by Leanne Tyler
“Thanks for the dance,” she said.
“No, thank you,” the guy said, winking at her before he headed back toward his friends at the bar.
“Woohoo, looks like Carly found her a young one.” Simone hovered near her shoulder.
“He’s not my type.”
“Do you even know what your type is anymore?”
Carly shrugged, not having an answer to that question.
A bell rang near the bar and everyone stopped what they were doing. The bartender climbed up on the wooden surface and announced, “Last call. We’ll be closing in fifteen.”
Wolf howls and cheering came from the group of frat boys and then a round of slaps on the backs of some of the guys.
“Wonder what that was all about?” Jules arched a brow. “Well, I hate to bail, but I have an early morning meeting.”
“On a Saturday?” Simone questioned.
Jules nodded. “With all the budget cuts we have to figure out how we’re going to keep the few programs we can from tanking.”
“See you. Call if you need to talk.” Colleen made a sad face before hugging her. When she pulled away she looked at Carly and Simone. “I need to hit the ladies before we leave.”
“Okay. We’ll wait for you at the bar,” Carly told her. Then she leaned toward Simone. “I want to thank the bartender for cutting me off earlier. He saved me from making a fool out of myself.”
“Are you sure that is the only reason you are wanting to talk to him?” Simone cooed.
Carly ignored her friend and slid onto an empty barstool.
“Come back for another shot?” the bartender asked.
“No. This girl knows when she’s had her limit. You were right to cut me off when you did. I wanted to thank you for doing that earlier. I’m Carly, by the way.”
“Phil. And it was my pleasure to give you an out to get away from that guy. I could tell you didn’t look comfortable with him touching you.”
“No, I didn’t. Thanks again.”
“Are you single?” Simone asked. “Carly’s recently divorced.”
“Nope.” Phil held up his olive-toned hand sporting a wide titanium band.
Damn. Carly hadn’t even noticed that earlier. He was nice looking too. His arms showed he worked out when he wasn’t tending bar. Why were all the decent men taken?
“You’ll have to excuse my friend here. She doesn’t think before she speaks when she’s been drinking.”
“That’s okay. It happens all the time in my line of work.” Phil walked away to take care of a server at the other end of the bar.
“Too bad he’s taken. He’s hot. I’d do him in a heartbeat,” Simone said.
“There isn’t much you wouldn’t do when you’ve been drinking.”
“Ouch. Let’s not get our claws out. I’m trying to have some fun. Lighten up. Where’d fun Carly go?”
Carly glanced at her. “Sorry, but it’s late and I’m getting a headache. I’m not accustomed to having all this kind of fun.”
The door to the bar opened. A young, leather-clad man with a red rolled bandana tied around his dark head ran into the bar. Two more young men followed him wearing jeans and dark t-shirts. They both had snake tattoos up and down their arms and necks that cried gang relations. It wasn’t clear what their purpose was coming into the bar so late, nor did they approach Phil to order a drink. They meandered around as if interested in the jukebox or getting a table.
The place was pretty empty by this point and a couple made a hasty exit. Carly began to wonder what was taking Colleen so long in the ladies room. There wasn’t a line that long this time of night. And she hoped her friend hadn’t gotten sick from the alcohol they’d consumed.
“We better get out of here.” Simone grabbed her arm and pulled her off the bar stool, but Carly shook her head.
“We can’t. We’re waiting on Colleen.”
She’d barely spoken when she saw Phil reach under the counter and pick up a baseball bat and lower it toward his knee.
Simone's protest came out like a mouse's high pitched squeak when the trio headed back toward the bar.
“What can I do for you fellas?” Phil asked.
“Your money.” The guy in the leather pulled a .45 on Phil.
Carly blinked and thought she was going to be sick. She’d never been this close to death before.
“Excuse me?” Phil didn’t flinch nor did he raise the baseball bat either. For a man with a gun in his face, he was being very calm.
“Your money, mother fucker. Open up that fucking drawer and give us all your money or you and the rest of these assholes are dead.”
Gasps and murmurs filled the place. It became deathly quiet when the other two pulled out their guns and pointed them at the patrons as well. One pointed his shiny silver .45 at Simone and immediately pulled the trigger, but no bullet fired. He laughed his ass off when she sank to the floor whimpering.
Carly wanted to comfort her friend, but she was afraid to move. She didn't want to set the guy off and have him pull the trigger in her face. There had been no reason for him to point the gun at Simone or pull the trigger in the first place, but he had. Clearly this guy was not stable. Also, she wondered what might happen to Phil if he didn’t open up the cash drawer and give these thugs the money.
She prayed he wouldn’t do something foolish, like reach for the bat, but he did. He swung it in one fluid motion, trying to take them out in one powerful swing. They didn’t see it coming. He took down two, but one got a shot off that hit Phil center of his chest. The force of the bullet sent him crashing back against the bottles of booze display. The wall of glass behind him shattered into millions of pieces all around him.
Screams mingled with laughter ricocheted throughout the place. The shooter sounded like a crazed hyena as he got to his feet.
Carly ducked and found Simone wasn’t on the floor crying but she was on her cell, calling for help. Carly gave her friend a thumbs up. Then she crawled to the opening in the bar to get to Phil to check on whether he was alive or dead. She was thankful that Colleen was still in the ladies and hadn’t had to witness what they had.
Chapter 2
Brandon “Brand” Chambers zipped up his tactical bag in preparation for heading to the airport. It had been a good week of presentations to the Chicago PD, featuring how Hank Patterson’s Brotherhood Protectors could aid law enforcement in metro cities. This was another way Patterson was branching out. Giving his wounded warriors another avenue back into society.
While his three teammates finished up with their gear, Brand walked to the door of the presentation room to speak with Hawkeye, a former SEAL buddy.
Hawkeye, who was now a police commander in one of the many districts of Chicago, greeted Brand with a quick nod. “Thanks again, Brand, for showing us what the Brotherhood Protectors can do. We could use a team like yours if we could find the funds. We don’t always have the resources to provide protection to all citizens in our districts. If we could call on your team to do it that would free up our officers to do their job.”
“Unfortunately we come at a price,” Brand said. “With our level of expertise, add in a cost of living, plus the expense of surveillance equipment. It all adds up.”
“I get it.”
A detective walked into the room. “Commander Burns, I need to speak to you for a moment.”
Hawkeye touched Brand on the arm. “If you can hang for five minutes, I’d like to run an idea by you to take back to Hank. I promise I won’t keep you hanging long, but I need to see what this is about.”
“Sure.” Brand did an about-face and returned to his teammates.
“So are we ready to head to the airport?” Liam ‘Don Juan’ Donovan slung his bag onto his shoulder.
“No. Hawkeye wants us to stay a while longer.”
Wyatt Kincaid checked his watch. “We’re already cutting it close on catching our flight. Don Juan and Loverboy might be able to sweet talk the attendant at the gate into letting us
onto the flight. They can’t get us through security checkpoints any quicker than necessary.”
Will ‘Loverboy’ McLeod punched him in the arm. “I’ll have you know our skills come in handy as much as your ability to deal with PTSD victims, so don’t knock it.”
“Don’t worry, guys,” Brand said. “We’ll still make our flight, even if we have to get a police escort to the airport. Let’s double check to make sure we have all our gear secured.”
The team grumbled, but they did the check anyway. They knew he was a stickler about their equipment after what happened to him in Afghanistan.
His teammate hadn’t packed their bag properly before they went into theater. It was a rookie mistake for a seasoned SEAL. It cost Joe his life. It left Brand carrying a piece of shrapnel around in his chest—too close to his pulmonary artery. He wasn't cleared for active duty once he’d recovered from the gunshot wound. In retrospect, Joe shouldn’t have gone on that mission. His head hadn’t been in the game. It was too soon after his wife left him, but Joe had been stubborn and claimed he was fine when he wasn’t.
Brand closed his eyes and ran a hand up the back of his neck to the top of his head. He still broke out into a cold sweat whenever he thought about that time in his life. When he opened his eyes Hawkeye was coming toward him with a grim expression on his face.
“Bad news?” Brand asked.
“In my line of duty, that’s all I get.” Hawkeye placed his hands on his slender hips, shaking his head. “There was an attempted robbery at a bar on the waterfront. Bartender dead. The shooter was beaten with a baseball bat by a patron. I’m going to need your team’s help, Brand. I’ve got four witnesses who need individualized protection. Don’t worry. I already called Hank, and he’s given you the okay to stay as long as I need you for this. This will serve two-fold. It will provide the protection we need and it will show those higher up your services in action.”
Brand started to speak, but Hawkeye held up a hand, cutting him off.
“Before you protest, think about all the good staying will be doing for the people of Chicago.”
Brand grinned. “I wasn’t going to protest. I was only going to say we’ll need to change our flights.”
“Let my administrative assistant handle it for you. She’ll get you an open-ended deal with the city paying for the change fee. It’s the least we can do.” Hawkeye slapped him on the back.
“And I’ll let you tell my men we aren’t going home to Montana.”
Hawkeye chuckled.
Lights flashing and sirens blasting, the two police SUVs charged through the night to the waterfront. His team took the news that they had an assignment from Hawkeye without remark. He’d have been shocked if they had, knowing their creed was to protect and serve where needed.
They arrived on the scene within minutes. Hawkeye led the way. He stopped a few feet from where a woman argued with a detective who refused her entry into the bar.
“You don’t understand. I was in there earlier with my friends. If I hadn’t had to leave to catch the “L,” I would have been with them when the shooting happened. I know they’re still in there. I need to check to make sure they’re okay.”
Hawkeye turned to Brand. “According to my report, that’s Jules Gentry. One of your men needs to stay with her. As I understand it, she spotted the getaway car. I’ll explain to the detective that your man is taking over.”
Brand nodded. “McLeod. She’s yours. Find out what you can about what she knows and make sure no reporters get near her.”
“You got it.”
“Donovan, Kincaid, follow me,” Brand ordered, leading them into the Pied Piper bar. He grunted at the name.
The scene inside was what he expected. The overhead lights were at full throttle. There were tables with knocked over chairs. Shattered glass mirror and broken glass bottles littered the floor. For a crime scene, it was a madhouse with all the people walking through the evidence. There were officers, detectives, CSI, and the coroner on the scene doing their jobs. A gurney with a black body bag was ready for the van.
Crime scene tape cordoned off detained patrons on the left side of the bar. On the ride over, Hawkeye had described their assignment and the women. Brand narrowed in on two of the women huddled together at a table. They leaned toward each other, talking. One was a blonde in a leather jacket and short shorts exposing long, sexy legs. He was a stickler for blondes with long legs. He felt his throat go dry and a familiar stirring of desire uncoil. But then he recalled she had taken down the gang member with the baseball bat. And he wondered what had made her snap to swing that bat so hard or that many times? He mentally shook himself, not allowing his thoughts to go there. He was here to do a job and nothing more. The other was a redhead in a short dress. Not his type.
“I’ll take the redhead,” Donovan said before Brand could issue assignments.
Brand smirked. “Of course you will. Remember she’s an assignment, not your date for the weekend. You will keep your libido in check, Don Juan.”
“Hey now, you know I’m not a lover boy like McLeod. The guys in my unit only nicknamed me that because it went with Donovan.”
“But you do have a way with the ladies,” Wyatt pointed out.
Donovan punched his friend in the arm. “You’re not helping man. You’re not helping.”
“So do I get the blonde?” Wyatt asked.
Brand considered that for half a second but shook his head. “No. She’s mine.”
Hawkeye walked up. “Good. I see you’ve found your assignments. The blonde is Carly Manning, the one who used the bat on the shooter. The other is Simone Reid. She had a gun pointed at her, fired, but there was no bullet. We’re not sure if that means the gang has targeted her or not. That’s something we’ll be checking into. Whoever is covering her can dig deeper from her point of view on it as well?
“Can do.” Donovan nodded.
“Kincaid, I understand you’re good with PTSD victims.”
“That’s right, Commander Burns.”
“Then come with me.” The two walked a short distance, then stopped. “Special Victims was called. We had more than a shooting in this bar tonight. Your assignment is being loaded into a bus headed to Chicago Medical Center. I’ll get you a ride with them to the hospital. Stay with her and make sure she's treated with the best care. We’re not clear to what extent her injuries range. We aren’t even sure if there was penetration. Likewise, we do not know if the incident was random or related to the gang. It’s your job to find out as much as possible without causing her more stress.”
Wyatt nodded and then made eye contact with Brand. “I’ll be in touch.”
Brand nodded, then motioned for Donovan to follow him. “Let’s go talk to the girls.”
Donovan followed him, stopping in front of the women. Brand waited for them to acknowledge his presence, which took longer than he expected. But they both finally looked his way.
“Can we help you?” the redhead said.
“I’m Brand Chambers and my partner here is Liam Donovan. We’d like to speak with you both if you don’t mind.”
“We’ve already talked to the police and the detectives. How many more people do we have to talk to tonight before we can go home?” she asked.
“Moi,” Donovan said. “And I can assure you if you do, I’ll get you out of here and to your home as soon as I can.”
“How do we know you aren’t some Jo Blow who walked from off the street?”
“We’re part of a new task force and have been assigned to protect you,” Brand said, flashing her his Brotherhood Protectors Badge and his Chicago PD visitor’s badge. Don Juan did the same.
The redhead nodded. “In that case. I’m Simone Reid. This is my friend Carly Manning.”
“Hi.” Carly looked at them with smeared mascara underneath her blue eyes. “Do you know how the gang member I hit with the bat is doing? No one will tell me anything other than he's transported to the hospital criminal ward.”
&
nbsp; Her hands were trembling as she spoke, and she placed them on the table in front of her. Simone wrapped an arm around her and hugged her close.
“What do you need to know so we can get out of here?” Simone asked again. She didn’t seem to care who they were or how they were going to get them out of the bar as long as they got home that night. To Brand, this didn’t bode well. It showed him she was reckless, and he was glad he wasn’t assigned to her.
Brand stepped forward and knelt down beside Carly. “What made you use the bat?”
Her head snapped around quick, but her eyes were blank looking. “He’d killed Phil. I’d crawled around through the entrance of the bar to see if there was a pulse and the man came upon me. He was threatening me with his gun. He claimed he would shoot me if I didn’t get away from the body. I—I— snapped. Phil was the nicest man I had met in a long time. He’d protected me from myself when I'd had too much to drink earlier tonight. Then there was this thug. He came in and killed him for no reason. He—he was going to shoot me for no reason too. He had this hysterical laugh like a crazed animal. I’ll never get that sound out of my head. What kind of a monster was he?”
A single tear ran down her cheek and Brand reached up to wipe it away with the pad of his thumb. Instead of wetness, he felt a jolt of electricity that almost knocked him off his feet. He rocked to a standing position.
“There isn’t always an explanation for why people do what they do. It’s getting late. Let’s get you both out of here for the night. I’m sure if the police or detectives have any more questions for you, it can wait until the morning.”
“Thank you,” Carly said, reaching for a black bag that looked more like an overnight than a purse.
“Why don’t you stay with me tonight,” Simone suggested.
Carly nodded.
“Wait a minute ladies,” Donovan said, waving his hand at them. “I’m afraid we can’t let you do that. We’re here to keep you both safe and the best way to do that is to keep you at two different locations.”
