by Meg Ripley
THE END
Max
Max swooped the chopper through the sky over Dallas. The city seemed to be made for viewing from the air, surrounded as it was by lakes. Even the corporate hotshots who owned the skyscrapers downtown had gone to the trouble of giving the buildings different colored lights to make them stand out. There was so much to see, whether it was day or night.
But the couple that was riding along with him didn’t seem to notice. They were too busy sucking face to be awestruck by the beauty below them.
“On your left is the world’s largest potato chip, bigger than any building in Texas. We like to do things big around here.” Max waited for them to break their liplock and search for the fictional tourist trap, but they didn’t reply at all. The only thing he heard through the mic was the smacking of their lips and moaning as they groped each other.
He grimaced. He’d have to decontaminate the chopper at the end of the night at this rate. With a sigh, he buzzed around the city and waited for their time to run out. The newlyweds had booked a night over Dallas with Luxury Air Tours, taking advantage of the package offered along with their hotel. Max was tempted to do something really stupid and pull some maneuvers that would get him fired just so he could get the satisfaction of hearing them scream, but damn it if he didn’t need this job.
And damn it if it didn’t remind him of the past. Max was a good chopper pilot, otherwise he never would’ve been accepted into the Night Stalkers. His military record included plenty of medals and ribbons for the missions he’d carried out successfully. There were some of them he couldn’t even tell anyone about, since they were still classified. Not that he had anyone he felt like sharing them with, anyway.
For a moment, Max was no longer hanging in the sky over Dallas. He was over the desert, keeping the bird steady as soldiers slipped down the fast rope to their duty. There was sand in his eyes and in his hair and everywhere else, and as soon as he found the chance to shower, he’d just be full of sand again. The sun was too bright and the air was too hot, even for his inner tiger sensibilities. Bullets pinged the sides of the chopper, missing him by only a few inches.
He sucked in a deep breath and was back in Texas again. A place that was safe, or at least a place that was supposed to be. But Max hadn’t been able to bring himself to trust anyone since his honorable discharge. There was too much going on in his head, and it was easier to just fly into the air and pretend none of it had ever happened.
An hour later, when the kissing couple had been dropped off at the helipad and had thanked him with flushed faces, even though they hadn’t seen a damn thing, Max got in his car and headed home. He wove through Friday night traffic the same way he buzzed through the air, feeling that the cars around him were too close. He didn’t trust them to follow the rules of the road, and he pressed the gas pedal a little harder until he pulled into the garage.
“Good, you’re here!” Vance said as Max entered the common living area at the headquarters of the Special Ops Shifter Force’s Dallas unit. “I was just about to call you and tell you about your new mission.”
“Can’t it wait until I’ve had a shower?” Max grumbled. He felt tired and dirty, and the mere memories of his time overseas made him feel like he was covered in sand all over again.
“Not really. Let’s go to the conference room.” Vance turned and headed down the hallway, expecting him to follow.
Max stared longingly at the door to his left that led to his little apartment. The original SOS Force was stationed in D.C., but they’d recently started a Dallas unit, and Max had been recruited to be a part of it. Since living quarters were provided for those who needed them, it’d been easy for Max to let his slummy little place on the wrong side of town go. Besides, if he was working both for Luxury Air Tours and for the Force, it made for a little less driving to stay at HQ.
Reluctantly, he joined the others in the conference room. “All right. What’s the latest emergency?” he asked as he flopped down into a chair.
Jack, the resident intelligence officer—and a fox when humans weren’t looking—tapped a tablet on the table in front of him. “I just finished up a call with Hudson. We’ve got an unusual task in front of us.”
“And?” Max pressed. He just wanted to get this over with. He felt restless and cagey, and it was easy to imagine how his cousins who lived in the zoos must feel.
Vance leaned back in his seat. “You’re wound up tonight.”
Max heaved an impatient sigh. “It’s just not a good night for me. I’d like to wrap this up sooner than later if you don’t mind.”
Jack looked up from his tablet. “You could say we have a private client. There’s a rather affluent shifter in Fort Worth who’s a major witness in an investigation being conducted by the local conclave. I guess there have already been some incidents that have made her believe her life may be in danger until this trial is over. We’ve been asked to protect her.”
Max scowled. “So now we’re just really well-trained babysitters?”
“Think of it as a bodyguard mission, man. She lives in a penthouse apartment with a helipad on the roof, so that’ll make it really easy for you to chauffeur her around to work, her appointments, and the court hearings,” Jack continued. “The rest of the time, we can take turns guarding her.”
“Right. Okay. No different than what I do all day anyway: hauling around rich-ass folks who think a normal car isn’t good enough for them. Just give me the info and let me know when I’m supposed to pick her up.”
Jack consulted the tablet and gave him the address. “Tomorrow afternoon, actually. The name’s Sabrina Barrett.”
Max’s vision turned black around the edges, and his tiger surged as he focused solely on Jack. “Sabrina Barrett?” he said hoarsely. It could be a coincidence. Surely, there was more than one Sabrina Barrett on the planet. And the one he’d known hadn’t been such a rich bitch as to need a helicopter to take her out on errands. He swallowed the thickness that was building in his throat. “What, uh, what does she do for a living?”
Jack frowned at the tablet. “Says here she’s some hotshot cosmetic surgeon.”
Shit. Shit shit shit. If the client had been some financial advisor or movie star or something, he’d have felt a lot better. But it seemed clear he wasn’t going to be able to escape his past the way he’d wanted to.
“You all right?” Vance drawled.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” Max pushed himself out of the chair, his body feeling too heavy. “Just tired. I’d better get some rest if I’m going to fly tomorrow. We done here?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
He stumbled down the hallway, running his hand through his dark hair and wondering how he was going to manage this. It was one thing to play air cabbie for some snob.
It was a completely different thing to do for the woman he’d practically left at the altar.
* * *
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Meg Ripley is an author of sizzling shifter romances. A Seattle native, Meg can often be found curled up in a local coffee house with her laptop.
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