Men of S.W.A.T.: Tactical Pleasure

by J. C. Wilder

  “John needs you. He’s been hurt.”

  Chapter Seven

  Randa had always hated hospitals. Her mother had spent most of her last year in and out of them, battling the bone cancer that finally took her life. That was when Fitzy had taken her and Ro into her home.

  Both she and her sister had developed an aversion to hospitals. Anytime she smelled antiseptic mixed with artificially chilled air, it made her half sick to her stomach.

  She sat on a hard, molded plastic chair in the hospital waiting room. Her fingers were icy despite the small paper cup of hospital coffee she’d been clutching for the past half hour. The room was quiet even though it was crowded with police officers and firefighters. They stood or sat, some drinking coffee and others soda. Some spoke in hushed voices but most were alone with their own thoughts.

  Getting hurt was a reality of their jobs. Almost every officer in the United States will be injured on the job at some point in his or her career. Most would be minor injuries—strained muscles, broken fingers—while others would be major such as gunshots wounds and traffic accidents. The kind of injury that could end in death in the blink of an eye.

  Her stomach churned and she put the unwanted coffee on a table near a stack of outdated magazines. Johnny had to be okay. He just had to be.

  On the way to the hospital, Picasso had informed her the accident had happened while Johnny was directing traffic. The rain had begun suddenly and a driver, distracted with a cell phone and a screaming infant in the backseat, had taken his eyes off the road. He’d struck Johnny at twenty-five miles an hour, tossing him into the air, seriously breaking his leg and knocking him unconscious. He’d still been unconscious when they brought him into the emergency room.

  She rubbed a tired hand over her eyes.

  They’d been sitting in the waiting room for hours now with no word from the doctors. Johnny had been rushed into surgery and the only thing she knew for sure was that he could lose his leg and possibly his life. The possibility of him sustaining brain damage or paralysis was very real.

  She glanced around the room at the impassive faces of his fellow officers. The family atmosphere of the police force had always impressed her. At the first sign of trouble, they’d close ranks and pull together to support one another.

  John’s parents sat on the other side of the lounge surrounded by friends and the head of the department’s Chaplain Corps, Reverend Falks. Her sister, Ro, had arrived hours earlier with a massive tray of pastries, fruit and an oversized meat and cheese tray with all the trimmings.

  Now decimated, the trays sat on a table in the middle of the waiting room and the smell of sticky buns made her stomach churn. She needed fresh air or she was in danger of disgracing herself.

  Picasso, who’d been sitting silent beside her, looked up when she rose.

  “I need some air,” she said.

  He nodded and touched her fingers, giving them a squeeze. “Take this. It’s chilly outside.” He handed her his rain jacket. “Stay close and I’ll come get you if there’s any news.”

  “Thanks.”

  The doors whisked open as she approached and she inhaled the cool, fresh autumn-tinged air. Pulling on Picasso’s jacket, she wrapped her arms around her waist.

  The storm had passed. Overhead the sky was black velvet and the stars were plentiful. She walked past the benches near the doors. She’d been sitting long enough and her buttocks were going to sleep so she opted to pace instead.

  Through the brightly lit windows, the men remained as they’d been. Cowboy had taken her seat and was talking to Picasso with an earnest expression.

  Johnny should be with her right now. She turned away and looked at her watch for the hundredth time. It was a few minutes before four a.m. and her watch face wavered as tears crowded her eyes. Right now, they should have been curled in her bed, maybe cuddling, sleeping, making love, anything but this.

  “Randa?”

  She blinked rapidly, then turned to see Cowboy standing a few feet away.

  Her heart stopped when she recognized his serious expression. “Is he—?”

  He held up his hands. “No news yet. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute. I need to tell you something.”

  She took a deep breath and tried to still her racing heart. “Okay, talk.”

  “Earlier, when I stopped at the diner and told you about the gossip, I left out something. Johnny told all the guys he’d crack some heads if he heard them talking about you like the other women.”

  She gave a weak grin and the band of tension around her chest tightened.

  “I think women have always come easy for him.” He stepped into the light, revealing a self-conscious grin. “Sometimes they see the badge and that’s all it takes to get them into bed. They don’t see the man behind it.

  “But it’s different with you. I’ve never seen him like this before. With the others, he’d tell the guys to shut up but he never threatened them before.” He grinned. “Johnny was so angry that Sheldon blabbed about catching the two of you that he locked the piss-ant in a juvenile cell for two hours until he was set loose by the cleaning crew.”

  Randa pressed the heel of her hand to her mouth and choked back a sob.

  “I think he’s in love with you.”

  Tears fell and this time there was no stopping them. She loved Johnny so much it hurt. It didn’t matter if the guys talked about her as they talked about everyone anyway. It was a part of their nature to observe and dissect. They also loved nothing better than razzing each other about their private lives or silly things that happened on the job. It was simply their way to release the pressure of their day-to-day jobs.

  Cowboy slid an arm around her shoulders and she buried her face in the soft cotton of his bike uniform shirt.

  “It’s okay, Randa. Our Johnny’s tougher than nails. He might be down for a while but he’ll come back better than ever.” He gave her a hug.

  She gave a noisy sniff. “You guys are something else.”

  “Yeah, well, wait until you see me—”

  “Hey, you two.” Picasso came running toward them. “He’s out of surgery.” His normally taciturn face cracked into a wide smile. “He’s going to be fine.”

  Cowboy let out a whoop and Picasso crushed both of them in a massive bear hug.

  “When can we see him?” she asked when they’d finally released her.

  “Not yet. He’s in recovery and they’ll move him to a room later.” Picasso grabbed her by the shoulders and steered her toward the line of cruisers. “Right now, I’m going to take you home to get some rest—”

  “No, I want—”

  “No arguments.” He opened the passenger side door. “None of us can see him for hours yet. They’re going to sneak in his parents for a few and that’s it. I’m pretty sure John would want me to make sure that you get some rest and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  She looked down at her crumpled uniform. She could use a shower and a quick change of clothing. She wanted to look her best when she saw him. “Okay, I guess you can take me home.”

  Exhausted and relieved at the same time, she slid into the car and he shut the door. She could see into the waiting room where a celebration was taking place. John’s mother cried into her hands, while his father, looking years older, wiped away tears of his own. The guys were milling around, some slapping each other on the back while a few of them wiped their eyes.

  Her man was going to fine and, in a few hours, she’d be able to see him again. Randa clutched the knowledge to her heart and laid her head back against the seat with a smile on her face.

  Before Picasso pulled out of the parking lot, she was asleep.

  Chapter Eight

  How could she have slept so late?

  Randa dashed through the parking lot and in through the front doors of the hospital. An older woman seated at the desk frowned when she skidded to a halt on the linoleum.

  “Young lady, this is a hospital,” she said, looking down
her thin nose. “There are sick people here and we do not run in the halls. Do you want to run into someone and hurt them?”

  “Well, no, please, I’m sorry,” she panted. “Can you tell me what room John Stevens is in?”

  Her mouth took on a pinched look as her cool hazel gaze moved over Randa. “So you’re one of them,” she sniffed. “He’s in room two-oh-seven. I’ll tell you now that he has far too many visitors—”

  “Thanks for the information.” Randa headed for the elevators at a brisk pace.

  “Remember, this is a hospital,” the woman shouted.

  Randa frowned, pointed at the “Quiet, Please” sign and waggled her finger at the old biddy.

  The elevator doors opened when she pushed the button and she stepped in. When the doors slid closed, she wiped her damp palms against the front of her skirt. She wished she didn’t feel so rushed but she could barely wait to see him.

  She vaguely remembered falling into bed fully clothed before she’d woken at noon and raced through a shower. She’d grabbed the first thing she’d come to in the closet before driving the five miles to the hospital in record time.

  The second floor was quiet when the doors opened. She stepped into the waiting room, surprised to see it was empty. Following the hall, she walked around the corner toward the patient rooms when she heard a burst of male laughter.

  Cowboy, Picasso and a few other officers were grouped in the hall with several giggling nurses in their midst. She could see why they’d be giggling and flirting wildly. Dressed in various types of uniform, these men would be hard to resist. Talk about testosterone overload.

  “Hey, Randa.” Cowboy frowned as she walked closer. “You look like you rolled in your clothes hamper.”

  She stopped and looked down. Her white blouse wasn’t buttoned properly and her lace bra peeked through the opening at the top. Her straight black skirt was crooked with the seam running down the front of her leg rather than the back and her feet were in tennis shoes stained with grass from cutting the lawn.

  She gave him a sheepish grin and began correcting the buttons on her blouse. “I was in a hurry.”

  “We can tell,” he teased.

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Good. Waiting to see you, I think.”

  She grinned and started to walk past him when Cowboy grabbed her arm.

  “Remember what I said last night.” With that enigmatic comment, he released her and returned to the side of a pretty nurse who was shooting darts at Randa with her eyes.

  Taking a calming breath, Randa walked into Johnny’s room, then stopped dead. He lay in the hospital bed, wide awake. His left leg was encased in a massive cast and he looked pale and tired, but otherwise healthy as he laughed with his visitors.

  Surrounding the bed were Kathryn, Heather and Monica, his former girlfriends. His bedside table and the wide windowsill were filled to overflowing with cards, flowers and other offerings including an oversized white bear clutching a red satin heart.

  It was obvious the three women had taken great pains with their appearance as they were dressed to the nines with more cleavage than a strip bar. Randa’s shoulders slumped. She felt exactly as Cowboy had said she looked, like she’d rolled in a hamper.

  She almost backed out of the room when Johnny’s gaze found her and his smile widened. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said.

  Her heart stuttered and she forced herself to walk toward him. Heather stepped back and Monica made a sound of dismay. Randa ignored them and curled her hand over the bedside rail as she gave him a chaste peck on the mouth.

  “Hi, stud,” her voice quivered.

  “Woman, how do you expect me to get well with a wimpy kiss like that?” His eyes twinkled with amusement.

  “We’re in a hospital,” she hissed.

  “Yeah, well.” He wrenched down the side rail before pulling her to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m in bed, so why waste it?”

  He guided her head to his and his mouth covered hers in a slow, persuasive kiss as the other women faded into the background. Her hands landed on his broad chest covered only by a thin hospital gown. He nibbled a path of heat along her lower lip.

  “Randa.”

  “Yes?” She fought to not let her eyes roll back in her head as he nipped her lower lip. He was too talented with that mouth of his and she could barely think straight when he kissed her.

  “Marry me.”

  Stunned, she pulled back. “W-w-what did you say?”

  “I said, ‘Marry me’.”

  Her stomach flip-flopped. “Oh my,” she whispered. “I thought I’d have to wrestle you down the aisle.”

  His serious expression melted into a wide grin. “Well, it looks like you don’t have to, though we could always leave that option open if you’re dead set on it… Does this mean you will?”

  She gave him a wobbly nod and he let out a whoop of joy. He grabbed her for a bone-crushing hug and she wanted to shout an announcement to the world that she’d landed the man of her dreams, when a thought occurred to her. She pushed away so she could see his face.

  “Did you really lock up Sheldon in Juvenile?”

  “Sure did.” He wrapped his arm around her. “How long was he incarcerated?”

  “A couple of hours. Cowboy said the cleaning crew rescued him.”

  “Darn.” He spoke without heat. “I’d hoped it would be much longer than that.”

  Randa buried her nose in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of the man she was to marry. “I love you, Johnny.”

  “I love you too, babe.”

  She sighed. “When we marry, hundreds of female hearts in Haven will break…”

  He snorted. “I think you’ve overestimated my appeal to the women here.”

  “I don’t think I have.” Randa grinned and kissed him. It was a slow, soft kiss of promise. When she raised her head, he was smiling.

  “So that’s what all the fuss is about,” he drawled.

  About the author

  J.C. Wilder left the world of big business to carry on conversations with the people who live in her mind, fictional characters that is. In her past she has worked as a software tester, traveled with an alternative rock band and currently volunteers for her local police department as a photographer. She lives in Central Ohio with 6,000 books and an impressive collection of dust bunnies.

  The award-winning author also writes as Dominique Adair.

  J.C. welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1337 Commerce Drive, #13, Stow, OH 44224.

  Also by J.C. Wilder:

  Ellora’s Cavemen: Tales From the Temple II anthology

  In Moonlight anthology

  Things That Go Bump in the Night 2004 anthology

  Writing as Dominique Adair:

  Last Kiss

  Party Favors anthology

  R.S.V.P. anthology

  Tied With a Bow anthology

  Xanthra Chronicles: Blood Law

  Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.

  www.ellorascave.com