing rules would save him from getting burned.
CHAPTER FOUR
“What’s with Christiansen?” Brandy asked.
“He and I go way back. Went to academy together. He likes to jerk my chain.” Blade made the mistake of looking into her eyes. Who the hell ever heard of violet eyes?
Gazillions of corkscrew curls struggled against a restraining elastic band, while a few stray ringlets rioted and tumbled across her cheeks, across the smooth skin at the back of her neck. Though loose–fitting, the department T–shirt struggled to camouflage a couple of her better attributes—attributes that might be the death of him yet. His thoughts resurrected an image of the Redneck Woman T–shirt, which had hid nothing.
“If I didn’t say so before, I’m sorry I led you on yesterday. You were right. I should have identified myself right away.” He massaged the back of his neck and tried to erase the lecherous thoughts that had bombarded him every time her attributes had brushed against him during scenario training.
“You’re forgiven since you promised not to blab about my arrest tactics.” Purple eyes held him captive, and the scent of spring wildflowers wafted over him.
No law against a man admiring.
Inappropriate, hell yeah.
He tried not to. Admire. And failed.
Nothing but a coworker.
Yeah, right. The rifle–toting blonde who’d held him at gunpoint yesterday had a way of revving up his fantasies. “Bottom line, you got the job done.”
“Yeah, I arrested my FTO.”
He chuckled. “You arrested a suspect in the act of breaking and entering, a real situation. Real aces a practice scenario any day… I was impressed.”
“Bull.”
“No, Ma’am, no B.S. I learned a lot about you from that incident.”
“Uh–oh.”
“I discovered I’d be working with a gutsy recruit who shows signs of becoming a top–notch deputy.”
Her pretty mouth curved in a you’re–so–full–of–it grin. A pretty mouth that pulled his thoughts exactly where they didn’t belong. “Are you serious? You really think I’ll make a good deputy?”
“Absolutely.” He holstered his weapon. “Your academic records are exemplary. Physical strength and agility tests—top of the charts. And sharpshooting?” He gestured to the target. “You weren’t exaggerating.”
“Told you so yesterday.”
While she obviously struggled to hold back a smug smile, his heart chugged.
“Tomorrow we’ll be doing night–firing. Any good in the dark, Deputy?” Jesus… but, he couldn’t help himself.
“I’m good at everything, Lieutenant.”
Blade cursed the unforgiving knit material of his workout sweats as his groin tightened. He angled away. Focus. “The drill entails everything but standing still and aiming at a stationary target in optimum light.”
She pushed her ear protectors in place, turned to the target, and carved out a circle of holes dead center. Blade followed suit, and placed a close cluster of shots in his target’s sternum. But not quite as tight as Brandy’s. Damn.
“Not bad.” She pulled off her ear protection.
“No, not bad. But you’re something else, Rookie. You could be sharpshooter material, you know that?”
****
Really? Her spirits soared for a minute. She gnawed at the inside of her cheek before responding. “Have you ever had anyone wash out because they couldn’t do it, couldn’t shoot to kill?”
“It happens. Some people can’t handle the pressure.”
“You’d think it would be a no–brainer… if there’s an imminent threat—”
“If is the sticky part. Don’t beat yourself up over leaning toward caution. I know you’ve heard this before, but don’t forget: if you take someone down, you damn well better have made the right choice. Meanwhile, your weapon will be confiscated, and IA will investigate.”
“The thought never leaves my mind.”
“But by the same token, if IA proves your actions were justified, the law’s on your side. Bottom line, you’ve signed on to serve and protect. At some point, you may have to use lethal force.”
“I’ve never wanted to be anything except a law enforcer. I’ll work it out.”
“I’m sure you will. That’s what scenario training and simulator classes are for. You’ve got five months to master Defensive Arrest Tactics.”
Brandy knew all too well how IA investigations and the judicial branch of law enforcement worked. Neither had helped her mother. Not something she was willing to share with Blade. She released the magazine from her Glock and let the subject drop.
“Did I mention my partner back in Boise got shot?” Blade holstered his weapon and started gathering the supplies. “Not killed, but the injury forced an early retirement. We were together five years. Twenty–four seven.”
“Twenty–four seven?” She quick–glanced his left hand. Obvious much? Her cheeks flushed. She knew he wasn’t wearing a ring, but she checked for the telltale white strip on his left ring finger. There wasn’t one. Even so, twenty–four seven. If they’d been together constantly, it must have been more than a professional relationship. “Boise doesn’t have rules against personal relationships between partners?”
“Not in this case. My partner’s retirement was part of the reason I decided to transfer to Little Chute. We came here together. Great place to spend an early retirement.”
So he was still in a relationship. Her lungs deflated and left her chest heavy. She tried to hide her disappointment, which hit harder than it should have.
“I couldn’t leave him behind,” he said.
Him? She was sure her head–jerking double–take left her cheeks as red as cherries ready to be plucked. Damn, why were the cutest ones always… She concentrated on checking her Glock even though she’d already unloaded it. “Just so you know, I don’t have anything against…” She cleared her throat and looked up.
“My partner’s name is Rambo.” He chuckled. “He was the other half of my K9 unit in Boise. I’m not into guys, Brandy.”
“What?” Heat flashed up her neck and stalled on her already hot cheeks. She bunched her hand into a fist and punched his solid bicep, which resulted in a zing spiraling along the bones connecting her wrist and elbow.
“Ouch.” Rubbing his arm, he grinned. “But nice right hook, Deputy.”
“You bet I’ve got a nice right hook. And you’ve got a great knack for B.S.”
“Hey, I had no idea you were jumping to that conclusion.”
“Of course not.”
He shrugged so innocently she almost believed him.
“Of all the FTOs in the world I had to get stuck with you.” Stuck with a man whose electric blue eyes sent quivers up and down her spine. A man who wasn’t in a relationship or gay. Stop it, stop it, stop it, Wilcox.
“Luck of the draw, Sweetheart.”
“That’s twice you’ve led me on, Beringer. Be forewarned. I don’t get mad. I get even.” Imagine, an FTO she could kid around with and who wasn’t dead serious all the time.
“I’ll be looking forward to it.”
“No, you won’t.”
His grin argued the point. “Anyway, Rambo’s a Belgian Malinois.”
“So that part of your story’s true. You really did bring your dog with you?”
“You’ll meet him one of these days.”
“And he got shot? In the line of duty?”
“In pursuit of an Internet stalker, a creep who grabbed a twelve–year–old girl. When we tracked him down, the pervert pulled out a .45. Rambo charged and stopped the guy from taking me out.”
“And Rambo took a bullet.”
“Yeah… dog’s worth his weight in gold.
They retired him after that. He had an illustrious career, though. Brought down enough drug runners to pay for himself a hundred–fold. He hardly even limps anymore.” Blade walked to the targets, ripped them down, and started rolling them up. “I got first dibs before they put him up for adoption.”
“K9 unit, that’s something I’ve considered. I’m sure I could depend on a dog more than any human I’ve ever met.”
“Ouch… I didn’t see that one coming.”
“I wasn’t referring to you. It’s just a fact of my life.” She held out her hand. “Mind if I keep my targets? I wallpaper my bedroom with them.”
He laughed at the wallpaper comment but pursued her trust issue like a dog after fresh meat. “That’s pretty cynical. Don’t you ever trust anyone?”
“No.”
“Hey, I’m no shrink, and I’m not extremely intuitive when it comes to other people’s problems, but…” His voice softened. “Who did a number on you, Brandy?”
She shrugged. “Who didn’t?”
That magnificent strong chin of his tightened, his eyes filling with concern. Either he was a good actor or he genuinely cared.
“You know, in this job, you have to learn to trust. To depend on your partner and vice–versa. If you can’t do that, you might as well get out right now.”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t learn to trust. I know I can do it professionally.” It was just personal relationships she had a problem with. Long seconds passed while she fidgeted and forced herself to change the subject. “So, can we use Rambo to sniff out the whities?”
“Probably not.”
“Why?”
“He’s not part of the system any more, and he can be aggressive when he needs to be. The department’s not going to take responsibility for injuries caused by a dog who’s not on the payroll.”
“How about using him for search and rescue? Half the calls we get around here are requests to assist with searching for missing persons.”