An hour later, she felt the tired ache in her leg muscles as she waited for Bull to fill her orders. Still out of shape, but she was doing better than her first nights here. Walking to the grocery store and coffee shop was making a difference.
Her lips quirked at the thought. Honestly, moving to Alaska was an awfully extreme way to get some exercise. She could have just joined a gym.
Well, except for having a hitman after her.
“You all right, champ?” Bull asked, studying her.
“I’m fine, thank you.” She smiled at him. “I won’t be yelling at any more big animals, trust me.”
“Good to hear.”
The tray of drinks went to a table of three women—massage therapists—who worked at McNally’s Ski Resort. Audrey held up the first one. “Here’s a Long Island Iced Tea.”
“That’s mine,” the sturdy redhead said unnecessarily. Her gaze went past Audrey, and she nudged the blonde on her left. “Isn’t that Brooke at the table by the door?”
The blonde turned and nodded. “That’s her. I see she’s already found herself a hottie.”
The redhead snorted. “Of course she has.”
Taking the last drink, the third woman asked, “I’ve seen her around, I think. Who is she?”
“Resort public relations.” The first woman shook her head. “She pretty much ignores us. For her, it’s all about the men.”
Audrey picked up the empties, swiped over a damp area, and headed for the next table. Her mood soured as she realized the “hottie” beside Brooke was Gabe.
Even worse, they were in her section.
After tending to two other tables, she ran out of reasons to stall.
Sitting with Gabe and Brooke was a dark-haired Hispanic-looking man. He smiled at Audrey as she walked up.
“Are you folks ready for another round?” Audrey asked.
Brooke gave her a cool smile. “Lovely, a waitress at last. I’d like a mojito.”
“All right.” Audrey nodded toward the Hispanic man. “And you, sir?”
“It’s Caz, and you’re Julie, I hear.” The calm Spanish-accented voice was like warm velvet. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s good to finally meet you.”
She froze, feeling her heart stutter in her chest. People were talking about her? Would that draw attention? Get back to Spyros?
When Gabe’s eyes narrowed speculatively, she forced herself to pull in slow breaths. No panicking. Tilting her head toward Caz, she said, “It’s good to meet you, too. Can I get you a drink?”
“I think Bull’s Moose Brewery has a seasonal spring beer. I’d like that, please.” He grinned at Gabe. “And bring Bull’s Off-the-Road stout for the viejo here.”
Viejo meant old man in Spanish. “He’s not old.”
Gabe’s low chuckle sent happy chills up her spine. Oh, he really should laugh more.
Brooke leaned into Gabe and her suggestive whisper was far too audible. “You aren’t old at all…and you can prove it to me later.”
Audrey moved swiftly back to the bar because if Gabe kissed that obnoxious woman, she didn’t want to see it.
And she didn’t want that knot of unhappiness in her stomach. The one that grew every time Brooke touched him.
* * *
Gabe considered cuffing Brooke to her chair. Not for fun and games, but simply to get her the fuck off of him.
When he’d arrived at the bar, he’d been surprised to see her. It’d been years since he’d dated her in Anchorage, and he’d no idea she had a job at the resort.
She hadn’t changed any. Still flirted with anything with a dick.
He’d discovered early in their relationship that she had all the fidelity of a cat in heat and had planned to break up with her even before she’d latched onto Bull. Then, still dating Bull, she’d tried for Caz.
Just as well that Mako had a talk with them when they’d first discovered women. The sarge had explained the mess that could arise if a woman was allowed to come between teammates. So, in their teens, they’d come up with their own rules.
If not for their bro code, Brooke could have caused serious problems. She was the kind of a person who thrived on causing havoc. And in putting down other women.
Now, he was regretting being friendly to her when he’d come in tonight. She was a beautiful woman, but Gabe had never been into playing games. Not then, not now.
With a flirtatious bat of her eyelashes, she pressed against him.
“Brooke,” he warned.
She leaned into him even more, shoving her breast against his arm.
“If you rub on me one more time, I’m going to assume you’re itching. Bull probably has flea spray.”
She jerked back. Her face went red, then cold. “That was rude.”
“So is rubbing your tits on someone.” He lifted a hand to Caz—the poor bastard could deal with the fallout—and walked away.
In the middle of the room, he saw Julie picking up their drinks from the bar.
She’d been damn shaken when she came in tonight. Scared. And he was wondering what else scared her. She was lying about her name, her past, probably about everything. Was he judging her too harshly for those lies?
Turning, he headed for her and picked his beer off her tray. “Thanks.”
“Oh, of course.” She glanced at the table and blinked.
Following her gaze, Gabe saw Brooke was flirting with Caz now. Good enough. Caz was more than equal to extracting himself and would undoubtedly do it with charm.
Gabe turned his attention back to Julie. “Brooke was right.”
Julie’s back went straight…and Gabe remembered all the other insulting statements Brooke had made. Hell, at the rate he was going, he’d soon have every female in the roadhouse aiming for his balls. “About the wildlife, I mean. You need lessons.”
“I’ll do some reading about—”
“I work tomorrow, you work Saturday. Let’s make it Sunday morning. I’ll pick you up in the morning at nine. Wear shoes you can walk in.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, enjoying the sweet curve of her cheek. “In the meantime, park closer to your door and avoid that moose. Call the station if you need help.”
He left before she could argue…because as smart as she was, she’d undoubtedly win.
Chapter Thirteen
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot shoot, the courage to shoot the things I can, and the wisdom to hide their bodies.
~ Unknown
* * *
Well, that didn’t take long. The next afternoon at the station, Gabe leaned back and watched a video play out on his computer. Words appeared on a building.
“OUTSIDER GO HOME”
He, Bull, and Caz had positioned one of the security cameras outside an old Victorian-style house that a married couple had purchased for a B&B. Built by a millionaire in the 70s, the house was a broken-down beauty with ornate trim, towers and turrets, wrap-around porch, and a bay window.
On the camera, a short man with no neck was wielding a can of spray paint. Finishing the “OUTSIDER GO HOME” lettering, he exchanged fist bumps with his comrade in crime—a tall man with a distinctive drooping mustache.
Knox and Chevy, the handymen he’d met at Lillian’s house.
Gabe scrubbed his hands over his face. Man, this was going to be a mess.
From the lobby, Regina’s voice came through the open station door. “Earl, you’re right on time.”
“Hey, Regina. I heard you’re our new receptionist. That’s great if you’re ready to get bored. The police station doesn’t get much action.”
She laughed. “I’ll stay busy enough, since I’m covering the municipal offices and the health clinic, as well.”
“Whoa.” After a second, Baumer added, “That’s pretty smart.”
“I thought so. Before you ask, the chief is in his office.”
“Thanks.”
A second later, Baumer strolled through the open office door. Gabe gave him a sw
eeping glance. Clean uniform shirt, jeans, and boots. Duty belt on. Good.
“Afternoon, boss. How’s the week gone?”
“Not too well, but it might get better.” Gabe turned the monitor so the officer could see it.
“What the freaking eff? Hey, that’s a camera feed. Was someone filming them?”
“Me. I put up security cameras.”
“Yeah?” Baumer’s face clouded over. “Just when were you planning to tell me we had cameras, boss?”
The anger seemed excessive, considering Baumer hadn’t been on duty all week. Still, if positions were reversed, Gabe might’ve resented being left out of the loop. “I was planning to tell you at our first Friday meeting…which started a minute ago.”
Baumer stood still for a moment, then sighed. “Yeah, sorry. I’m not good with surprises.”
“You might have chosen the wrong career.” Moving on, Gabe tapped the screen. “What do you know about these two men?” Considering the size of the town, Baumer would know most of the inhabitants after living here a year.
“Chevy and Knox? They share a few acres off the grid. Each has a cabin. Winters, the guys work up in Prudhoe Bay to bring in cash. Chevy has a wife and a couple of youngsters. Knox’s woman left him a few months ago.”
“Any idea where we’ll find them today?”
Baumer glanced at the window looking out onto Main Street. “Actually, I saw them going into Dante’s a few minutes ago.”
“They probably wanted to see the reaction to their vandalism.”
Baumer shrugged. “All they’ll see is a pissed-off owner. No one else cares. Even a judge would only slap their hands.”
“For the paint, true. They also busted the windows.” And the Victorian had a lot of windows. “I figure that’ll cost over five hundred dollars to fix and elevates this to Class C criminal mischief.”
“That’s…that’s a felony.”
“Yep.” Gabe motioned to the screen. “Notice they’re not wearing gloves.”
“Shit.” Baumer frowned. “You got them on tape already. You don’t need their fingerprints.”
“Not for this crime, no. However, our perps never pick up after themselves, so I’ve got the spray paint used on other vandalized sites. And the ax used to destroy construction supplies at Bull’s bar. Everything has been fingerprinted and logged in as evidence.”
Gabe half-grinned. It’d been awhile since he’d processed a crime scene. The LAPD was big enough that fingerprinting was usually done by techs. Here, in Rescue, he and Baumer would do everything.
He rather liked the idea. “I’m afraid these two are in for a world of hurt. Bull’s pissed-off.”
“No gloves. The dumbasses,” Baumer muttered.
“Yep. Let’s go get them.”
Outside, Gabe headed for the grocery store, followed by the officer.
The two vandals stepped out of Dante’s, each carrying a grocery bag. Chatting amiably, Julie and Bull walked out after them.
“Chevy is yours,” Gabe told Baumer before raising his voice, “Knox, I’d like to speak with you, please.”
Both men froze. When Baumer pulled out his cuffs, the idiots attacked.
Gabe blocked a swing by Chevy and kicked him toward Baumer. The officer was sure slow as molasses at stepping into the fight.
“Fucking cop.” Knox threw his groceries at Gabe.
Gabe dodged the hail of cans and raised his arm in expectation of a follow-up punch.
Nothing.
Instead, he saw Knox stagger sideways. Recovering quickly, the man attacked.
After blocking Knox’s haymaker, Gabe jabbed his fist into the man’s breadbasket, folding him over.
Damn, that felt good.
As Knox straightened, Gabe delivered a sweet uppercut.
Knox staggered back.
Advancing, Gabe kicked the idiot’s feet out from under him, followed him down, and snapped on the cuffs.
Baumer had finally jumped in and was struggling with Chevy, so Gabe walked over and delivered a sharp kick to the back of the vandal’s knee. The man dropped.
Baumer pulled out his cuffs.
“You’re getting slow, viejo.” Caz was crossing the street from the clinic. “The sarge would have you doing drills all day to speed you up.”
Gabe gave him a grin. “Yeah, I was slow. You’re right.”
“That was slow?” someone said in a hoarse voice.
Turning, Gabe saw Baumer and the two vandals were staring at him.
Gabe frowned. In Iraq, after he’d killed a knife-wielding insurgent, his team had worn similar expressions. Because he’d taken a gut-wound and hadn’t noticed.
He looked down at himself. No blood. No knives. “What’s with the stares?”
Caz laughed. “Those two have been calling you a pussy city-cop Outsider.”
“Well, that’s just rude.” Gabe yanked Knox to his feet. “It is true that I was a city cop, though.”
The rest, not so much. But he rarely spoke about his past. Terrified the law would return them to foster care, Mako’s boys learned to stay silent about where they lived. That wariness became entrenched. Being a SEAL—not gonna share. And he sure wasn’t about to discuss working as a merc.
“Hey, Chief.” Leaning against the grocery store wall, Bull had a grip on Julie’s upper arm.
At the sight of her wide eyes, a pang of guilt shot through Gabe. While he’d been enjoying himself, she’d been terrified at the violence. Not surprising considering her recent past.
He should have tried harder to avoid the fight.
Then he blinked. Damned if she wasn’t holding a bottle of apple cider by the neck. Like a weapon. And Bull’s grip on her was one of restraint, not support. The realization she’d wanted to help him warmed his heart. “You were going to whack Knox for me?”
Bull snorted. “She did whack Knox for you. I’m surprised the bottle didn’t break.”
Ah, that was why Knox had staggered.
“He…he could have killed you. Are you crazy?” She sputtered for a second. “You were smiling. When you hit him, you smiled.”
“Yeah, well, there’s no law that says law enforcement can’t derive a smidgeon of pleasure from a good fight.”
She sputtered some more. Fuck, she was cute. “Thank you, Goldilocks. I appreciate the help.”
Eyes on Gabe, Knox wore a perplexed expression.
Gabe couldn’t help laughing. “What? Pussy city-cops can’t have fun on the streets?”
“Sure doesn’t act like a city boy,” Chevy grumbled.
Gabe glanced at Bull. “As long as you’re here, do you have the damage totals for me?”
“Yep.” Bull pulled a paper from his pocket and handed it over. “All itemized and everything.”
“Thanks.” Gabe turned the paper so Chevy and Knox could see the sum at the bottom. “This is the dollar amount of damage done to the roadhouse during the remodeling.”
Although Knox just shrugged, Chevy went whiter than the snow on the Chugach Mountains.
“The other businesses are digging up the figures for me, as well,” Gabe said.
“Hey, Chief. Are you transporting them for AST lockup or am I?” Baumer had Chevy by one arm.
“First, let’s take our guests into the bullpen for a chat.”
* * *
Audrey stared after Gabe and the other officer as they led the two handcuffed men across the street to the police station. The chief was limping slightly.
In front of the building, the new receptionist crossed her arms over her chest. Her voice carried clearly. “As a mother, I can only say, your mamas would be ashamed of you.”
The two men flinched.
In the coffee shop doorway, Sarah gave a snorty laugh. “Here I thought it was the tourists that would provide the entertainment today.”
As Sarah returned to her counter, Audrey shook her head. “I’m not sure I consider that entertainment.” No matter what the big police chief thought.
�
�Oh, it was.” Bull chuckled.
She frowned at his hand on her arm. “You can let go of me now.”
“Sorry, champ. I couldn’t let you charge into that fight; you might’ve gotten hurt,” he rumbled.
Anger simmered as she looked at the huge man beside her. “Gabe might have gotten hurt. You didn’t even help.”
“If he’d been up against a half dozen, I’d have stepped in. But just a couple of rednecks against the old man? No contest.”
“Old man. Why do you call him that?” Caz called him viejo. Old man. “He’s not old.”
“He’s older than me. That’s all that counts.” Bull’s grin was white against his light brown skin and dark goatee. “It’s also a nickname for a commanding officer. When he refused to choose a call sign, we had to give him one.”
“Because he bosses you around?” Gabe did, she’d noticed. Wherever the chief was, he’d probably end up the one in charge.
“Because when he leads, people follow.” Bull’s gaze was on the municipal building, and his mouth turned up into a satisfied smile. “Even when he doesn’t want them to.”
Oh.
Bull glanced at the bottle Audrey was holding. “Hang on to that. I’ll tell Dante to put it on my tab.”
“But—”
“Keep it as a souvenir of the day you returned to the fight.”
As he disappeared back into Dante’s, she looked down at the bottle, weighing the heft of it. In spite of Spyros and her fear, she’d acted.
To save Gabe.
Feeling powerful, she tucked the bottle under her arm. Tonight, she’d pour herself a glass of cider…because she deserved it.
Two subdued vandals sat side-by-side in the main room of the station. Seeing the camera footage and being fingerprinted had silenced Knox and Chevy’s bluster.
As if distancing himself, Baumer sat at his desk across the room.
Leaning a hip against the center table, Gabe crossed his arms over his chest. “What with the evidence we have, a prosecutor would go for a third-degree criminal mischief charge. That’s a felony offense.”
His words fell into the silent room, and as the two shrank, Gabe…paused.
Not a Hero Page 14
