Not a Hero

by Cherise Sinclair

“There’s a relief.” Gabe yanked Earl to his feet and shoved him toward Guzman. “Take charge of this one until the state troopers get here, will you?”

  “Be a pleasure.” Guzman gripped Earl’s arm. Face pitiless, Tucker took the other arm.

  Earl’s shoulders slumped.

  Gabe’s gaze met Audrey’s—and held. The hardness in his face eased. He slapped the pilot on the shoulder and headed over at a jog.

  Audrey could feel her muscles loosen. He was all right. Alive. Moving.

  “Audrey.”

  She realized someone wanted her attention. With an effort, she pulled her gaze away.

  “Chica, look at me.”

  She turned her head and looked into Caz’s dark brown eyes.

  “That is better.” He held up a roll of gauze as Bull stepped back. “I’m going to put a pressure dressing on your arm so Bull doesn’t have to hold it for you.”

  “Sure.”

  “Hey, Bull, you should say hi to the pilot.” Gabe dropped to one knee beside her. “Caz, did you see she got shot? Did she tell you?” His hand wrapped around her nape, and he leaned his forehead against hers. “Jesus, I saw you go down, and hell, I didn’t know I could be so damn scared. Are you all right?”

  She was. Now that he was here, was touching her, the tightness in her chest was loosening. “My hero,” she whispered and touched his face. “I’m not hurt. I dropped down because I ran out of bullets. I’m fine. Really.”

  Caz made a sound of disagreement that had Gabe looking at him.

  “Report, bro.” Gabe’s hand was still around the back of her neck, so wonderfully warm.

  “Her arm—mostly superficial, but far too many cuts. But why blood on this side?” Caz scowled as he pulled Bull’s coat away farther and tugged at her soaked clothing. “Sí, there’s blood here. Audrey, let me see your hip.”

  As Gabe leaned forward to unzip her jeans, her gaze fixed on his raingear. At the place where the camo spots all ran together…with red.

  “Oh, no. No, no, no, you’re hurt.” A buzzing started in her ears. So much blood. “Fix Gabe. He’s hurt. Fix him.”

  Her breathing was getting all funny and fast as she turned to Caz. “Fix him.”

  “Shhh, shhh.” Caz ran his hand over her back. “Strip down some, Gabe, while I check out her wound. And I’ll deal with whichever of you is hurt worse.”

  “You will care for Aud—” Gabe broke off at the high growl she made. Chuckling, he doffed his coat and unbuttoned his shirt.

  Seeing the bleeding, gaping wound along his ribs, she started to cry. “Noooo. He hurt you.”

  “Been hurt worse.” Gabe’s eyes darkened as Caz peeled down her jeans. “Jesus, that looks nasty.”

  She looked down. A bloody furrow ran across the outside of her hip. Well, eff-it-all, the New Yorker’s bullet had hit her. She only had a second to see it before Caz had rinsed it off and put on a pad, followed by a thicker piece of gauze. He taped it down tightly enough to make her wince.

  “You were lucky, chiquita. The bullet just made a gouge on the way past. Missed the bone, missed the joint, only got tissue.” After pulling Bull’s coat back around her, Caz rose and stepped to Gabe’s side with his first aid kit.

  “Your ribs turned the blade. You were lucky, ’mano,” Caz muttered.

  “Yeah, we all were.”

  After the knife puncture on Gabe’s ribs was cleaned and covered, Audrey found she could breathe again. He’d be all right.

  “Look who’s here, Caz.” Bull approached with the pilot beside him. The man had short caramel-colored hair, fair skin with a weathered tan. A long jagged scar ran across his forehead. Another one on his cheek disappeared into a short beard and pulled his upper lip into a slight sneer.

  “Hawk.” Jumping to his feet, Caz hugged the man. “Dios. Where did you come from, bro?”

  “Talked to Bull a couple of days ago. I heard the old man’s girlfriend had trouble.”

  Why did this Hawk’s intonation sound more like the “the girlfriend is trouble?” Perhaps because of the way he was studying her with cynical blue eyes.

  Hawk turned away from her to Caz. “I was flying to see you, but when I called the Rescue PD on where to land, Dante said shit was going down. So I came here.”

  “Good timing.” Caz eyed the helicopter. “Knox, Gabe, and Audrey need a ride to town, and I need to go with to patch them up.”

  “She sure can’t walk out. She’s not only half-frozen, but did you see her ankle, Caz?” Bull glanced at Hawk. “You can take the prisoners, too.”

  “No, I’ll only haul Caz and the injured. Can’t take anyone else,” Hawk said. “I’m low on gas.”

  As Caz started examining her ankle, Audrey winced. Somehow, this pain was one pain too many. Her hands closed into fists. Ow, ow, ow.

  Gabe knelt and wrapped a reassuring arm around her shoulder before asking Hawk, “Low on gas? Were you waiting out the storm in the air?”

  “Nah, the clouds were thinning when I got here. Problem was the other chopper wanted to land.” Hawk’s lips twisted into a malevolent smile. “After I dive-bombed him a few times, he changed his mind.”

  Bull’s laugh roared out across the clearing. “Only you think a knife fight means chopper blades.”

  “Caz might carry more blades, but mine are bigger.” The pilot’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  Audrey leaned her head against Gabe’s chest. She hurt, oh God, how she hurt, and none of that mattered. Gabe was alive, his heartbeat slow and strong under her ear.

  “Is Lillian all right?” she whispered, tilting her head back to look at him.

  “Yeah, she is.” He kissed the tip of her nose, then her lips. “You should have heard her cursing.”

  Audrey laughed. She’d been present when a blackberry vine had raked down Lillian’s arm. The poor vine probably withered away from shame by the time the Englishwoman had finished describing its parentage.

  Caz tugged at Audrey’s shoe, and her laugh stopped abruptly as pain stabbed into her ankle.

  “Sorry, chica. Let’s forget getting your footwear off.” Caz wrapped a stretch bandage around the outside of her boot. “Keep it on until we reach the clinic.”

  “I like that plan.” Her words came out through clenched teeth, and Gabe’s arm drew tighter around her.

  “Crap.” Chevy stood beside Caz, staring at Audrey. “You look like…like bad.”

  “Man, that isn’t the way to charm a woman.” Bull winked at Audrey.

  Looking worried, Chevy shook his head. “Our sweetheart librarian doesn’t worry me. It’s the mayor. When I picked up the reinforcements, the Brit said she’d gut me with a dirty fish knife if I didn’t bring her girl back safe and sound.”

  Tucker joined them. His assessing gaze took in Audrey’s bloody jeans, her bruised face. Anger and worry narrowed his eyes before he looked at Gabe as if for reassurance.

  “She’ll be all right,” Gabe said.

  “The asshole who took her…” Tucker’s voice was tight. “Before you take him back, I wanna chat with—”

  “He’s dead, Tuck.” Gabe’s words were cold and even. “He won’t hurt anyone ever again.”

  Audrey realized most of the men were watching, listening, and their approval sounded clearly in the cold mountain air.

  “Good.” “Got what he deserved.” “Drag him out of hell and kill him again.” “Teach him to screw with our pretty librarian.”

  Tears burned her eyes as she realized no one blamed her. That they’d come, armed and ready to risk their lives…for her. Our librarian. Misty-eyed, she looked from man to man. Had she thought she didn’t belong?

  “Thank you.” Her voice cracked but carried through the clearing. “Thank you all.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  When a man bleeds to save your ass, you know you got no finer a friend. ~ First Sergeant Michael “Mako” Tyne

  * * *

  Gabe listened as a blue-grass trio played the classic “John Henry” song
to an appreciative audience. The Lynx Lake Park bandstand was nothing fancy, just a two-foot high raised platform with a roof over it, but it served the purpose. Everywhere he looked were clusters of people, some at picnic tables, some on blankets on the grass. Bright coolers and picnic baskets added color. The early August Saturday evening was clear. At ten-thirty, the sun was starting to set. A breeze past the park’s pedestal grills brought the fading aromas of burgers, hot dogs, and salmon.

  It’d been an interesting three-or-so weeks since what the townsfolk were calling “The Kidnapping.” Personally, he’d titled it the “clusterfuck of a day.” It’d be a long time before he got past the sight of Audrey getting shot. Falling.

  He also remembered her sheer courage, the fury on her face, as she’d stood, firing bullet after bullet at Buzzcut. If she hadn’t diverted the man’s attention, Gabe would be dead.

  Damn, she was something.

  And his nightmares—and hers—would fade with time. The law enforcement, reporters, and everyone else in the known universe were finally gone. Aside from the trials awaiting the survivors on Spyros’s team and Baumer, life in Rescue had returned to normal.

  In fact, he’d started interviewing people for Baumer’s old police officer post.

  Strolling through the park, he greeted people, dodged children, and considered going back to the grill for another burger.

  “Hey, Chief.”

  At Uriah’s call, Gabe stopped. “Evening, you two.”

  On a dark blue saddle blanket, Sarah and Uriah were enjoying their drinks while their daughter Rachel finished off a hot dog. Sarah tilted her head back. “So, Gabe. Are you enjoying the mini-fest?”

  “I am.”

  “I have a feeling the townsfolk will go for a bigger event next year,” Sarah said. “The entire atmosphere is more welcoming to tourists these days.”

  Mayor Lillian had called this a “test day” to see if Rescue wanted to hold a true harvest festival next summer. This trial run was merely a town event—an evening in the park—although it’d drawn a fair number of tourists from the resort and fishing lodges. The council had provided burgers and hot dogs; local fishermen donated salmon. Volunteers manned the grills. Several picnic tables held a community potluck of side dishes and desserts.

  “You know, I think you’re right.” Gabe grinned as a bevy of young children raced past with streamers, avoiding the older children playing soccer in a grassy space.

  People were having fun.

  Even better, there’d been no incidents. No stealing. No vandalism. Not even any brawling, which was probably a record.

  Huh. That would be his goal for events—no fights.

  A burst of clear, musical laughter caught his attention.

  In a nearby group of women, Audrey was describing—and acting out—her battle with the salmon she’d caught yesterday. She finished by pointing to the grill to show who’d been victorious. A chorus of congratulations came from the women.

  Wasn’t it odd that the woman who worried she had no social skills had been instrumental in breaking down the barriers between people? Aside from the PZs, the various factions had united to save her…and discovered they had more in common than they’d thought.

  The mini-fest tonight with food, activities, and a wealth of children was also creating new connections. With the first of the playground equipment in and a grassy space for sports, the kids weren’t concerned if someone’s parents ran businesses or lived off the road or were fishing guides. They just wanted to play.

  Soon enough, parents were setting their own differences aside, at least for one evening.

  In a crackle of loudspeaker static, the trio’s fiddle-player announced from the bandstand, “We’re taking a break now, and Mayor Lillian says she’s going to get Caz and Bull—and even our Chief of Police up here next.”

  Gabe frowned. Since when had he volunteered to play?

  Glancing around, he spotted Caz and Bull carrying their instruments. Bull had Gabe’s guitar. Damned if Hawk wasn’t following along with his fiddle.

  Guess he’d been drafted. Wouldn’t be the first time. They would sing together in the military, on drunken nights of carousing, even while helping Bull with his first bar…

  If Mako’s sons were together, they eventually ended up playing music together.

  As he headed toward the bandstand, he stopped at the group of women and tucked his arm around Audrey.

  She smiled up at him. “I hear you’re going to—”

  He took her lips. Oh yeah. Pulling her closer, he enjoyed the hell out of kissing her. Somehow, he couldn’t foresee a time he wouldn’t. “Mmm.”

  Despite looking thoroughly well kissed, she attempted to glare at him. “Chief MacNair, there are children here.”

  He gave her an innocent look. “Hey, I kept my dick in my pants.”

  That set off all the women around her, including one who must’ve been about ninety.

  As Audrey pressed her face against his chest, trying to smother giggles, he pulled her along with him.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We need a soprano”—he grinned at Caz who was on the stage—“right, bro?”

  “Very true.” Caz leaned down to take Audrey’s hand and help her onto the stage. “Don’t look so worried, chiquita. You know we sound better with you singing.”

  “That’s right.” Bull smiled at her and started the lead-in to “Rainy Day People.”

  When their voices rose, there was a sweet soprano with them.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, someone said loudly, “One of these things is not like the others.”

  Gabe looked up from his guitar.

  In front of the stage, a large number of Patriot Zealots in jeans, work shirts, and patriotic-sloganed baseball caps stared at Caz.

  Gabe’d never seen any of them before. For fuck’s sake, how many men did Parrish have at his compound?

  A red-bearded man held his throat and made gagging sounds.

  A guy with tats running up his arms said, “I crossed two borders to get away from the stinking beaners. And here’s one, front and center.”

  Son of a bitch, their target was Caz for being Hispanic.

  As the rest of the PZs descended into sarcastic agreement, Gabe’s fingers tightened on the fret, flattening the sound of the strings. He stared down at the bigoted idiots. “Move on. Now.”

  They ignored him.

  “Of course, the wetback made it here to Alaska. You know, like oil, greasers slide everywhere.” The man, all three hundred pounds worth, grinned as if he’d said something brilliant.

  As Caz growled, Gabe winced. His brother endured this dumbass intolerance and even managed to ignore it most of the time. But there was a breaking point. And that sound meant he’d reached it.

  Hell.

  Gabe leaned forward. “Last chance. Get out of here before you regret it.”

  “Oooh, the pussy cop is defending his tacohead friend. I’m so scared.” A squat guy with the face of a weasel pretended to cringe away, bumped into a young woman—and shoved her out of his way.

  As she staggered, almost falling, a man dressed in black caught her.

  “What a cunt,” Weasel-face muttered.

  “Yeah, shouldn’t let women out of the kitch—”

  “That’s it.” Caz stepped from behind his drum, launched from the stage, and hit the front-most man, knocking him to the ground.

  In typical cowardly style, four of the bastards jumped on Caz.

  That was definitely it. “You take the dogpile, Bull.” Gabe set his guitar down and dove at three more men getting ready to jump on.

  His targets went down like bowling pins.

  Bull gave a happy roar as he leaped off the stage. When he reached the dogpile, bodies went flying. Off to one side, Hawk waited politely for his opponents to be tossed to him. It was nice to see his brother laughing.

  Good times.

  A couple of minutes later, Gabe’d finished with h
is three, leaving them sprawled and groaning on the ground. As he moved away, his jaw throbbed from a fist he hadn’t dodged quickly enough, and his healing ribs ached from a stray kick.

  Surprised that more PZs hadn’t come to the assistance of his three opponents, he checked the brawl.

  Damned if small fights weren’t going on all over the grassy space.

  Smiling cruelly, Hawk stood with his foot on the three-hundred-pounder’s thick neck. The corpulent bastard’s face was a dark red—not blue—so he was getting enough air.

  Gabe grinned.

  A familiar-looking man in black—the one who’d caught the girl—landed a sweet right jab to a PZ belly and followed it up with a knockout punch.

  Tucker, Guzman, Uriah—hell, a large number of men had taken on the PZs. There was Knox along with several more male and female residents he didn’t recognize.

  Now it was the PZs who were out-numbered.

  Dogpile gone, Bull dragged two half-conscious men—by the feet—off the field of battle and toward the onlookers.

  Near a picnic table, Audrey had a black cane in her hand and an unconscious Zealot in front of her. She nudged him with her foot. When he didn’t move, she gave the cane to a scrawny, old man at the picnic table.

  Gabe eyed the cane, then the tattooed bastard on the ground. Uh-huh. Yeah, he was going to keep this woman.

  Two brothers and one woman were accounted for. Where was Caz?

  Ah, fuck.

  Straddling the red-bearded man, Caz had a knife to the asshole’s neck.

  Moving closer, Gabe cleared his throat. “Jesus, Caz, I’m gonna be pissed off if you kill him. Do you know how much paperwork I’ll get stuck with?”

  The blade didn’t move. “No problemo—I’ll just cut him up a bit.”

  “Now, let’s think this through. Who, exactly, will be stuck stitching up the bastard?”

  Caz gave Gabe a narrow-eyed stare before staring down at his victim. The knife moved an inch. A whisper whitened the asshole’s face to the color of fresh fallen snow.

  Good. Threats were good. Gabe let out the breath he’d been holding.

  After flipping the knife and shoving it into his boot-sheath, Caz rose. He gave Gabe an aggrieved stare and walked away. “I need a drink.”