Badge Boys

by Caliente Morgan

  An armed woman who was in caffeine withdrawal was not to be messed with. Most sane men knew this. Were these men sane? She thought not.

  Help was coming. She had to play for time.

  Confuse. Distract.

  They were already confused.

  The rest of the meeting attendees were screaming and crying like a flock of chickens. They were the distraction.

  Don’t think. Do.

  Her damn ADHD would not be denied. Her brain was firing in overdrive.

  She braced herself. The shaking and hysteria could come later. Would the remaining shooters comply? Her finger was on the trigger, her thumb had re-cocked the weapon. Could she do this? Could she hang on until help arrived? Somehow, if she had a limit to her bravado, she didn’t want to know.

  The sounds of activity, screams, shouts, and footfalls dimly registered. Two uniforms had skidded to a stop in the doorway while she took it all in.

  Big guys. Dripping leather and gear. Guns drawn. They were splayed along opposite sides of the hallway.

  “Take them,” she said, pointing at the perps but not easing up in her stance. She could feel the slightest hint of trembling and forced herself to remain focused.

  The shooters were now confronted with two guns from behind. With a confirmed shooter in front who was pretty pissed off. Oh yes she was. Pissed off. She forced herself to ignore the arriving cops and just focus on holding her position.

  The perps finally let their guns fall. Raised their hands.

  Good call, assholes.

  “Get a medic in here. Man down.” She shouted orders at the two uniforms. Big guys. Fit guys. Tough guys. Damn handsome guys. She mentally castigated her brain for even registering that.

  Well, you wanted to meet guys like the ones you make up.

  It was over just that quick. Handcuffed and shoved into the backs of cruisers, the bad guys were no longer a problem. The place crawled with uniforms. The two first, on-scene guys—tall, broad shouldered, and yes, undeniably handsome—milled around inside the room. Mostly they milled around the fallen younger cop.

  Other uniforms were paying attention to the hysterical women in the back of the room. The overturned tables. Spilled coffee. Broken cups and glass. Lots of broken glass. Water pitchers. Tea pitchers. Double set of glasses on fully set tables. Tables and chairs overturned. There were probably injuries just from the stampede.

  A paramedic tended to the fallen cop, who was already up on a stretcher. Another to the third perp, who was awake and cuffed but sill on the floor.

  One of the first on scene uniforms donned gloves and retrieved the fallen cop’s gun from her. She gladly gave it to him.

  There were fire guys with medic bags heading into the back. The uniforms were starting to escort the audience out, one by one.

  Annie refused to comment without a lawyer. She had been focused on lowering her heart rate while she watched all the activity swirl around her. Deep controlled breathing. Difficult. She felt the trembling. Felt she was internally convulsing. She felt cold. Very cold.

  Where was her crazy ADHD brain when you needed it? She tried to distract herself.

  This was a target-rich environment. She had enough information to write a half dozen cop stories. Maybe a fire story. Once she stopped shaking. Once everything was over. Right now, she let her mind record as much as possible. Hoping she’d get home to her computer to type up everything that had gone down. Flag things she could put in one of her books. Other things she probably should not. And there was one thing that she would be told not to even write down, except in her formal statement.

  She was wondering why she was noticing the handsome cops so much when she’d been solo for so long. Maybe that was it. She’d been solo too long.

  From snatches of conversation and what she could see of the path of destruction, she could fill in the blanks to what initially had gone down. She took notes in her head.

  Yes, they had fired a number of rounds, at the cop and at her, along with spraying indiscriminately at the wall, more than likely based on something they saw in a movie or a video game. The other women and the few scattered men, including the speaker, had been smashed into the room’s far reaches like a started flock of baby chicks. They would have climbed the walls if it were possible. Someone had obviously thought that a table could stop a bullet. It couldn’t. Certainly not a .40. Definitely not a .50. It could maybe slow down a smaller bullet, depending on the caliber and the distance. There might have been a smaller caliber gun in play since the holes in the walls had different sizes.

  That silly table idea had resulted in all the overturned tables and had added to the chaos. There would be a big bill to cover all this damage.

  More cops were milling about, taking statements.

  Good luck with that.

  Her fellow attendees hadn’t shut up since the first bullet had sounded and these were writers. Or wanna be writers in any case. They talked. They most certainly would have compared notes before anyone got to them and ordered them not to do just that. The statements were supposed to be what an individual saw, without coloring from anyone else.

  There was forensic evidence in the shattered plaster and dry wall. On the carpet. Crime scene would be here. First responders were putting down markers.

  How did they mark the bullet holes in the walls? Annie suddenly wanted to know.

  The injured cop had been wheeled out on a stretcher, covered with the requisite stick-on monitor leads, IV bag up, and accompanied by a full escort of other uniforms. Someone mentioned that one of the two first on-scenes was the downed officer’s older brother.

  The injured cop was very young. He would make it. He had done the right thing. To hell with retrieving his gun. He had focused on controlling his bleeding. Good call. Maybe he had seen she had the weapon. Knew she knew how to use it. No. No way he could have guessed that. Maybe not. Maybe just the instinct to hang onto life had kicked in for him. Even if they were still coming at him, shouting and shooting.

  Even if she had picked up the gun, how did he know she could shoot it? Because few women went around taking gun training classes. To her, it was research. A proactive defense. Guns were not the only weapons in her house. She had always thought that if someone entered her house without an invite, they would leave on a stretcher.

  Annie shuddered. Her shaking was getting worse.

  The hotel staff as they came in and refreshed the coffee, decaf, and hot water pots. At last! Suddenly the only thing that mattered to her OCD brain was getting a cup of that coffee. She was close enough that she could hurry over. Real coffee. She needed it. Needed a jolt.

  If they had served espresso she’d have had that. She knew she wasn’t thinking clearly.

  It had happened so fast. Yet it had seemed like forever. Time dilation. She had heard of it but had never experienced it before. It had been an incredible experience. Textbook. Somehow, she had never quite believed in such a thing. How could your brain be running full out and your body and everything else around you be running slowly? Now she knew. The world had simply gone into slo mo. Her hands had seemed to move with the speed of cold molasses. Even pulling the trigger had been a watchable event while your brain screamed fire your fingers acted at their own speed. It had taken forever. She needed to think about that, later.

  She quickly grabbed the wobbly-when-full coffee pitcher and poured herself a cup. Grabbed real sugar. Fast. Efficient. She wanted this.

  Thinking about that slow down, she realized her body and mind were in trauma. Somehow, she wasn’t feeling all that well. She felt shaky. Her knees wobbled. Something was out of kilter. Shock. Had to be shock. Coffee was good for that. Right?

  What had she done with her coffee? She looked, and saw the cup slowly falling from her hand.

  A strong, blue-uniformed arm slid around her waist from behind and pulled her back against a hard male body, just as her knees buckled. A second blue arm was now around her and she was being held up, dragged backward in a drunk wa
lk, and put in a chair.

  She heard a deep voice call for a medic. Beautiful voice.

  The room spun for a few moments. Her coffee had gone... One arm draped around her left shoulder. The officer kneeled down beside her. She watched as his knees stretched the uniform pants. Noticed how tightly they held his hips. Took note of the heavy equipment belt. Watched as his face came into view. Handsome. Dark neatly trimmed short hair. Stunning blue eyes. Watched those eyes widen. A slight indication—something was off. Something besides the room being all fuzzy.

  Annie looked down and saw blood dripping down her fingers. Fought to understand.

  “Oh—I’ve been shot,” she managed, sliding off the chair, and landing with a thump as her rear end hit the floor hard enough that it made her bite her tongue.

  She had only blacked out a moment, considering the uniform was scrambling to help her get flat out on the floor. A one of the paramedics was by her side and was merrily cutting the sleeve off of her very new and expensive jacket. The sleeve from her new tunic top as well. She fought to get her mind wrapped around this information.

  Damn it!

  “Just a graze,” said the deep voice that was attached to the uniform-wearing Adonis, now on his knees beside her.

  Now she could see the uniform pants were stretched lovingly across that firm backside. Her ass never looked that good! If her hands had been under her control, she’d have reached out and caressed those buns. She also wanted to touch his face. He had a bit of a five o’clock shadow. Dark. Swarthy. Oh my God, he has the most beautiful lips.

  “I won’t go in the ambulance. I want my own doctor.” She heard herself slur her words.

  “You won’t be able to drive.” The cop was watching her. God, those eyes were causing her body to have fits.

  “Then I will call for a shuttle.” She waved her good hand. Just a little. It weighed a ton.

  “You are bleeding. A lot. Seems a bit much.” This was the medical person talking to her. Where had he come from?

  “If you have a shot for K in your rig, it would be a good idea. I am a high-normal bleeder. Need a little help with coag. If not, use a compression bandage.” The second medic got up off his knees and moved away, presumably to fetch the shot. It wasn’t something normal, but if you had hemophilia, it was important. In her case, she was borderline. It was a help, but she could survive without it. She was only a borderline case. Just a high-normal bleeder. Just. She had been trained to tell people that, since she wasn’t wearing a medical bracelet.

  She made a note to self to add that item back on the list of things to get around to doing when time permits.

  Annie struggled back to a clearer head. A rather large hand was keeping her down. It was attached to the strong blue-clad arm. It was a warm hand. A large warm hand. And it was pressing on her chest. If she could wriggle to the side a little, he could caress her left boob. She wanted him to move a little right or left. She wanted him touching her. Not just her chest.

  What in hell was wrong with her? Was her fertile, fiction-oriented brain confusing some obscure story line with reality? There was always a story line or two, plot bunnies racing around in her brain.

  No. She couldn’t possibly write something like this. No one would believe it.

  “Lie still. Let him put a bandage on you. Then we can discuss how fast you need to see a doctor. But you did faint. So no driving.” She thought she saw a smile flicker around that mouth, around those chiseled lips.

  They weren’t supposed to oogle women whose clothing had been opened. She would swear he was ogling. Looking anyway. The medic had monitor leads everywhere. Her bra had been cut open. She was barely decent. Someone had pulled a paper blanket up over her assets.

  “Okay, no driving. Not right away,” she mumbled.

  “No shot in inventory.” And that would be the second paramedic. “Budget cuts.”

  She made a face.

  “Where’s your doctor?” the Adonis asked. She might be fuzzy, but her body was reacting to this tall creature in blue. This poster child for the best in heart-throbbing, masculine perfection. This candidate for a cop-calendar centerfold. She was trying to picture him naked.

  Whoa, girl!

  They must have given her a shot of something to cut the pain. She struggled to focus to answer his question. “Up north. Off Poway Road. I think. I just moved back here. I get confused. I can drive there. Sort of like a homing pigeon. Don’t ask me the doctor’s name, either. I just know where the office is and his name is on my pill bottle in my purse.”

  The cop almost laughed but managed to stifle it by biting his lip.

  Great.

  The medical team was done, unhooked, and dismissed. Evidently her wish would be granted. “Help me up. Please.”

  Adonis did, swinging her off the floor by first straddling her, keeping her aligned between his legs, and then reaching down, grabbing her around the waist, and swinging her up into a chair. Like she was a doll. Like she wasn’t a slightly overweight solid sort of girl. Like her clothing wasn’t quite settled in the right places and fastened. Medics were good at messing clothing up, not so much at the reassembly. She had a death grip on the paper blanket.

  “Ooof,” she said as she settled on the hard chair. Where was my purse?

  “Missing something?”

  That voice again. Now she understood about vibrations up and down the spine. About nerves getting all tingly. Actually, it was various body parts getting tingly.

  She had been too busy to react before. Well, fully react. She was still distracted. But that voice did wild things to her. Why did she still feel the imprint of those hands on her ample waist? Why did she want them back there? When was the last time she’d bothered to get out of the house on a date?

  Annie pointed to her purse. He fetched. She took a moment to watch that uniform stretch across his backside again as he bent down to collect her purse and the notebook leaning on it. He looked over the table. Picked up a note pad and pen, and walked back. All she could think about was what a nice ass. When he bent over, her hands had wanted to touch. Again.

  What was wrong with her? Had her sex-starved womanly bits and pieces declared war? She hurried to close her damaged clothing, using the jacket that had been thankfully open and had not be cut apart by medical necessity.

  Annie gleefully accepted her possessions and proceeded to organize things into her tote bag, which had been folded up in her purse. She fished a bunch of safety pins from her purse because no woman leaves the house without a supply of safety pins of various sizes, a spare pair of trouser socks, and a panty liner or two. She refastened her bra—sort of. Then pinned her tunics together, jacket on top, vest dangling in distraction. Thank god for layered dressing.

  Neat enough to her reasoning, she looked over at the coffee pot, sitting way down at the back. It was empty again. Damn. She really wanted that coffee.

  “Rats,” she said, startling herself. She hadn’t realized she was speaking out loud.

  He had pulled up a chair. She looked around. The room was nearly empty. One by one, the attendees had been walked out. Probably right by her while she was flopping on the ground and a bloody mess.

  “What do you need?” the deep voice asked her.

  She had to refrain from an impulsive response. Something like, “You. Naked. In my bed.”

  Instead she assumed a “butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth” attitude and answered, “My name is Annie, and I had fixed a cup of coffee, but I have no idea where it went.”

  “You dropped it. On the floor. You just missed my pant leg. We can stop for coffee after we visit an ER.”

  “We?” she squeaked. She was going to have to sit in a car beside him? Really? How much more torture would she have to endure?

  She snuck a peek at his hand. No ring. Did not mean anything. Most of them removed their rings on duty, to keep from having them catch on something. She somehow knew that. She had caught a ring once. A table had fallen, bent the ring, and pinche
d her finger. It had swelled up and hurt like hell. A jeweler had cut the ring off her hand. Why was that memory dancing in her head?

  “You can’t drive. You won’t ride in the bus. I get to drive you. Pretty much, you are stuck with me.”

  “Why?” Cursed herself for asking a dumb-ass question.

  “You shot somebody. You saved an officer’s life. Happens said officer is my younger brother. My twin and I were joining him here for lunch. We just happened to be in the parking lot when the call hit. One of us went to the hospital. One of us stayed here. He’s is still in surgery, but the reports are good.”

  “Good. Thank you. Your twin?” Oh my God! There are two of them? Her body registered this with a joyful leap of tingly parts. Her mind painted pictures that no woman of her age should be thinking about. Two mouths, four hands, two—

  “Identical twin. I’m Ivan, and my twin is Troy.”

  “Your parents named you Ivan?” That was a common name in Russia. Was he?

  “My parents read a lot of literature. They were also in their hippie phase. That was their explanation at least. I’m just glad not to be named Zeus. They had a Greek phase. I have cousins.”

  “What is your younger brother’s name?” Might as well ask. She had adopted a possessive attitude about the wounded cop. Save a life...

  “Robert.” He flashed a wide grin at her, inviting her to join in the joke. “My parents had seen the light.”

  She had to laugh. She had an uncontrollable urge to laugh and tried to tamp it down since that would lead to hysteria. “Sorry. I seem to be out of control.” In more ways than one.

  Her hands ached to touch him. She wanted to be snuggled against that chest, vest or no. She wanted to run her fingers over those lips. Then she wanted to kiss those lips.

  Oh hell, who did she think she was she kidding? She wanted to jump his bones. Her fingers twitched in warning. His buttons and his zipper had better watch out. She wondered how fast she could undo them.

  “All the more reason not to drive. You are probably suffering from shock. You need stitches. We can get your truck back to you. Driving while stunned isn’t a good idea.”