Badge Boys

by Caliente Morgan

  “How did you know I have a truck?” How did he know? He seemed to know more about her than she had said.

  “Your badge has your name and DMV has your info. From there, we scanned the parking lot. Bingo. Silver Tacoma 4x4. Extended cab. Camper shell. 2002.”

  “Right. DMV. Of course.” Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

  “Anyone we need to notify?”

  “Nope. I am an independent woman.” No one could possibly explain her being home late to the orange tabby cat that ran the house. The cat would most likely raise the roof once she got there. Until Annie popped the top on the special canned cat food. She was under orders to never run out of that cat food. Orders communicated early on by said cat. If she didn’t obey said cat, the beast would decide that 1 a.m. was a good playtime. Meow until she spent a good fifteen minutes petting it. Cuddling it. And generally acknowledging that the cat was in charge.

  She should have gotten a dog.

  He solemnly nodded, but his eyes were assessing her. Up and down. Elevator eyes. Her body lit up and got itself ready. For what? Did she expect him to throw a pass at her? Morphine. They had said morphine. Or he had said. Hadn’t he?

  She wondered just how messed up she was. She’d been dateless for a long time. So why the sudden desire to climb right up that towering prime example of manhood? When he had been seated, she had wanted to crawl right over and cuddle up on his lap. And how did one climb up a cop while the man in question stood there, dripping gear? Lots of leather. Lots of gear. Lots of man. Where in hell do you put your hands?

  “When you feel up to it, let’s call your doctor. Find out where to take you. What kind of doctor gave you the pills?”

  “Well, not a surgeon. An internist. I have to get referred. I need a plastic surgeon for this mess. That gash is a big one and I don’t want a scar. I love tank tops.” Now she was whining.

  “You may have a slight one. Scar I mean. It will take a few stitches, if the doctor is good. I will keep an eye on things. Least I can do.” He shrugged, as if taking care of the walking wounded was an everyday occurrence.

  “Nada. If I get sewed up well, I will heal very well.” How much morphine had they given her? She had forgotten to warn them. Any pain med sent her whirling around in the clouds.

  She fumbled in her purse for a prescription bottle, one she carried to remind her to get a refill. Handed it over. “That’s the primary. He can give me directions.” She fumbled with her purse some more. Finally drew out a flip-phone. She had enough charge for one more call. Lovely.

  “Can you read the number? I left my readers at home.” He simply took her phone and the bottle, and made the call.

  She had no ability to resist. Why the hell had I mentioned readers? She absolutely did not want to appear less than perfect to his eyes.

  Chapter Two

  Sgt. Ivan Hardwick pulled his cruiser into the parking lot at the motel. His twin, Troy, pulled his cruiser into the slot beside him, as usual, timed to perfection. They were to meet their younger brother, a probie, for lunch. Three cruisers sometimes caused a bit of a stir from the vacation people staying at the place so they could get to SeaWorld or the San Diego Zoo with equal ease.

  Their younger brother, Bobby, usually parked way in the back to help cut down the civilian reaction. Sometimes Ivan came in his own car just to mix things up. Still, three uniformed cops? Always caused some fuss. Something they had to keep in mind. At least in this particular hotel, they were used to seeing the three of them. Once a month. A required get-together. Away from the parental units. Lunch. Outside. On the patio. So they could keep an eye on the sole exit from the parking lot. Stolen or tampered with cruisers meant a lot of paperwork.

  Bobby was under pressure to meet a nice girl. Make babies. Ivan didn’t have to worry. Neither did Troy. Ivan was single, had always been, and intended to stay that way. He’d never gotten seriously involved with anyone, after that futile first attempt. Troy had trod that matrimonial path and was divorced with a three year-old. Thank heavens for grandparents.

  Bobby had been hooked recently by a young woman who no one in the family had taken to in good faith. She was a complainer. He was “spending too much time on the job.” He “wasn’t making enough money.” She wanted more expensive gifts. She wanted to travel. She wanted to live way above his means.

  The more serious complaint, one she was still repeating, was that “he had interrupted a date to roll out with SWAT.” Not a real call out. A practice run. Bobby wasn’t ready for real-time duty at that level. But that was only a matter of when. Police work was a family calling. If the girl was bitching now, this relationship was going to go south real fast.

  Today, Ivan was going to try to broach the subject with his brother, keeping Dad out of it. Troy, who had tried talking to the kid already, would pretend that he had a call to give them some space. Someone had been set up to play dispatcher. That would let Ivan have time for at least a brief one-on-one. Since Ivan had been jilted right at the alter, no matter how many years had gone by, Bobby would understand that his uncle knew what was what. Troy had already made an attempt at the conversation. He had planted the seed of doubt. Of the two of them, Ivan was the closer.

  Ivan still felt a little nervous about the whole deal. The kid needed to fall on his face if he was ever to learn. This wasn’t the first badge bunny to get her hands on him. Sometimes a guy just had to flail.

  “He’s inside,” Troy stated. “Called me earlier.”

  “Have to leave your mic on if you expect to be called into action. Who’s setting it up?” Ivan asked, but he already knew the answer.

  “Janice. I promised you would take her for coffee.” Troy had that gotcha grin. Damn.

  “Holy moly, Batman, you pimping for me?” Ivan asked, even though he knew Troy was doing exactly that.

  “She’s a nice lady, Superman. Give her a test flight.” The undercurrent was that Troy might do just that if Ivan didn’t. Well, he could just go to it. And why didn’t he? But he knew that answer too.

  “Don’t start. When my heart is engaged, I’ll know.” So far, it was not. No ill will was felt for the woman who had jilted him at the altar. He had realized after a bit of time had passed that he had not really been that involved. He had just been tired of the dating scene. Easily persuaded. His fiancé had been pretty. He had thought why not? Marriage was far more complicated than he had assumed. His parents had made it look too easy. He would not be making that stupid mistake again. It had been an educational close call. Lucky him.

  But sometimes—sometimes he wished he would find that someone. Sometimes. He shrugged it off. Not like he was looking. Janice was hoping he was looking.

  Troy was still talking, still trying to sell the deal. “More likely, when your dick is engaged. But you aren’t in a position to think when that happens. A nice piece of ass and off you go.”

  Ivan winced as he climbed out of his cruiser. “My days of catting around are long gone. Can’t we give that a rest?”

  Troy was the younger of the twins by three minutes, but sometimes he acted years younger. At least, when it came to women. Ivan thought that Troy’s divorce had left more of a mark than originally thought.

  “When’s the last time you got laid?” Troy asked.

  “Last week. I got lucky.” Was it last week? Ivan couldn’t remember. Sport fucking was consensual and fleeting in memory.

  “No, it’s been two weeks. My dick is getting dusty. You hook ‘em. I’ll fry ‘em.”

  “Stop watching Top Gun.” Ivan elbowed Troy in the ribs.

  Troy’s wife had taken off after his little boy had been born. The twins and Bobby were raising Troy’s kid without female interference. Well, did a grandmother count?

  Since they were identical twins, and Ivan was more outgoing, Troy liked to step in behind Ivan whenever he lost interest in a woman. Sometimes. He usually did lose interest pretty fast. One date.

  Women who liked to date cops were often more attracted to t
he uniform than the man and never noticed when they switched places. In that case, the twins were interchangeable. When they were younger— Ivan tossed those memories away. He didn’t want to relive those times. He was busy enjoying his career.

  Troy sighed. “Well, let’s—” His mic went off. Too early to be the arranged call. Way too early. “Go for Troy,” he responded, stepping off.

  Ivan’s mic squawked before he could ask Troy what was up. “Go for Ivan,” he said into his own mic.

  The men stepped apart to take their radio calls, just as the sounds of the first gunfire bursts were heard. They both took off running for the door to the motel, shouting status for dispatch into the mics, drawing their weapons.

  They were in perfect position. They were near the door going in from the outdoor restaurant. Secondary part of the main lobby. Right in line to the conference room involved.

  Ivan leapt over the small wall around the eating area. He knew he was followed by Troy without looking. Guns held up in a double grip, they approached, one on each side of the door into the lobby area. They had no cover. They needed to be inside. Ivan took a moment to order the few people sitting on the patio to seek cover. Most of them wanted to watch. He could only hope back-up could roll in fast and take control. He couldn’t stop.

  Troy kicked in the glass door to the lobby extension and as it flew backward, they heard another gunfire burst. They also registered a lot of screams from more than a few women. Ivan glanced around quickly at the activity signs dotting the hallway on flimsy tripods. One sign had said a romance writer’s group was in the conference room up ahead.

  Bloody hell.

  Troy’s mic went off again.

  “We got a friendly inside, armed. Just dropped one,” Troy said while waving at the few remaining outdoor customers to run. Emergencies bring out the best and worst of the human race. They needed their backs clear which meant get the civvies the hell away.

  You would think.... Ivan spared a glance behind him. Without words, they each had chosen their role. As twins and as fellow cops, they implicitly trusted each other.

  “Bobby’s coded.” Ivan said. He checked the status of his body cam. Signaled Troy to do the same. The chief had been pretty damn firm about when those cameras had to be turned on. He could only hope Bobby had had the time to turn his on as well. If not, oh well.

  “Leg wound. Bad. Medical code red,” Troy filled in. “Fire coming. EMTs onboard. Bus already rolling. Back up coming.”

  “Can’t wait,” Ivan stated. Shouting wasn’t necessary. They knew what they had to do. Man down. Go get him. Ignore that he was their real brother. Minimize the damage to the civilians.

  At this point, they had no idea how many civilians were involved. How much collateral damage had occurred or would occur before this was over?

  Who in hell was the friendly?

  They each took one side of the hallway. They had been told what room to head for by dispatch. The conference room all the way in the back. They knew the layout from the many lunches they had taken here. Crab-walking down the short hall, plastered to the walls, two-fisted grip on their patrol weapons, they approached two men in the open doorway with guns in hand. The shooting stopped. They had AKs. Crap.

  The doors swung shut, cutting off their view.

  Ramped up and ready for whatever, as much as they could ever be ready in an active shooter situation, they approached the doors. Ivan pushed his side open just as Troy pushed open his.

  WTF? The perps were dropping their weapons. Putting their hands in the air. A woman was shouting at them, and Bobby was behind her on the floor. A third man—had to be the other shooter—was down and not moving.

  Friendly was a kick-ass woman civilian. Jesus!

  Ivan registered this as he hesitated.

  “I don’t shoot blue! Cuff ‘em!” The woman barked orders like a drill sergeant. She held her weapon in a two-fisted grip. Stood in the blade shooter’s position. Her gun firmly aimed at the guys with their hands now up. Tough broad. In an instant, he knew she could be trusted not to shoot him. This was no novice with a handgun.

  From the looks of the perps, they knew she would shoot them. In a bloody heartbeat. She was pissed.

  It worked for him. Ivan holstered his weapon and cuffed Thing One. Troy holstered his weapon and cuffed Thing Two. Thing three wasn’t moving.

  Paperwork. Oh God, the paperwork.

  The carpet would have to be replaced. The walls needed drywall. Furniture was strewn.

  “I need a medic in here. Got a man down,” the woman called to them.

  She couldn’t know that the man down was his younger brother. That he hadn’t stormed toward the room to save the writers. He had stormed toward the room to save a downed officer. The writers merely had the benefit.

  Well, it had started that way at least.

  Backup in full SWAT gear stormed into the hall only to be waved into a stand down. They had to be told it was over. Quickly. Before they shot each other.

  Ivan handed off his cuffed, wanna-be cop killer to the blue wave coming into the hotel behind SWAT. Troy was communicating with dispatch. Relaying the sit rep.

  “Sorry, guys. Stand down. Shooting all over,” Troy said to the uniforms. He was already delighted to have spiked the SWAT team.

  “Wanna take charge of these two? No?” Ivan asked SWAT, teasing his friend who looked frustrated. “We’ve got a bunch of women romance writers in here as witnesses. Need uniforms in here. Maybe you SWAT guys want to volunteer to take statements? You know how the ladies love SWAT.”

  Ivan was collecting his wits. All that adrenaline had to go somewhere. Quickly. The room was secure.

  Step one.

  Troy, having now shoved his perp into the hands of the nearest SWAT guy, made a beeline for Bobby. Leg wounds could be pretty damn bad. Life-threatening. Career-ending. That was always the risk.

  Ivan wasn’t sure which wounds Bobby had, either, but he had a job to do. After handing off his perp, he put on gloves, and went to disarm the friendly.

  He looked at her for the first time.

  His gut clenched, his breathing became difficult, and his dick stood at attention. For just a moment he let himself take her in.

  Holy moly, Superman.

  Lots of drapery.

  Lots of curves under that drapery.

  Thick dark hair that was randomly streaked. Delightfully tousled.

  Smokey eye makeup and dark brows that made her green eyes pop.

  Deep orange-red lips that glistened.

  Two-handed grip on the gun that she was pointing to the floor. Finger off the trigger. She was watching him. Flipped the gun around and presented it butt-first when he reached for it.

  Good girl. She knew about guns. Of course she did. She knew a lot about other things too. She had dropped a perp. Saved Bobby. Taken charge of the shooters. She hadn’t required much help. Made him wonder if she would have tried to cuff them. If she had had cuffs, probably.

  No. She was way cooler than that. She would have known to hold onto the control. Most likely she had taken them by surprise. Luckily, the shooters looked like idiots who had decided to try robbing something and the hotel was chosen just because it was there. No planning. No brains. She couldn’t have known that when she stepped in.

  Tough woman.

  He flicked a glance at Troy and Bobby. A medic had made it inside. A second one towed a stretcher. Uniforms and SWAT guys swarmed inside to take over the civilians in the back of the room. Checking for statements. Checking for injuries. Crime scene would follow.

  That was a job he wouldn’t want. Contamination was everywhere. Thank heavens for cell phones. Some were aimed at him right now. One in particular. He signaled another uniform to go get it. A cell phone of the whole shoot out would solve a lot of problems. If only.

  Bobby, up on a gurney, IV bag up, bandages in place, was being rushed out to the bus. Troy signaled he was going with. Ivan nodded.

  The gun bagged, he handed it of
f to the crime scene techs, who were staggering in, carrying gear. Setting up. Already complaining.

  SWAT guys had done the initial contact with some of the witnesses and were busy beating a hasty retreat. They had another callout. Their excuse to flee. Several writers had been a little too attentive.

  There were enough civilians to be dealt with that the chief would more than likely show up with a couple other bigwigs. Lots of brass. This incident would get dissected, made into a B-roll for the local news media, and get rehashed by brass for weeks. A PR nightmare.

  Oh yes, this would get a lot of attention. The press was probably queued up outside. Someone would breach the crime scene tape any minute. He had to ignore that. Ignore the cell phones. Ignore the people trying to take selfies. Some of the women really had actual cameras in addition to cell phones. They’d need to get all those photos. It wasn’t his job.

  Right now, his friendly had his attention. She had been watching him. He had been aware. An understatement.

  She seemed intent on getting coffee. That was obvious. She was laser-focused on the hotel staff who were slipping in and providing. The civilians had asked. Different officers came forward, lifted the small table, ready to haul the whole thing over to the back of the room.

  Not before his civilian grabbed a cup.

  Something was off. She was wobbly. She wasn’t holding the cup right.

  When he saw why, he leapt forward, wrapped her waist with one arm, and watched as her hand let the cup tip over, spill, and fall. Blood dripped from her fingers.

  He was moving before it had fully registered.

  She’s been hit. Had to be. How had he missed that?

  Ivan quickly wrapped his arms around her, backed her up, and got her to a chair, shouting for a medic to get back inside. She slid off the chair and he broke her fall to the floor. The medic had offered to bring in a gurney and set her up on it. She declined.

  He worked on the floor. When they were done cleaning up the wound, a deep graze on her upper shooting arm, they applied a temp bandage. She needed stiches. She asked for help getting up.