by Lily Harlem
I turned this way and that, trying desperately to keep him in my sights. Luckily his bright-red trousers made him easy to spot. His torso was bare, but like at the club, he wore a black baseball cap pulled low. “Stop or I’ll shoot.”
He didn’t. I knew he wouldn’t. Instead he sent a bullet my way.
I paused behind a grimy and dented SUV, then gave chase again. The game had just changed. He’d released his weapon with intent to kill a police officer. Now I could wipe the floor with his sorry ass and bury a bullet in his head.
There was someone alongside me, racing as fast, no, faster than I was.
Sean.
“Fuck,” he said, “where’s he gone?”
“Through there.” I pointed at a hole in the fence.
Sean ducked his head and sprinted, his long legs covering ground faster than I could.
But that didn’t stop me trying. I wouldn’t be beaten. I raced past a length of trellis, a couple of black trashcans, and two pushbikes each missing a wheel. A dog rushed towards me only to be halted in its tracks by a chain around its neck.
I was a split second behind Sean, who was only a few seconds behind our suspect as I ducked through the fence, dodging the razor-sharp lengths of cut wire which hung down like claws.
In front of us was a road, then an open park dotted with trees and members of the public.
A bullet hit the ground beside us.
“Jesus!” I dashed to the right and peered from behind a gnarled trunk, my gun aimed, the perp slipping in and out of my view. Sean sheltered behind me, his chest against my back and his gun held steadily next to mine.
“Shit! There’s too many people around.” As I’d spoken, a woman with a stroller had gotten between my sights and the perpetrator.
“I’ll get closer.” Sean took off after him.
“No, there’s no cover and too many…”
But he was gone, rushing over the road. There was a screech of tires. A big white sedan filled my vision.
Shit!
It didn’t hit Sean, not because it stopped in time, but because he slid over the bonnet on his ass and landed neatly on the other side. Then his legs were pounding the baked grass of the park.
The sedan sped off.
Sands turned again, fired.
Sean dodged to the right.
“Fuck!”
Members of the public were scattering now. Screaming, too. This situation had just gone to hell. And what was worse was one of my men was running towards the shit storm.
More bullets fired from near a crowd of people who appeared to be joggers panicking in the chaos. It was impossible to keep track of Sands between them.
Sean had no cover. He was completely out in the open. He stopped and raised his weapon.
I held my breath. It wasn’t a clear shot. No way. Surely he wouldn’t…
Suddenly he dropped his hand, weapon aimed at the ground. He stamped his foot and although he was far away, as he turned I could tell there were a whole load of curses spilling from his lips.
I released a breath even as anger swelled inside me. The guy was exactly as Jonathan had suspected… a loose cannon.
“What the hell?” Ricardo was at my side.
Jonathan and Balko were quick to follow.
“We lost him,” I said, ramming my hands on my hips and pacing left then right, scanning the perimeter of the park. “Damn it.”
“How the hell did that happen?” Ricardo asked.
“He was fast,” I said, thinking of the evening before. “Sands is a slippery motherfucker.”
“No.” Ricardo frowned and pointed at Sean. “How the hell did hotshot there end up in the middle of a park, gun aimed at civilians, and no damn cover?”
“That’s something I’ll be rattling his cage about.” My anger bloomed. Sean had been reckless and he’d put himself at risk. Not to mention he’d forced my blood pressure through the damn roof.
Sean marched back over to us, still panting, his cheeks red. “There you are,” he said, frowning at Ricardo, Jonathan and Balko. “What took you so long, kids?”
“Don’t give them shit.” I stepped up to him and jabbed his vest with my finger. “You’re the one being an asshole here.”
“What?” He raised his eyebrows and looked down at me. He slid his shades on. “I was the only one anywhere near him.”
“Exactly. What the fuck were you thinking running out into the open? No cover. You in a hurry to get yourself killed?”
“I’m wearing.” He slapped his vest.
“Never rely on that,” I said. “And never, ever aim your gun at a group of civilians, not on my watch.”
He gritted his teeth and his nostrils flared.
I was on a roll. “In SWAT we’re team players. No one breaks off, we stick together, and we will live together. We run as a fluid team, not stray dogs on their own mission.”
He glanced over his right shoulder, as if distancing himself from me by still watching out for Sands.
I stepped around, got closer—got in his face. “I mean it, Sean, this is your first damn day on the job and you’re making me nervous. I don’t want to go and tell the chief, your mother, your girlfriend, that you’ve taken a bullet.”
He turned back to me. “I don’t have a mother or a girlfriend.”
I paused.
“So don’t give me that shit, boss,” he went on, “because you haven’t got to worry about it and neither do I.” He paused. “I’m alone.”
“No! No you’re not. You’re here in Miami now. With us. We’re your people and I will not sit back and watch you get yourself shot.”
“I have no intention of getting shot.” He scowled down at me.
I saw my reflection in his shades, but despite the shock at seeing the fury in my own face I continued, “The problem with your attitude is it’s more than goddamn likely it’ll be the officer standing next to you that gets killed. So it stops…now.”
He pressed his lips tight together and turned away.
We’d drawn a bit of a crowd. Uniformed cops were at the location now, their vehicles lighting up the road in front of us.
I spun my gaze to the other three officers. They stood in a row, thumbs hooked in their belts and wearing grim expressions.
“We should get out of here,” I said. “No point hanging around and these guys have it.” I gestured to the cops swarming the park.
“Yes, boss,” Ricardo said with a nod.
“Get your buddy,” I said to Balko. “And keep him away from me for a while.”
Balko nodded then stepped past me and clasped Sean’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything.
I wondered how close they were—wondered if maybe Sean at least considered Balko to be one of the people on this Earth who cared about him and meant he wasn’t completely alone.
We made our way back to base.
The chief was pacing in front of a large wall-mounted TV screen, as I’d known he would be.
Some smartass at the park had recorded Sean getting shot at and uploaded the video to social media. The local news team had picked up on it and were making a meal out of Sean swinging his firearm in the direction of civilians. To make matters worse, it really did look as if he was completely on his own and with no backup. I was out of sight, out of range, as I should have been.
If I hadn’t been so worried about Sean I could have slipped to the right, perhaps caught Mark Sands from a different angle as he took off.
“Damn it!” the chief said, slamming his hands on the desk and sending a pen flying. He glared at us. “This damn case stinks.”
“We’ll get him, sir,” I said. “He’ll have buddies at the trailer park who’ll talk.”
“You reckon?” He didn’t look convinced.
Which made me more determined, and more ashamed that he’d gotten away.
“Yes. And forensics are at his place now, doing a sweep,” Jonathan said, folding his arms, his knuckles pushing against his biceps.
“They
’ll probably find a load of filthy porn,” Sean muttered.
“We’ll go and ask around tomorrow,” Ricardo said. “Ruffle some feathers at the trailer park.”
“I’ll send uniforms to do that this afternoon.” The chief frowned between us all, his gaze finally settling on Jonathan. “Where did you say you’d seen the perp previously?”
“I didn’t, sir.”
Fuck. If I’d been uncomfortable before, now I was getting ready to squirm.
“So?” The chief stepped close to Jonathan. “Speak up. Where’ve you seen his face before?”
A tendon flexed in Jonathan’s jaw, then, “At a club.”
“What club?”
“Downtown.”
“Its name?”
Jonathan glanced at me. “I can’t recall.”
The chief pulled his eyebrows low and switched his attention my way.
I shifted from one foot to the other. The guy didn’t hold a senior SWAT position because he was a fool.
“Do you remember, Officer Sweeny?” he asked. “I’m guessing you were there together.”
“Yes, sir, we were, but I don’t remember either.”
“Too many beers, huh.” He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Call yourself damn detectives.” He turned and raised his hand as he stared at the TV screen. “Go get yourselves some food and cool the hell down. We’ll be back on this in the morning. And Sean, pull a stunt like that again and I’ll give Sweeny permission to smack some sense into you.”
Sean stared straight ahead. He didn’t speak.
Damn the guy. I shoved my hands into my pockets and turned. I needed some coffee. And I needed to hit something or get myself to the range and shoot a few rounds. Yeah, shooting would help.
Chapter Nine
Later that day I went home alone, my apartment strangely silent after several hours at the range.
After stripping off, I showered, washed my hair and tried to empty my mind of the frustrations of the day. It bugged the heck out of me that Mark Sands had slipped through our fingers, and it sure as hell irked me that Sean had behaved the way he had.
“And he didn’t even apologise,” I muttered as I dried off.
Despite my efforts, I couldn’t relax. I poured a glass of white wine as I cooked pasta and salmon. I put mellow jazz on, and tried to think of my mother and aunt—her twin sister—in Tampa, who I’d be visiting in a few weeks to celebrate their birthday. I needed to get gifts organised.
But despite trying to distract myself, the case played on my mind. And it wasn’t just Mark Sands taking off, or my rash promise to the women of Miami at the courthouse. It was also the sorry state of the woman at the club the night before.
How could that happen?
Sure, Jonathan had me strapped down, he’d flogged me too, and pushed me through several orgasms. He’d fucked my mouth, as good as fucked my ass, and when he’d come hard and long, I’d struggled to catch my breath and my heart had beat so wildly it had nearly leapt from my chest. But it was all pleasurable and anyone watching would know that.
Wouldn’t they?
Either way I had the option of safewording. I knew during every second of the scene had I wanted it to stop it would have in an instant.
Mark Sands was scum to lure in a victim and draw blood like that. And to think he made a profit creating videos of it. It made me wonder why he’d picked a club for this one. Why he hadn’t chosen somewhere more private. Perhaps it had been opportunistic. He’d been there and so had she. Maybe he’d considered it worth the risk for the authenticity of the environment.
Well it hadn’t been. Because he’d yanked my chain, and my team’s, and I wasn’t going to rest until we had him locked away along with his filthy pervert friend Walter Riley.
My team.
I paced to the window, caged wildcat style, and thought of my team. One member in particular. What the hell was I going to do with Sean?
Sure, it was only his first day, but he’d proven the kind of SWAT officer he was with his rash stunt. And he was dangerous. That was the only way to describe him—tall, too damn good looking for his own good, and dangerous.
And tomorrow I had to do it all over again with him.
I wound my hands together. Restlessness had well and truly taken hold. The last thing I wanted was a team member who’d put Ricardo, Jonathan or Balko at risk. Ricardo and Jonathan were my lovers—I adored them, would do anything for them. Balko I was sure would soon slot into the team. He was a good solid guy, professional, dedicated. The kind of colleague you want to have your back.
It was dark outside and I marched into my bedroom.
The bed was uninviting. I wasn’t tired. I was too wound up.
Making a sudden decision, I pulled open the wardrobe and dragged out my gym kit. Black Lycra shorts, a short orange active-wear top that doubled as a support bra, and sneakers.
I’d hit the gym at the precinct. It was only a ten-minute drive away and would be empty this time of night. An hour of thumping out my irritation, kicking a bag, would mean I’d get some sleep later.
The night air was still warm and humid, though there was a slight breeze blowing in from the ocean. Even so I whacked the aircon to low in my car.
The streets were emptying. A cop car on patrol rolled past in the opposite direction, two officers I vaguely recognised peering out with solemn, slightly bored expressions.
Two women were on a street corner, clearly looking for business.
A guy on a skateboard wearing a sparkly purple jumpsuit raced over the road, carrying a McDonald’s paper bag.
Soon I parked up. Even though the gymnasium light was shining through the one high window, this end of the lot was empty. I breathed a sigh of relief. Company was something I didn’t need.
I grabbed a towel and water bottle from my bag in the trunk, then used my ID to let myself in.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The familiar thud of fists hitting a bag echoed towards me.
Damn it.
I wasn’t going to have the solitude I craved.
I braced myself as I pulled my hair into a high ponytail. I’d have to be polite, call hello, then get down to the serious business of burning up some adrenaline—while that was in my bloodstream I didn’t have a chance of sleep.
I walked in, taking a slug of water.
Fuck.
I recognised the long, tanned back and short blond hair of the man thumping and kicking seven shades of shit out of a red punchbag.
Sean.
The very man I’d wanted to get away from—or out of my head at least.
“Fuck it,” I muttered.
He was grunting with each hard hit of knuckles and bare feet. His skin shone with sweat and damp strands of hair clung to the nape of his neck like thick commas.
For a moment I paused, watching him. He could be a goddamn advert on TV for physical fitness, cologne or some other overpriced product which hoped to sell a lifestyle.
He must have sensed me watching him for he suddenly stopped and turned. He frowned and swiped the back of his hand over his brow. “Freya.” He was breathless. “What you doing here?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” I strode up to a second bag and toed off my sneakers and socks. “Too much crap going on in my mind.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling.” He resumed punching hell out of his bag.
I decided to also forego gloves and started on my usual routine of double punching, double kicking. Working on the accuracy of my aim and hitting each spot I located a fraction before impact.
Soon I was sweating, my ears ringing with the sound of flesh whacking onto leather. The tops of my feet stung and turned pink, my knuckles began to ache.
It was then I noticed he’d stopped.
He was staring straight at me.
“What?” I said, slamming my hands onto my hips and dragging in oxygen.
“Nothing.”
No way is it nothing.
“Tell me.”
&n
bsp; He shrugged.
I strutted over to him, wiping my face on my towel as I went. “Spit it out.”
“What club did you go to with Jonathan?”
“None of your business.”
“You two an item?”
I hesitated, then, “Why’d you think that?”
“I saw him touch your leg in the van, on the way to the hit. It was intimate, man and woman, not colleagues.”
I couldn’t deny that Jonathan had slipped up there. “We fuck from time to time.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Did you fuck him last night after you went to the club?”
“None of your business.”
He held up his palms. “No, it’s not.” Pause. “Is it Ricardo’s business?”
I paced past him and slipped between the cool ropes into the empty ring. “You need to remember who you’re speaking to.”
“How could I forget.” He was watching me with his head tipped. “When you’re the woman who might get permission from the chief to smack some sense into me.”
“I don’t need permission.” I flexed and unflexed my fingers. “If it needs doing, I’ll do it.”
He came closer, his abdominal muscles tense and his thick arms stiff at his sides. His blue shorts were silky and didn’t hide the bulge of flesh they covered.
He hooked his arms over the ropes and let his hands dangle. “So does it need doing?”
“What?”
“The sense. Smacking into me.”
Oh, he knows how to make me see red.
I threw my sense out of the window and said, “Yeah, it really does. Get in here.” I could take him, I was sure of it. He was big, but I was small and wriggly and knew just what pressure points could bring down a grown man, no matter how strapping his muscles.
He chuckled.
That just made me madder. “Get in here.”
He climbed into the ring.
As he stood tall, a small tremble of nerves attacked my belly, but I pushed them aside.
“Are we playing by the rules or dirty?” he asked, stepping close. So close I could smell the fresh sweat on his skin.
“You don’t seem to understand the concept of rules.” I hopped on the spot, shaking out the tension in my arms. The punchbag had made the muscles contract.
