“Where is your position, Vicki?”
“I’m at the Bellagio. We’ve got a drunk swimming around in the lake in front of the shops.”
“Is he responding to your orders to get out?”
“Nope.”
Shawn pressed his lips together. The damn lake was a constant issue—it was way too tempting in the scorching desert heat. Even though it was almost seven o’clock at night, it was still over a hundred degrees. At least August was almost over. He’d been assured by the other officers that it would eventually become bearable. Since he’d only recently arrived in Vegas at the end of May, all he’d encountered so far was unbearable.
“On my way.”
As he wove in and out of the crowds, he spotted a cruiser pulled over. There was an officer talking to a group of sparkling and scantily clad women. He recognized Sergeant Darren Miller of the Homeland Security Saturation Team. Like Shawn, he was assigned to the Convention Center Area Command that comprised the majority of the world-famous Las Vegas Strip. When Shawn got closer, he picked up the tail end of the conversation.
“…over the highway. It’s a five minute walk from here to the Mirage and you can take the bridge walkway there to get to the other side. Stay out of the street, ladies, it’s very dangerous. We want you to have a good time here—not get hurt.”
One of the women moved closer to him, as if she was about to give him a hug. He stepped back and placed his hands in front of him in a blocking gesture.
“Step back, please.”
“But I wanted to thank you. You’re so sexy. I love your uniform.”
Shawn smirked. Law enforcement in Las Vegas was definitely unique. It had been quite the culture shock from his previous experiences as part of the Gang Task Force in Los Angeles.
His fellow Metropolitan Police Department officer finally succeeded in getting the women to move along and turned his attention to Shawn. A casual observer would no doubt wonder if they worked for the same agency. Shawn wore a bright yellow uniform shirt that helped him to stand out amidst the overwhelming amount of people walking around. The MPD officers in cruisers wore khaki uniforms and so did the mounted patrol.
“Hey, Darren, we’ve got a drunk in the lake.”
Darren rolled his eyes. “Is he reachable or are they gonna have to use one of the boats?”
“Not sure. I’m headed over there now.”
“Radio it in. It’s so out of control tonight, Parker and I need to stay on the street.”
As if in confirmation, a white stretch limo crawled by in the gridlocked traffic. A woman stood with the top half of her body peeking out of the sunroof. She was yelling and flashing her breasts to the cheering sidewalk crowds.
Darren lowered his head and shook it, seemingly in resignation. He lifted it quickly and shouted out to his partner.
“Let’s go, Parker!”
It wouldn’t exactly be a high speed chase, considering how squashed together foot and vehicle traffic was. At least with the cruiser’s lights flashing, there was the opportunity to clear a path to get to the limo. The weekends were killers. No room to breathe. Bathroom and food breaks next to impossible. But he currently had an inebriated bather to deal with. Before he took off in the direction of the luxurious resort again, he contacted dispatch to apprise them of the situation and to request backup.
He jogged over to the hotel at a fast clip. As soon as he spied his partner, Vicki Ruiz, he wound his way through the people seemingly lost in their own revelry. No doubt they were also overwhelmed by the magical and decadent surroundings. And liquor. He had to speak up to be heard, and to get the circle of onlookers surrounding his partner to step aside. At last he reached her and saw what they were up against.
The man splashing around in the lake laughed and shouted obscenities at the crowd. Then he would dive under the water when someone lobbed a plastic cup or other random object as they yelled back at him. Occasionally he would throw handfuls of change at his hecklers—riches he had no doubt scooped up from the bottom of the cement lake. It was too much for the two of them to keep under control by themselves.
Despite how unruly everything was, Vicki appeared completely unfazed. Since she had a good five years on him in terms of dealing with Vegas tourists, there was very little that ever flustered her.
“There you are, Everly. Thought I was stuck with drunken boy on my own.”
“I thought about joining him. It’s a bitch of a hot night.”
“Yeah. No kidding. I contacted hotel management to get one of their guys out here to man one of the rescue boats.”
She paused to yell at a man and woman grinding and groping each other. The carouser had a one liter bottle of some sort of alcohol dangling precariously out of his back pocket.
“Hey, you two! Save it for the clubs! And I don’t want to see that bottle break on my sidewalk. Take it out of your pants now.”
The couple complied, meaning that he and Vicki wouldn’t have to add dealing with them to their current list of things to do.
“They know to cancel the dancing waters show?”
“Yuppers.”
The spectacular fountain show—complete with five-hundred-foot-high-choreographed jet streams of water and a mixture of classical and pop music—would be a disaster to someone paddling around in the water.
“Good. I called this in, so we should have some additional units out here soon.”
“Let’s hope.” She had the beginnings of a furrow on her brow. “It’s getting rowdier by the second.”
She was right. The man in the water was becoming more and more hostile toward the crowd and they were reciprocating with equal vitriol. Once the Bellagio’s crew got out there, they would have to also add to their agenda the retrieval of more than the usual bits of floating trash out of the lake.
Two guys began pushing one another next to the mid-torso high stone balustrade that edged the water. Shawn lunged toward them.
“Knock it off!” He wedged himself in between the much taller men and pushed them apart. He made up for his height with his strength. “Do you really want to have your fun night in Vegas end in jail?”
“He started it!”
Shawn glared up at the indignant troublemaker. “Not interested. I’m only interested in both of you stopping. Immediately. Got it?”
The other man held up his hands in acquiescence. “Got it. My brother and I won’t be any more of a problem.”
Brother? Nice.
“Good. Now get out of here.”
The troublemaker spoke up again. “But we’re only watching that guy like everyone else—”
“What did I just say?”
“Come on, Larry.”
The reasonable brother yanked on his sibling’s arm and they moved away, but not without some barely concealed angry mutterings. There were a few generic law enforcement slurs that were audible, but Shawn found them laughable. If the surly brother wanted to learn some real insults, he needed to hang out in LA for a while. That was the one good thing Shawn had taken away from his previous assignment—an extraordinarily tough skin.
He turned back to Vicki and saw that her worry lines had increased. On her, it practically amounted to hysteria. He relied on Vicki’s judgment quite a bit. She was much more attuned to the beat of the Strip. If she was concerned, then things had to be deteriorating. Since the last fountain show was getting canceled because of the drunk in the lake, the large unruly crowd would no doubt be very unhappy. After pulling out his cell, he speed-dialed the Bellagio’s management. All of the major resorts’ numbers were programmed into his department-issued phone.
“This is Officer Everly on scene with the incident at the lake. I need someone for that boat out here right away. And can you bring up any more lights? ”
The resort assured him that it was going as fast as it could, but that it couldn’t add any more lights. He eyed the drunken tourist swimming and splashing around. So far, the man seemed okay, but beyond any other considerations was the fa
ct that his inebriated state combined with being in the water was extremely dangerous. It would be too easy for him to accidentally take in too much water and drown—particularly with all the diving under the surface he’d been doing.
It had taken Shawn at least the first week after he’d been on duty to get accustomed to the idea that people could drink openly on the streets of Vegas. That was definitely not the case back in LA or other places in general. For the most part, everyone was in Sin City to have fun—they had no interest in causing trouble. But with over a hundred thousand people converging on the small concentrated strip area on a daily basis—even more on the weekends—there was bound to be trouble. Sometimes it was nothing more than drunkenness gone wrong—other times it would be a brutal murder. It was a round the clock, non-stop party town. They were constantly on alert.
When Vicki’s previous partner had relocated a couple of months back, Shawn had grabbed the opportunity. He’d had enough of fighting the continuous threat of violent gangs in Los Angeles. Once he’d officially been offered the position from the LVMPD, he’d moved himself to Vegas. Hard work and danger didn’t bother him. The sense of accomplishment he had as a task force team member, taking gang members off the street, had kept him working in that division for several years. But it had exacted a toll.
He’d been a police officer for over a decade and he’d passed thirty a few years back. He hadn’t been able to maintain a steady relationship in what had amounted to forever—not when any of the men he’d ever gotten involved with had found it impossible to handle the crazy hours and the unusual risks Shawn took on a daily basis. Starting over somewhere completely different had seemed like an excellent idea. Getting away from his homophobe brother had been even better. The rest of his family tolerated him, but not enough to motivate him to stay in Los Angeles forever.
“Oh shit! He hasn’t come back up yet!”
One of the onlookers pointed in the direction of where the swimmer had been only seconds before. All that remained were small ripples on the surface of the water.
Goddammit.
Moving quickly, Shawn tore off his duty belt, frantically toeing off his shoes as he did. Before Vicki had the opportunity to register what was happening, Shawn thrust the equipment at her. To her credit, she wordlessly grabbed it. He boosted himself over the banister and dropped into the water—it wasn’t deep enough at the banks for him to dive safely, only about four feet. But it was fucking cold, much more so than he’d expected. Shawn gritted his teeth and swam desperately toward the dark shape floating just below the surface of the lake. He was soaking wet but his mouth was dry. His heart beat wildly as he propelled himself forward.
By the time he reached the victim, he was no longer able to touch the bottom at all. He turned the man over, wrapping his arm around his chest, keeping his head above water. Shawn’s muscles burned with the stress of hauling the limp weight of the unconscious drunk to safety through the frigid waters, and from swimming using only one arm to pull them both along.
Taking in big gulps of air, he noted that several emergency vehicles had arrived. He could barely make out the yellow engine that he was certain would be from nearby Station 32. There were additional police units, the red truck of Las Vegas Fire and Rescue, as well as at least one ambulance.
The drunk awoke with a start, choking and gasping, fighting Shawn’s attempts to save his life. Shawn was pulled under. He’d barely had a chance to take a breath. His feet hit the bottom and Shawn propelled both of them back up out of the water. It was only a few seconds before he was dragged under again. Weakening, Shawn tried once more, but he barely broke the surface. Right as he sucked in a breath, he was yanked down and he took in more water than air.
Oh shit. Might be drowning.
His lungs burned. He sputtered under the surface and fought not to inhale again, but it was impossible. His body’s natural instinct to draw in air took over and he sucked in more cold water. He was disoriented and dizzy, not sure how much longer he could last.
Keep fighting, keep kicking! Right as he was at the edge of unconsciousness, strong arms encircled his waist and lifted him well above the water line. He knew not to fight, to allow himself to be guided, but he couldn’t stop himself from coughing violently, his body doing everything it could to expel the unwanted liquid from his airways.
“I’ve got you. Hang tight. We’re almost there.”
No way. Trent Marshall.
He would’ve recognized the deep growl of Station 32 firefighter Trent anywhere. As much as he wanted to be thrilled that he was finally being held by his first local crush, he was more concerned with staying alive. He still gasped and choked, but other than the strong ache in his lungs and the fact that he was inexplicably freezing, he was sure he’d be okay.
Trent saved me.
The world was a crazy place and Vegas was the craziest. He’d only met the guy one time at a Clark County blood drive organized by the police and fire agencies and he’d been certain that their attraction was mutual. When Trent had shaken his hand politely and walked away, Shawn figured he must have read too much into the way Trent had looked him over throughout that afternoon. And here he was being held by the man.
They reached the banks of the lake and Shawn was finally able to put his feet down. Wanting to maintain a small portion of his dignity, he loosened what he realized had been a death grip on Trent and attempted to stand on his own. His legs immediately gave out and he would’ve fallen face first back into the water if Trent hadn’t caught him.
“Let me help you, Shawn.”
He remembers my name?
Trent wrapped his arms around Shawn’s torso and guided him to the edge of the water. The crowds cheered and he noted that two other firefighters leaned over the balustrade, ready to haul him up and over. He was frustrated as hell that his normally strong limbs wouldn’t allow him to do it himself, his muscles still like jelly.
Moving behind him, Trent then grasped his waist with his large hands and lifted him up right as the other men grabbed his arms. Just as he was being pulled up by the rescuers, Trent planted one of his strong hands on Shawn’s ass and gave him a hearty push. He cleared the top of the stone barrier, groaning over the fact that he’d been publically felt up by a sexy firefighter.
He supposed that was an exaggeration, but he couldn’t help but be a tad embarrassed. First he’d had to be saved—then everyone had seen him get groped by Trent.
The extra officers who had shown up for support held the crowds back as a stretcher was brought through. The sight of it jarred something in him.
“Where’s the guy who was in the lake?”
“You mean the dumbass?”
Shawn peered up at Trent. He wanted to say something, but instead all he managed was a lame nod. As he’d almost just drowned, he hoped Trent would excuse him for not being more articulate. The gurney stopped next to Shawn and Trent pushed on his shoulder, encouraging him to sit. One paramedic wrapped a blanket around his shoulders while another took his vitals. Still Trent stood there, towering over him—looking at him.
Holy Christ. Say something already.
Trent crossed his arms over his body, almost defiantly. “Don’t worry about that guy. He’s been transported already.”
Trent continued to stare. Shawn wriggled. His soggy briefs were scrunched in his crack and his balls were being uncomfortably smashed. Not a good combination.
“You must be pretty strong. I bet that drunk has a hundred pounds on you.”
Shawn couldn’t tell if he was being complimented or mocked. That was the one thing he’d noticed when he’d spoken with Trent that day at the blood drive—the monotone sound of his voice. Not that the deep timbre wasn’t as sexy as hell—it was—but it was difficult to read. It sort of reminded him of Clint Eastwood—or John Wayne. Somewhere in between. He must have had a questioning expression on his face.
“Are you all right?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry, still trying to process all of
this.”
One of the medics interrupted. “Officer Everly, can you tell me where you are and what just happened?”
He couldn’t help but frown, even though he knew the EMT was simply doing his job.
“Yes. I’m in front of the Bellagio and I tried to retrieve a misbehaving tourist from the drink.”
Trent made a sound that came out as a combination of a grunt and a snort. “That’s a charitable way to put it.”
Shawn chuckled and gazed up at Trent, noting the steel blue eyes that had captured him when he first met the firefighter. Since Shawn was only about five foot nine and Trent was at least six foot two, the sensation that he loomed over him was even sharper with him seated and Trent standing. A slight smirk tugged at the corners of Trent’s mouth. Shawn figured the guy was likely mid-thirties, but he had what appeared to be a permanently established deep tan. His hair was a sandy sun-bleached blond that had probably leaned more toward brown at one time. Lines in his forehead and around his eyes were noticeable, but did nothing to detract from his masculine good looks. Shawn couldn’t even begin to contemplate Trent’s well-built body. It wouldn’t help him feel any better about himself to get hard in front of not only his associates, but also the tourists as well. He’d been treated to the sight of Trent’s muscular physique at the blood drive when all that the firefighter had worn was a form fitting T-shirt and shorts.
Another medic came over and handed Trent a blanket and started to try to take his vitals too. He accepted the blanket but shot the EMT a glare that could’ve given children nightmares, and the poor guy backed off. Shawn was reminded that Trent had also braved the bizarrely freezing waters of the Bellagio fountain.
“Sorry you had to come after me like that.”
It wasn’t the most eloquent thing to say, but he had just gone through a near-death experience. He assured himself that he shouldn’t be expected to come up with anything too amazing.
“Don’t be ridiculous. The only person who should be sorry is the—”
“Dumbass?”
Hesitant Heart Page 18
