by Robin Perini
Gabe weaved his way through the kitchen, the scent of barbecue and frying oil permeating even the walls. He nodded at the dynamic duo throwing together sandwiches and prepping buffalo wings and potato skins for football night, grabbed his coat, and stuffed his arms in the sleeves before zipping it up. Bracing himself, he ducked his head down and stepped outside. The frigid wind howled, nipping his face with pricks of ice.
Yep, winter had definitely arrived.
He hurried past the basketball hoop behind the bar and across the small add-on parking lot to his house. Made going to work convenient. Especially now that he was the pseudo new owner of Sammy’s Bar. At least for this op.
Gabe unlocked the door, strode into his kitchen, and flicked on the television sitting on the counter. The segment had already started. Within seconds, the sounds, the images, the words, threw him back to the night Shannon’s life had ended.
The night Gabe’s life had changed forever.
The shooter had never been caught.
He knew the segment by heart. A road between Angel Fire and Taos, New Mexico, five hours south of Denver. Shannon Devlin’s car had broken down while she was driving to meet her teammates for a state math competition. She’d flagged a car down. The driver had brutally attacked her, nearly killing her. When another car had pulled up, the predator took off. The case might have been ignored as a teenager making a bad decision, except none of her other team members had made it to Taos, either. They’d never been found.
Shannon had survived the first attack, but not the second. The shooting that night played out across the television screen. Jumpy black-and-white footage from the bus terminal’s surveillance system. The gunshots. The spattered blood. The screams. The broken bodies ripped apart by a long-range weapon.
Gabe eyed the reenactment. The more he watched, the more the base of his spine tingled. Even at seventeen he’d recognized Shannon was the target, but tonight he saw something new. Shots fired at exact intervals. And more. The shooter’s hits were well placed, back and forth, clearing a path to Shannon, injuring but not killing those in the way. Why had he never seen it before? Gabe leaned forward and touched the screen. Each shot deliberate, accurate. Not random like the cops thought. Maximum chaos and only one dead.
Not murder. Assassination.
Like Patrick Montgomery.
Gabe reeled back. Also just like his father’s death five years ago, there was no motive. No suspects.
With a sharp curse, Gabe hit the “Off” button on the remote. He should let the past go. His small flash of insight wouldn’t change a thing. He was SWAT. He was no detective. When this job was over, he’d have to face reality. He wasn’t a cop anymore, not the kind he’d wanted to be.
The phone rang and he grabbed it. “Yeah?”
“I got somethin’.”
Gabe blew out a breath. Ernie the Rat. Slimy little guy who acted as one of Gabe’s informants. “Hope it’s better than last time.”
“I’m tellin’ ya, you wanted the scoop on cops in bed with Jeff Gasmerati. I got some news.”
“Fine,” Gabe muttered, still not convinced, but he refused to ignore a lead. He hadn’t followed his gut when his best friend, Steve Paretti, had started acting strange. The guy had turned out to be the worst kind of cop. Gabe wouldn’t let another dirty cop get away with it. “You know where.”
“Got it. Usual time?”
“Yeah, make it good. I’m in no mood for crap tonight, Ernie. I’m warning you.”
“I won’t let you down, big guy.”
Gabe hung up. He felt dirtier than pond scum, dealing with the likes of Ernie Rattori. But Gabe would stoop to any depth to do this job.
Hell, the assholes in Internal Affairs looked like choirboys next to him.
With Gabe’s bum leg, undercover vermin catcher was the only help he could offer the sheriff’s office anymore. Everyone thought he’d quit and bought the cop bar on a whim when the owner had retired. Captain Garrison was the only one who knew the truth—that this undercover op’s sole purpose was to bring down the Gasmerati organization and its ties to the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office. If Gabe could find the proof.
He headed back to Sammy’s to finish out his shift before meeting Ernie after the place closed. The sooner he got this investigation wrapped up, the sooner he could come clean with everyone—his old teammates, even his family.
Eight years ago he’d promised he wouldn’t become his father, and here he was, lying to everyone he cared about.
Just like his dad.
The whirr of the circling Bell 212 helicopter rotors echoed through the cockpit. New Mexico’s Wheeler Peak, barely visible in the dusk, loomed just east, its thirteen-thousand-foot summit laden with snow. Deborah Lansing leaned forward, the seat belt straps pulling at her shoulders.
Far, far to the west, the sun was just a sliver in the sky.
“It’s almost dark, Deb. We have to land,” Gene Russo, her local Search and Rescue contact, insisted.
“The moon is bright enough right now that I can still see a little, and we have the spotlight. Those kids have got to be here somewhere!”
Deb squinted against the setting sun; her eyes burned with fatigue. They’d been at it for hours, but she couldn’t give up. Not yet.
“All the other choppers have landed, Deb. This is too dangerous. Besides, do you really think your spotlight’s going to find a snow-covered bus on the side of the mountain with all these trees?”
“Five more minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
A metallic glint pierced through a thick carpet of snow-packed spruce.
“There! I saw something.” Deb’s adrenaline raced as she shoved the steering bar to the right and down, using the foot pedals to maintain control.
“Holy crap, Lansing. What are you doing?” Gene shouted, holding on to his seat harness. “You trying to get us killed?”
He didn’t understand. The bird knew exactly what Deb wanted, and she didn’t leave people behind to die. Not after Afghanistan. She had enough ghosts on her conscience. She tilted the chopper forward and came around again, sidling near the road toward Taos Ski Valley where the church bus had been headed before it had vanished.
She dipped the chopper, scouring the terrain with the spotlight. A metallic flash pierced her gaze once again. “Gene, did you see that? Just south?”
The gray-faced spotter shook his head. “No, I’m too busy trying not to puke all over your windows.” He swallowed deeply and adjusted his microphone. “Could you fly this thing steady for a while?”
She sent him a grimace. “Sorry. I really think I spotted something. I had to go closer. I didn’t want to miss it. I need to swing by one more time. Really look this time, okay?”
Gene groaned. “Deb, I know you’re used to Denver terrain, but you can’t treat the Sangre de Cristo Mountains this way. These gullies and drafts can buffet a chopper, especially in some of the gorges. Your lift will disappear, and you’ll fly into the mountain.”
A peak rose toward them, and Deb pulled up on the collective control stick. The Bell followed her lead easily, but the sun was gone now. The near-total darkness made flying treacherous. The moon was the only thing making the deadly terrain remotely visible outside the spotlight’s range.
“At least there aren’t Stingers or RPGs shooting at us,” she said.
Gene shot her a look. “You were in the military?”
“Flew rescue missions,” Deb said. She shifted the steering bar. “I know I saw something down there, too. I’ve got that buzz. Come on, baby,” she urged the chopper.
Below, a blanket of snow covered a valley peppered with spruce, fir, and pines. The frigid temperatures, blowing snowdrifts, and icy roads had made the ground search difficult.
If Deb couldn’t find them tonight . . .
“Return to base, Search 10,” the order crack
led over the radio. “It’s too dark. We’ll continue tomorrow.”
“Negative,” Deb said. “I have a possible.”
“This is Search Command. Give us the location. We’ll add it to the coordinates to check first thing in the morning.”
“By morning, those kids might freeze to death,” Deb said. “If it’s them, the least I can do is drop supplies.” She flipped off the microphone.
“Uh, Deb,” Gene pointed out, “they can pull your license for this.”
She shifted in her seat. “I know. Keep an eye out. I’m going in as close as I can.” She rounded another hill. “Come on, baby, come on,” Deb begged the machine.
She skirted the tops of the trees directly next to the road, flying a lot closer than was sane. Suddenly, down the slope, a hint of dark blue appeared. She hovered, sweeping the area with the searchlight. The beam glinted off broken glass and chrome. Several figures stood on and near a big school bus, waving. Others lay on the ground, some suspiciously still.
“Damn it,” Gene said. “You were right.” He radioed in the location and stared at her, his expression awestruck. “You’re good.”
“Lucky is more like it,” she said.
“No, that was dogged determination. You just wouldn’t give up. You might be crazy, Deb Lansing, but you’re a hell of a chopper pilot.”
All-too-familiar guilt twisted inside her. “I have my moments.”
She hovered over the downed bus and Gene dropped blankets, first-aid supplies, and food. Below, figures scrambled to the drop zone.
Banishing from her mind the haunting image of the desperate soldier she’d been forced to leave behind, Deb turned to Gene. “I can land in that valley we passed earlier. It’ll be tight, but if there are any kids seriously injured, we may be able to transport some of them to the helicopter with the sled.”
“What the hell. You’ve already pulled off one miracle tonight.” Gene grinned. “Go for it.”
Deb eased down the control stick and, with careful precision, guided the helicopter lower. Another glint of silver flashed in the spotlight, far enough away from the bus that it wasn’t likely to be debris from that wreck.
“Do you see that reflection?” she asked. “Is it another vehicle?”
Gene peered through the windshield. “I don’t know. I saw something, though. I’ll call in the position for that, too. They can check it.”
The chopper touched down, and Deb jumped to the snow-packed ground, ignoring the cold around her. For now, she had people to save. As Deb and Gene yanked out the sled to transport the wounded, two men ran toward her, one whose forehead was caked with dried blood.
“Please, we need help. Some of the kids are hurt bad. They need a hospital.”
Deb scanned the inside of the chopper. How many could she fit and safely make it back? If she left equipment behind, she could carry someone extra. Her boss would be furious she’d taken the risk, but she’d worry about her job later.
Gabe cut a few limes and refilled the pretzels where some joker had upended a bowl, trying to prove he could balance them on his head after one too many. Gabe had called a cab and ushered the guy out. Hopefully the cop wasn’t on duty tomorrow so he could sleep it off.
Gabe could understand. He’d faced the dark side of the city, but being here all day every day gave him a whole different perspective on his fellow cops. Once a drink or two stripped away their masks, men and women he thought he’d known well showed more than they realized.
Hopefully Gabe hadn’t fallen into the trap. He had too much to lose. Giving away the investigation could get people hurt.
The thud of a pool stick and the clatter of balls falling in the pockets filtered through the chatter in the bar. Gabe checked the clock for the umpteenth time. Hawk shot him a knowing glance and poured two fingers of scotch. “Is your leg bothering you again . . . or is it that empty bar stool?”
Gabe scowled at Hawk. His bartender had reminded everyone of Gabe’s cover story, part of the ex-spook’s job. Fine, but Hawk hadn’t been able to resist bringing up the vacant end of the bar. Shoving past the dig, Gabe pulled a draft. A deputy snagged his drink and sent Gabe a sympathetic grimace.
“You learn to deal with it,” Gabe said with an exaggerated wince, just loudly enough for the cops nearby to hear.
He hated playing up the injured-in-the-line-of-duty card, a SWAT deputy driven from his job. So far he’d engendered pity, not suspicion, among the clientele. Every one of them knew it could have been them with a sliced-up leg. The gangbanger was doing time, but that didn’t heal Gabe’s nerve and muscle damage.
As to that empty bar stool at the end of the bar, he should focus on luring a couple of his prime suspects from the sheriff’s office to it. Maybe pour a little liquid truth down their throats.
But it was Sunday night. She should be sitting right there. And he noticed when she wasn’t.
Hawk caught Gabe’s second glance. “Guess Deb and her gang from Search and Rescue aren’t coming tonight. They hardly ever miss a Sunday football game.”
Damn Hawk. The ex-spook could read minds.
Gabe shifted his focus to scrubbing down the surface of the bar and pretended he hadn’t been completely obvious in his mooning over the gorgeous pilot. “It’s getting close to dark. I hope they’re not searching for some idiot driver who thought using chains was optional in the mountains.”
“I hear you.” Hawk delivered a couple burgers to a table, then rounded the bar. “That pileup at Loveland Pass during last weekend’s storm sure was a mess. She had her chopper do things that shouldn’t be possible, and she refused to leave until she could get everyone to the hospital. She must have nerves of steel.”
“She’s something all right.” Gabe took another look at his watch. He hoped Deb wasn’t doing anything crazy tonight. She didn’t seem to care what chances she took. He didn’t know what her demons were, but nobody flew like that without a monkey on their back—or something to prove.
Just like Gabe. Of course he knew exactly why he’d put himself in the potential crosshairs of organized crime. But why did Deb take those kinds of risks? If he had the freedom, he’d love to peel off those layers, but he couldn’t do it. Not now.
Hawk pulled another couple of drafts. “Didn’t Seth tell me she rescued you?”
“My brother talks too much.” Gabe swiped some peanut shells from the counter. “She’s probably rescued half of Denver since she arrived, but yeah. If not for her, I’d be dead.”
“That’s got to count for something.” Hawk’s grin was guileless. “Sounds like you owe her a date.”
“Right. I’m sure that’s what she’s thinking.” There was no doubt Gabe owed Deborah Lansing big-time. After the knife had sliced his femoral artery, she’d flown him to the ER in record time. The doctors couldn’t believe he’d survived the blood loss, much less walked again given the leg’s muscle and nerve damage.
When Gabe had taken over Sammy’s, he’d offered her dinner and free drinks for life, along with his thanks. If not for her, he wouldn’t be on the op, and he wouldn’t have come to know her a bit, but she’d said his gratitude was enough. He wished all he felt for the pilot was gratitude, but he noticed a few too many little things about her. Like how she gave as good as she got with her Search and Rescue colleagues. Like how she was partial to the longneck bottle and potato skins. Or that occasionally she’d choose the chef salad and joke she needed a few veggies during the week. And once a month she’d go for a hot dog. All the trimmings. A woman who liked hot dogs—and ordered them—that was a woman Gabe could respect.
For months, whenever he brought her that plate, the urge to ask to join her grew stronger. Lately, though, she’d inspired more than just the desire for a meal and conversation. His subconscious had been working overtime, disturbing his dreams with some very interesting nighttime fantasies.
Yeah, Gabe was
in trouble. He liked her too much. He noticed too much, and he really shouldn’t be thinking about her. Not during the investigation.
“So, boss, when are you going to ask her out?”
Gabe whipped his head up and glared. “You know, they say that only the good die young, but in your case, an exception can be made.”
“You wuss, Montgomery. Stop hiding behind your bar apron strings. Man up and ask her out.”
Gabe wished he could, any other time he would have, but Hawk knew the risks. What was he thinking? Then again, his bartender didn’t pretend to play it safe. Which was why he was behind this bar in the first place. Gabe didn’t need Hawk needling him as it was. He couldn’t get the auburn-haired helicopter pilot out of his head. Not during the day, and sure as hell not during the night.
Especially when she wasn’t where she was supposed to be.
The woman worried him.
Gabe shouldn’t care, but he did. For months he’d tried to pin down the answer. Was it that sexy-as-hell challenge in her eyes when she smiled? Or maybe the pensive look that she couldn’t hide, that made him want to know more? Gabe fought not to rub at the scar tissue that still seized up his leg muscles, particularly after he’d been on his feet all day. Was it because she still lived the life he could no longer have? Did he seriously have thrill envy?
On cold nights like this, Gabe had to wonder. The painful limp was all too real. He could use an evening out of this bar, to stretch out on his couch with a double dose of ibuprofen, a hot dog with mustard, and a longneck bottle.
“Nothing to say? Oh, then you won’t mind if I make a move on her?” Hawk’s brow quirked.
Gabe slammed down a shot glass. “I see a firing in your immediate future, Hawk. I don’t care if Seth got you this job or not.”
Hawk just laughed, clearly not worried at all. “Have I ever mentioned that your brother is a whole lot nicer than you?”
Gabe shot him his best zip-it-or-die glare.
“Shutting up now, boss.”
Gabe’s gaze lingered on the bar stool once more. He’d made the right choice. Before long Ernie would be lurking nearby, hopefully waiting with some concrete intel on the Gasmerati crime syndicate, the group Gabe was convinced had engineered the threats against his brother.
