She gestured between them. “Apparently.”
He chuckled. It was pretty hot between them. “I know a place that has a kick-ass chili.”
“Hot chili?”
“Five-alarm chili.”
“As hot as you are?”
“Hotter.”
She blew out a breath. Her bangs floated up. “Hotter than Luke Patterson? I’d have to see it to believe it.”
“Taste it. You have to taste it to believe it.”
She grinned. “Challenge accepted.”
So for their first date—after a wild, wild ride—he took her to Station 12 and fed her Izzy’s Five-Alarm Chili, glaring at any firefighter who so much as glanced her way. She was his, after all.
And then he took her back to his house and made love to her all night, trying all the things he’d been fantasizing about.
And the reality was better.
In the morning he took her home and lingered on her stoop, kissing her good-bye. He was loath to leave, but he had to go to work. He could rest easy in the knowledge that they’d made plans for that night. And the next night. And the night after.
Maybe forever.
Once she was inside and had closed the door, he fished his keys out of his pocket. A movement to his left caught his eye. Mrs. Lipniki. Peering out at him through the screen. He sketched her a cocky salute.
“Out all night, eh?” She grinned.
Luke blinked at the realization she had not yet put in her teeth.
“I guess that date went well.”
“Yes, ma’am. It did.” He puffed out his chest. He couldn’t help it. “Looks like you’ll have to turn all your matchmaking efforts on Izzy now.”
“Young man,” she said with a wink. “You can count on it.”
Ah. Poor Izzy.
Somehow Luke just couldn’t dredge up an ounce of sympathy.
RENEGADE
Brindle Chase
O
f all the stupid things a rookie could do, Officer Kara Brown had blundered so badly, they’d have to make a new category just for her. In the barely there dress she’d picked for the undercover assignment, her choices had been limited. But no, she’d picked her cleavage to hide the wire.
Kara scooted across the cold concrete floor of the warehouse. Her back ached from slouching with her arms tied behind an iron water pipe. The maneuver gave some slack to the handcuffs—her handcuffs—binding her wrists. If she was going to die, she might as well be comfortable. She’d been too anxious to slap the cuffs on these goons to prove her worth, and she’d stashed a set in her purse. It hadn’t occurred to her the first place they’d look would be her ample mocha breasts.
Duh, Kara
.
Always jumping first, thinking last. This latest decision topped them all, and she was going to pay with her life. The possibility of being shot was only the beginning of her nightmare.
The way the five gangsters groped her flesh with their hungry gazes made death welcome. They were going to rape her and
then
cap her. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see the writing on the wall.
Kara fought the panic welling in her chest. She wouldn’t cry.
Death before dishonor
. Frantic, she scanned her surroundings for a way to kill herself so at least she would die with dignity.
Carver, the leader, stood over a makeshift desk. He was the smart one and scared her most. Allegedly, he raped women before carving them beyond recognition with a fillet knife.
A chill trickled down her spine, and she closed her eyes. Desperately, she wished away the horrific visual.
Keep your wits
.
She opened her eyes and focused on the other gangsters. KK Jones, a psychotic biker, just out on a truncated ten-year sentence for second-degree manslaughter. He was a mountain of a man with a beard to match.
Reggie Jefferson, aka “The Bling,” was a capable gangster. His being alive and not in prison at age twenty-eight was almost a miracle. Criminals were dangerous with an ounce of brains.
And cops were dead without an ounce more of gray matter than their adversaries. Terror clawed at her throat. She shook her head and looked to the remaining thugs. The other two she didn’t remember from the briefing. All that mattered was they carried 9mms and listened to Carver.
Even if her backup could find her, she’d be dead before they could mount a rescue. A SWAT team was her only chance. They would send
Renegade
. Sexy, hot, Sergeant Michael Delaney. He’d wade through these pukes, leave a wake of death and sweep her off her feet. If there were a God, he’d take her as his reward.
The thought warmed her and sent a spike of erotic pleasure straight to her core. Many times she’d fantasized about
the walking, talking death machine and his stacks of muscle. His wavy dark hair, rugged Italian features and deep mesmerizing eyes had invaded her private fantasies far too often. But he didn’t know she existed.
Some said his methods bordered on police brutality, yet he always got the bad guy and society was safer for it. Either way, he made her wet. Since day one at the precinct, she’d gone out of her way to get his attention. Kara had jumped at the chance for this assignment. Not only to prove herself, but also to put herself on his radar. What an epic fail.
“She ain’t no cop, fool,” Reggie argued. “Cops ain’t got legs like that.”
“Don’t be an idiot. Only a cop is stupid enough to wear a wire on us,” Carver countered and crossed his thick, tattooed arms across his massive chest.
“Yeah, but check that little black muff. Bare as a schoolgirl. Shit, cops don’t shave. Not even lady cops.”
Kara realized her dress was too short for her seated position and her womanly wares were on display. She’d lost her tiny, delicate thong in the scuffle when they’d taken her. It explained why they kept looking her way every five seconds. Shifting onto a hip, she crossed one leg over the other and blocked their view.
On cue, they turned and looked straight at her. Their gazes drifted to the hem of her flimsy dress, and her cheeks burned with rage. She wished they would kill her and be done with it.
“She’s a fucking Fed, I tell ya.”
“Whatever, she is—” Carver stopped in mid-sentence and tilted his head to one side.
Then she heard it. Sirens. A lot of them. Her heart pounded triple time. They would kill her before her brothers in blue could break in and take out all five gangsters, but now they wouldn’t have time to rape her.
“Fuck. Cops,” KK growled.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Reggie said.
Carver glared at Kara. She met his menacing stare with all the courage she could summon.
His eyes said it all. He lifted a meaty hand, scrunched his tattooed fingers and tucked them into a fist. A sinister grin stretched across his bronze face.
Like the angel of death, he moved toward her. Panic welled up her throat, and she swallowed the lump suffocating her. Fear clawed at her with its icy tendrils and tore away her courage in strips. Tears formed along her eyelids, and she fought her quivering lip.
Bang! Bang, bang!
Gunfire split the air.
The face of the unnamed thug to her left imploded. A spray of blood splashed across the floor. His body slammed into the brick wall with a sickening thud. The bad guys scrambled for cover, and Kara frantically searched the dense array of shelving scattered around the warehouse. Whoever was shooting at them had just saved her life.
Muzzle flashes flared through a haze of smoke, and then she saw him. Kara’s heart resumed its rapid thumping. It was
Renegade
—no mistaking the massive frame, the muscular broad shoulders and thick thighs. Delaney was built like a tank.
Time slowed as she helplessly stared in horror. Gunfire blasted from every corner of the warehouse. Crates and shelves shattered, exploding under the impact of bullets zinging back and forth.
The deafening roar of pistol fire thundered as bullets tore through wooden boxes and cargo while the thugs tried to shoot her hero down. She lost sight of him and scrambled onto her knees. She ignored the pain the awkward position brought, but that was the least of her worries. She couldn’t see Michael.
“Did we get h—” The remaining unnamed thug’s question died on his tongue as Michael Delaney popped around a steel shelf unit and blasted a salvo through the goon.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” KK ducked behind a metal desk and slid in a fresh clip.
Reggie rolled onto his side and shot wildly in Delaney’s direction. The battle was out of control.
If she wanted to live, she had to pay attention and be ready for an opportunity to escape. The outlook was grim, but there was still a light. Renegade was tearing them apart.
Through the haze, Michael crouched behind a crate and ejected a clip. His steely eyes locked on hers from twenty yards away and seared her with a ravenous hunger. The unspoken passion stole her breath. He’d never looked at her like that before. Or was it her imagination? He was so savagely beautiful, desire dove straight down between her legs.
“You have the right to remain silent…” Michael said snidely, then jerked up and fired a blazing hail of death at the criminals.
“Fuck you, cop,” KK shouted with a squeal at the end of his words as he ducked a shower of wood shards.
“No, thanks. Not my type,” Michael yelled. His husky voice sounded like gravel.
“You want the bitch? Come get her, pig,” Reggie taunted. The injured gangster patted his pockets.
Her gaze shifted to his gun. The clip was out and he was searching for a replacement.
“Yeah, come get her,” Carver repeated, then whirled down, dodging several shots from Michael. He snarled, jumped back up and fired five rounds before his gun clicked empty. He dove back down and ejected the spent clip.
Carver waved frantically in the air and got Reggie’s attention.
Carver shook the empty clip at Reggie expectantly. Reggie responded by showing his own spent clip, disgust curling his lips.
Hope flooded her veins. KK was the only one left with ammunition.
“Delaney, two of them are out of ammo. Just the biker has bullets,” she cried.
Carver whipped around, and if looks could kill, she’d be dead.
Her fate was still up in the air, but she flashed him a defiant grin.
“Fucking bitch!” Reggie covered his wound and crimson flowed between his fingers.
“Where is he?” KK shouted. Kara could feel the panic rising in the thug. “Fuck. Fucking where is he?”
A clatter near KK drew several shots. Michael rose over a crate to the left of KK’s firing arc and shot two more rounds at the biker. And then three dull clicks. He was out.
Kara’s heart sank.
KK turned and aimed.
Michael ducked.
KK jerked the trigger of his gun. Another click. Time sped up.
“Fuck!” KK dropped behind the steel desk, but she could see his shoulders wiggle about. He was looking for another clip. He had to be out. Because surely there was a God.
Or was there? Movement to her left caught her attention. Carver flashed a savage-looking fillet knife and unleashed the most sinister glare she’d ever had the misfortune of being on the wrong end of.
It was a gamble, but she had only one chance. “They’re out of ammo,” she shouted. “All of them.”
Carver froze where he was. A whimper came from KK’s hiding spot, and Reggie simply collapsed onto his back in defeat. The truth of her words was revealed by their reactions.
“Well now. Wasn’t that fun?” Michael asked. He stood up and holstered his pistol. Kara knew he liked danger, but this was crazy. With three punks left, and Michael with the only bullets, there was no need for bravado.
But
Renegade
wasn’t stupid. She’d read every declassified file on him. His methods were outrageous, scary and daring, but never dumb. Kara pushed up on her stiletto heels to gain some elevation.
Delaney’s black BDUs were torn across one thigh. The frayed fabric was wet with blood. His uniform was stretched over his massive frame and armor with the sleeves rolled up, showing his thick forearms glistening with sweat. For a fleeting second, she imagined them pinning her legs wide.
With a gasp, she shook the image from her mind. All the ammo pouches on his belt were empty. He was out of rounds, too. The fear swarming around her spiked once more. It wasn’t over yet.
“Looks like we got us a problem,” Michael said with deadly irony.
“Fuck you, cop. She’s wrong. I got a full clip. Show yourself,” KK screeched.
Kara saw Michael’s lips twitch, and then stretch into a grin.
KK didn’t realize Michael was already in the open. The bluff was an utter failure.
“Bring it,” Michael dared.
Carver glared in the direction of KK. She couldn’t see the silent body language, but Carver lurched and stood. From her vantage point, clinging to the iron pipe, she saw KK and Reggie rise up, too.
In turn, Michael stared each criminal in the eye. If they weren’t scared, they were idiots. Michael was a massive chunk of masculinity. Savage. Raw. Powerful. Death incarnate.
The three gangsters flanked Michael who stood in an open area between shelves and crates. She’d never seen him in action, but a burst of heat swept through her in anticipation.
Michael twisted, his thick legs set wide in a defensive stance, and tracked all three of his opponents seemingly with peripheral vision.
The air crackled with an eerie,
someone’s going to die
, intensity. A snick came from the right and Kara saw the gleam of a buck knife shimmer in the dim, flickering lamplight.
“Let’s do this,” Michael said. The echo of his icy voice rang flat, like the death he promised.
Carver slashed at Michael, but the veteran cop spun away, double-stepped forward and smashed his elbow on Reggie’s wounded shoulder. A series of snaps announced the fracture of bone, followed by spurts of blood. Reggie staggered back in agony.