Truth or Consequences

by Diana Duncan

  “What kind of idiot do you take me for?”

  She hesitated, then forged ahead. What did she have to lose, except her dubious dignity? “I’d like to be friends. Please, call me Zoe.” He’d obviously expected a counterattack instead of an olive branch. “And I don’t think you’re an idiot at all. You’re a very intelligent man.”

  He studied her face. “You’re playing a very dangerous game, Ms. Zagretti. And I’m a very dangerous man.”

  Dangerous. To her peace of mind? Assuredly. To her libido? Definitely. But bodily harm? No way. Her instincts said he would never hurt her. Her self-preservation instincts were infallible. “It’s not a game. It’s my life’s ambition.”

  Dark fury blazed, his brown irises smoldering. “Don’t betray my family to further your ambition, or you will be one sorry lady.”

  “I told you, I want to help.”

  His brows snapped together. “You haven’t seen the carnage that DiMarco is capable of. He’s already hurt too many people, caused too much pain. You have to drop it.”

  “Don’t you see? That’s exactly why I can’t drop it.”

  The door swung open, and the aide bumped out backwards, tugging the cart piled with bedding. Zoe waited, holding Aidan’s gaze, willing him to believe her. The aide swung the cart around and entered the next room. Zoe infused her words with sincerity. “I’m good at my job. Give me a chance—”

  The pager at Aidan’s waist shrilled, snagging his attention. “Rich!” he roared.

  Officer Ryan rounded the corner and jogged down the hallway toward them. “Heard it. Got a call-out?”

  “Yeah.” Aidan yanked his jacket off the chair. He skewered Ryan with his laser glare and pointed at Zoe. “If she gets anywhere near DiMarco, I’ll have your guts for garters.”

  Ryan straightened. “I wasn’t about to let her inside.”

  Aidan sprinted away, his gait the fluid, long-legged stride of a predator on the hunt.

  Momentarily thwarted in her quest, Zoe shouldered her bag. A SWAT call-up, hmm? That was usually breaking news.

  Thirty minutes later, dressed in black battle gear, Aidan stood with his hip propped against the white-tiled kitchen counter in a house the team had commandeered for the command post. They’d evacuated the entire block. At the north end of the tree-lined suburban street, Eric Kinkaid had gone ballistic and was holding his two young daughters at knifepoint.

  Domestic disturbances counted among the worst situations police officers faced. Hazardous and unpredictable, often brutally violent, they simmered with explosive emotions that put the victims and the cops sent to help them in deadly peril. Aidan preferred a straightforward armed assault any day.

  “Kinkaid lost his job a while back.” Also wearing battle gear, Captain Lou Greene sat at the table scanning intel reports. Everything from blueprints of the hostage site to neighbors’ observations of the suspect’s moods and behavior were listed on the forms. “He’s been moping around the house, drinking and talking trash. And we still can’t locate the wife.”

  Captain Greene was filling in for Aidan’s brother Con, Alpha Team’s leader since Greene had “retired” to desk duty in February. Con was getting married that evening. Bailey, his fiancée, was fully supportive of his dangerous, unpredictable job. However, she’d put her foot down about him answering call-outs on their wedding day. Without Con by his side, Aidan felt as if he were missing a limb. He’d seen a lot less of his brother lately. He didn’t begrudge Con one second of happiness, but his engagement had left Aidan somewhat adrift. At least they still worked together. Two months ago, Aidan had been offered leadership of Delta Team, but had declined. He liked working with his brothers, liked being the man who guarded their backs.

  Their unsinkable mom called them her four “S” men. Not only because they stair-stepped in age from twenty-eight to thirty-one, or because they were all SWAT. She had a unique handle for each. Aidan, the strong. Con, the sensitive. Liam, the scamp. Grady, the searcher. As if Maureen O’Rourke had room to talk. The energetic redhead was as stubborn and capable as any of her sons. Maybe more than all four of them put together.

  Speaking of stubborn, capable women, Aidan’s recent encounter with Zoe had tied his insides into confused knots. As torqued as he’d been with her for snooping around his family, he hadn’t been able to stomp out his attraction. He didn’t even like her; why the hell did he want to take her to bed so badly his teeth ached?

  He frowned at the ceiling. He had to divert Ms. Nosy off the DiMarco case. When things were settled here, he’d round up his brothers for a war council. Damn good thing Ryan had called him to the hospital. The exotically appealing Ms. Zagretti could talk a man off a ledge. Of course, she would have been the one who’d driven him out there in the first place.

  “Yo, O’Rourke Senior!” Greene’s hail jerked him out of the disastrous train of thought. “What’s got your skivvies in a wad?” His CO’s bushy brows slammed together. “You’re normally a hundred percent focused.”

  Yeah, until Typhoon Zoe had blasted apart his common sense. “My skivvies are wrinkle-free. What’s up, Cap’n?”

  “See if the war wagon is on site. The suspect cut the phone lines, and we need a throw phone.”

  “Right away.” Disgusted with himself, Aidan pushed off the counter and wove around the SWAT-team members milling through the house. The Kevlar-suited officers were prepared to stand by for hours awaiting a peaceful surrender, or scramble to execute an assault-and-rescue within seconds.

  In the living room, he pushed aside dark-green drapes drawn shut against prying eyes. The huge, black-armored SWAT truck idled at the curb, loaded with weapons, siege and breeching equipment and even a computer center.

  A curious mob had gathered at the south end of the street behind the police barricade. Waiting the bad guys out was the one factor that civilians, and sometimes top brass, didn’t comprehend. The public and upper echelons often demanded immediate results. He spotted a TV camera in the crowd, and scowled. Egged on by the press. Then the TV news programs trotted out Monday-morning quarterbacks to pick apart the team’s decisions and performance.

  “Ten-four on the war wagon.” Waiting for a peaceful surrender was the best-case scenario. But if the incident dragged on for hours, the groomsmen and best man could be no-shows at the wedding. Aidan shook his head. Another hard reality check confirming his decision to avoid the matrimonial snare.

  “O’Rourke.” Uh-oh. The snap in Greene’s bass voice didn’t bode well.

  He strode into the kitchen and stopped short. Zoe Zagretti stood just inside the back door, along with a uniformed officer and a disheveled blonde whose haggard, tear-streaked face was stamped by hard living. The woman had two black eyes, and her baby-blue tank top revealed mottled bruises on her upper arms.

  Aidan frowned at Zoe, then nodded at the uniformed cop. “Escort the reporter out.”

  Fresh tears welled in the blonde’s eyes, and she clutched Zoe’s arm. “No! She understands! She can help.”

  “Oh yeah, she’s a regular Mother Teresa,” Aidan growled, ignoring Greene’s smirk. The entire team had been ragging him about Zoe’s “devotion” since he’d saved her life during the mall incident. His brother Liam had informed him with great relish that in some cultures, if you saved a person’s life, they belonged to you forever. Aidan shuddered. He needed Zoe Zagretti’s devotion about as much as he needed thong underwear.

  Zoe slid an arm across the blonde’s shoulders and gave her a quick hug. “This is Shelly. She’s Kylie and Emma’s mom. You said you couldn’t find her. So I did.”

  “How did you know—” Aidan exhaled roiling frustration. “You have a scanner that taps into police radio transmissions.” He’d deal with that later. He gentled his voice and addressed the sobbing blonde. “Can you tell us why your husband is upset?”

  “Eric’s been on a four-day jag, drinking and smoking and snorting God knows what. He thinks I’m sleeping around on him.”

  “Are you?”r />
  Shelly cried harder, and Zoe gave an indignant huff. “No, she is not. Even if she were, that’s no excuse for her husband to use her as a punching bag and threaten the kids.”

  “Of course not.” Aidan handed Shelly a paper towel to blot her tears. He pulled out the chair beside Greene and offered it to the shaken woman. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but we have to know the truth going in. The more information we have, the easier it is to keep your little girls safe.”

  “Eric just went crazy.” Wiping her eyes, Shelly dropped into the chair. “I’m so scared.”

  Greene introduced himself and grabbed a blank intel report. “Start from the beginning. What happened this morning?”

  The CO was more than capable of obtaining the intel they needed. Aidan grasped Zoe by the arm, immediately regretting it when molten fire flooded his bloodstream. He should know better than to touch her by now. “A word with you, in private.”

  Shelly’s face crumpled as if she were about to start crying again. “You’ll be back? I need you.”

  Zoe nodded. “You bet. In the meantime, help the police prepare to rescue your daughters.”

  Zoe didn’t resist as he towed her down the hallway and into the nearest room—the bathroom. He shoved the door shut with his booted foot. Her body was inches from his, and her tantalizing aura wove its spell around him. A sexy, appealing woman in a confined space…not one of his brighter ideas.

  He let go of her, but aching need didn’t release its hold on him. “I don’t know what you said or did to worm your way into this command post, and I don’t care. You’re in the way, you’re compromising the operation and you’re leaving.”

  She jutted her chin in a gesture he couldn’t help but admire. “That woman is scared and hurting. I’m all she’s got and I won’t abandon her.”

  There she went again, whammying him with the unexpected. Being caught constantly off balance was a new and unsettling experience. “What?” He also despised sounding like a deranged parrot every time it happened.

  “Shelly doesn’t have family, and Eric’s temper has driven off friends and neighbors. She doesn’t know where to turn. She needs support. Not platitudes and judgment.”

  “I was doing my job, not judging her.”

  “I realize that, but some will judge her. You know the drill. ‘What kind of woman stays with a man who smacks her around?’ Besides, you’re a tough guy. Not the best at handling feelings.”

  Zoe patted his arm, and his skin tingled beneath the protective barrier of his battle uniform. She seemed to be a natural toucher, and he was sure she didn’t mean it as a come-on. If only he could convince his on-alert libido of that fact.

  “Shelly was hysterical when she discovered what had happened. She’s had a tough life, and I can relate. I’ll keep her calm and encourage her to talk to you, without tying up an officer. Which benefits you and her.”

  He sighed, hating how his insides churned at the idea of Zoe suffering hard times. How his chest ached at the thought of anyone causing her pain. No matter how angry her meddling made him, he could never hurt her. In fact, he would annihilate anyone who tried. Chaos roiled inside him. “And KKEY’s ratings.”

  Her fascinating, changeable eyes glowed green with empathy. “She’s been abused enough, Aidan. I won’t exploit her.”

  He didn’t have one reason to believe a member of the press did anything for anyone without an ulterior motive. Nevertheless, he believed Zoe. Chump. “You are some piece of work, Zagretti.” He’d been neutralized before he’d launched the first strike, and he knew it. Worse, she knew it.

  She grinned. “I can stay.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Three conditions. You stay in sight at all times. No eavesdropping. No access to classified tactical ops. And I preview your report for any intel that would compromise my team or the case.”

  “Sounds fair.” Her dazzling smile did funky things to his blood pressure.

  How did she breach his defenses and read him so easily? Why didn’t his intimidation tactics—which worked on crack-heads, gangbangers and badass bad guys—faze her? Why did he long to kiss her full, red lips until she lost the power of speech?

  He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Maybe he should just yield to the insane compulsion. Kiss her and get it over with. Exorcise her from his head. Banish her from his dreams. Purge her from his system once and for all. His gaze played longingly over her lips. Soft. Red. Moist, and partially open.

  Her eyes widened, and golden highlights swirled in the green-and-brown depths. Her breath hitched. His own breathing was none too steady.

  He had a gut-wrenching suspicion one kiss wouldn’t be nearly enough.

  Her warm gaze caressed his, and her exotic scent beckoned him nearer. His senses were acutely attuned to her. Under the lavender blouse, her breasts rose and fell rapidly, and each soft breath whispered an intimate invitation. Though his brain screamed a warning, his body swayed closer. A tantalizing brush of clothing. An erotic sizzle of heat.

  He lowered his head, already anticipating her sweet taste. Her long lashes drifted down. He was an ancient explorer teetering on the edge of the map. About to plunge into uncharted territory. Take a step into total darkness.

  Hurtle willingly over the edge of the cliff.

  A millimeter from devouring the tempting, forbidden fruit, he checked. Jerked back. What the hell was he doing? In the middle of an incident site, for crying out loud. Nobody, nothing, ever distracted him from the job. “Are you a witch?”

  Her eyes popped open. She blinked. Was that disappointment clouding her gaze? She arched a bewildered mahogany brow. “Umm…yeah. Want to see my astral projections?”

  Had he said that out loud? “I don’t know what—never—uh…Never mind.” His heart was pounding like a virgin’s on prom night. He hadn’t stammered since he was four. Maybe he needed to work out more. Add on an extra Kata session. Take a long, cold shower—or six. “I…ah…” The words stuck in his throat like a roadway spike strip, but had to be said. “I apologize.”

  She nodded, her elfin face thoughtful. “Because it was unprofessional conduct, or because you lost your nerve?”

  He hadn’t lost his nerve since he was fourteen. Until now. “Uh…it would be a conflict of interest.”

  “I see.” She nodded again. “You’re conflicted about your interest.” She stepped away, putting much-needed distance between them. “I agree, this isn’t the time or the place, and I also apologize for getting carried away. But later, when you figure it out, let me know, okay?”

  He was sorely afraid he’d end up doing exactly that.

  A fist pounded on the outside of the door. “O’Rourke, Greene needs you in the kitchen.”

  Thank God. He’d faced vicious armed robbers, dodged rapid-fire rounds in firefights and been trapped by a raging inferno in a meth lab without getting rattled. Yet this one small woman shook him to the core. He glanced at his reflection in the medicine cabinet, and resisted the urge to hammer his own face. He was losing his freaking mind. Zoe Zagretti might not be crazy, but she sure as hell was a carrier.

  What other incurable cravings would he catch when he finally gave in and kissed her?

  Chapter 3

  12:00 p.m.

  Disappointment weighted Zoe’s limbs. Wrong situation, wrong place and horrendously inappropriate. But every instinct she possessed mourned the loss of something much more significant than a mere kiss. Which was pretty crazy if she stopped to analyze the feeling. A kiss was just a kiss, right?

  Then again, how would she know? Kisses had been as scarce in her life as friends. When she couldn’t even trust people enough to engage in meaningful conversation, intimacy was out of the question. If not for the romance novels she devoured, she wouldn’t know the first thing about relationships.

  She followed Aidan as he prowled down the hallway. The view from behind was every bit as delicious. He moved with the loose-limbed, confident rhythm of a trained dancer. Since she couldn’t imagine her reti
cent cop prancing around in a unitard at a ballet class, he probably practiced martial arts.

  She brushed his arm to snag his attention, and warm, rock-hard biceps bunched under his black uniform. “Tai Kwon Do?”

  He jolted, stumbled and half turned. “What?”

  She should probably stop touching him. Every time she did, he practically leapt out of his skin. Yet, she’d seen him hug Con the night of the mall incident, and all four O’Rourke men generously bestowed guy-type contact. Only her touch startled Aidan. “Do you practice Tai Kwon Do?”

  “No. Kendo.” He turned and strode on.

  Ah. Obviously, Officer SWAT—sexy, wicked and taciturn—was allotted only so many words per day, and had used up his quota speaking to her earlier. She was intrigued, and direct questions were the fastest route to information. “What’s Kendo?”

  “Ancient Japanese samurai martial art. Literally means Way of the Sword.”

  She pictured him wielding a sword in his big, capable hands, the embodiment of lethal elegance and power. Primitive desire streaked through her veins and her stomach somersaulted, something it did often in his imposing presence. Geez, Zagretti, chill out. After their close encounter of the lip-lock kind, her hormones were dancing the lineup from Chicago. “An ancient Japanese martial art would be unusual and fascinating material for a story. Would you show me sometime?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  All righty then. The man needed to learn how to play. To laugh. She would work on warming him up. Though a few minutes ago, he’d been plenty hot. He smelled delicious. Warm, clean and potently male. She’d never before noticed a man’s scent, but now possessed new respect for pheromone theory. SWAT was packing major sensory ammo. Her neurons had surrendered without a shot being fired.

  They entered the cozy yellow kitchen. Shelly sat at the table, a wooden bowl piled with shiny scarlet apples at her elbow lending both color and a crisp, fruity aroma. The homeowner had decorated the small house in bright colors and homey accents. Zoe had felt welcome the second she’d walked in. Unexpected longing spiraled through her. She yearned to put down roots. To have a place that belonged to her, that no one could snatch away. She made a mental note of the cheerful red-and-yellow color scheme for someday when she had a house of her own.