Dark Ops: Hotshot Part 9

And yeah, if she told herself that long enough, she just might stop worrying about what-ifs during this crazy week.

Finally she pushed through the back door and sucked in mind-clearing breaths that calmed her for a whole two seconds. She coughed on smoke wafting from behind the Dumpster.

Smoke with a distinctive scent rising above even the stench of rotting garbage.

Swatting at an irritating fly buzzing around her head, Shay followed the smell of weed right back to a quartet of Mercenaries toking up behind the Dumpster. She was too furious to be intimidated by the tattooed FEAR across their knuckles.

She kicked her way past a backpack. "That alarm means there's a bomb threat, gentlemen. So move it, unless you want flames smoking out of your a.s.s instead of your doo bie."

Her order stunned them silent. Their slow-to-track red eyes didn't comprehend the situation as a chorus of expletives went up from the unmoving crowd. Finally, a kid with swaths of acne got his b.u.t.t in gear, trudging past her with leaden footsteps. "Whatcha gonna do? Send Jaworski back here? He's probably too busy playing with his rod."

The others laughed at the reference to the cop's tendency to reach for his baton. She wasn't amused.

As the fourth teen-one with a familiar snake tattoo peeking out of his s.h.i.+rt collar-pa.s.sed, she s.n.a.t.c.hed the hand-rolled from between his pinched fingers.

"Not a chance, Brody." She stared down the seventeen-year-old with professor-type gla.s.ses and a scraggly attempt at a goatee. She ground his joint under her heel. "Now move it."

She raced after them around to the front. Eli herded people from the parking area to a lot across the street, where Angeline kept watch over others under the umbrella of streetlights. A fire truck honked in the distance. Officer Jaworski lowered his megaphone as other police cars circled the building.

Shay jerked to halt beside him, panting. "Officer Jaworski? I think I found everyone."

His face pinched with disapproval. "Miss Ba.s.sett, you shouldn't have stayed inside."

Okay, whatever. Why argue when she'd already gotten her way? "I grabbed a basic floor plan of the building." She pulled out the flyer from a mini conference they'd held on parenting for teens, complete with a sketch of the building for attendees to use in finding different cla.s.srooms. "It's not an exact blueprint, but it has the general layout."

He took the flyer from her. "Good thinking. Thanks. Our bomb squad can use this until we can lay hands on something more official."

She glanced at her pink and yellow striped watch and found that no more than ten minutes had pa.s.sed since Angeline had made the announcement over the loudspeaker.

Jaworski dismissed her with a wave, crowding her farther away from the building, his hand reaching for his rod-uh, baton. She understood he had a job to do, but the way she saw it, the potential for an equally large explosion simmered around here with the two rival gang members all fired up and mingling. If Jaworski pushed too hard with his hammer approach, things could detonate.

She made a quick scan to count cop cars and found a half-dozen, decked to the nines with guns and more billy clubs. A dog barked from the back of one vehicle. For bomb sniffing or control through intimidation? Her stomach went tight.

Sounds a.s.saulted her already saturated senses: the sirens, the voices, the bustling bodies. All of it swelled with restlessness. She forced even breaths in and out, wis.h.i.+ng she could will peace through these kids and make them understand how lethal crowd control could turn. They needed to disband soon before-d.a.m.n it.

A fight broke out.

"f.u.c.k you," Rickie shouted, shoving another teen in the chest, scorpion tattoo on his hand flas.h.i.+ng red. "Did you really think you could get away with dissing our tag?"

Amber stepped between them, her baby bulge all too vulnerable. "It wasn't him. Webber wouldn't do that."

Caden stalked closer, crowding the pregnant girl. "Do you know something, b.i.t.c.h? Was it you?" The resident suck-up showed his true colors, ones that had nothing to do with gang colors.

Webber chest b.u.t.ted him, a sword tattoo flexing on his bicep. "You started the tag war. We retaliated. Now get the h.e.l.l away from her."

"Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?"

The exchange and shoves went so fast, in her growing panic Shay lost track of all the kids piling on.

Officer Jaworski barked through a megaphone. "Halt. Step back, or we will be forced to remove you."

The cop's orders all but bounced off the heads of the half-dozen or so teens pus.h.i.+ng at each other while the rest of the crowd jeered. Shay could only think of pregnant Amber in the middle.

Elbows jabbed into her side as Shay pushed through, her gaze locked on the vulnerable girl. A heavy foot stomped hers. She bit back a curse.

Eli slid past. "Take it down a notch, Rickie."

Rickie hauled back a fist and let it fly toward Brody. Eli ducked, barely dodging the punch and hooking the kid around the waist. His flailing foot grazed Shay's stomach.

Ouch, s.h.i.+t, d.a.m.n it.

She knew better than to get in the middle, but seeing Amber cradle her belly . . . Shay shouldered ahead to grasp the girl's wrist and wrap her arms around Amber's huddled body. Thank G.o.d no weapons had been drawn yet. This was seconds away from tear gas and drawn guns.

There had to be a better way.

She ducked clear of Rickie and Brody taking on anyone in their path. An elbow nailed her on the cheekbone. Sparks fired behind her eyes, wiping out her sight for a second before she blinked it clear again. She hauled the pregnant girl closer and backed away.

The smell of sweaty bodies and rancid hatred clung to the air. The lot filled with the shouts of their gang mates urging them on, the battle cry of street violence whooping it up until all she could hear were obscenities and shrieks.

Strong hands gripped her waist and ushered her out of the way with Amber. Shay started to scream, then swallowed back the sound in shock.

She sagged with relief. She didn't even need to see his face to know. She recognized those intimidating shoulders in a biker rally T-s.h.i.+rt. The high-end motorcycle parked a few yards behind him only confirmed it.

Vince's face came into sharp focus, a black do-rag over his scalp. "That way, Shay. Go. Now!"

Good G.o.d, was this man living in her pocket? How else could he always know when to show up?

He gave a careful but forceful nudge that sent her back and away, her fingers locked with Amber's. Finally, Shay stumbled free of the smothering press.

She clasped the pregnant teen close to her side, surrept.i.tiously checking the girl's pulse at the wrist. A steady throb pushed through the cherry blossoms inked along Amber's arm. "Are you all right?"

The teen swept the back of her hand across mascara-stained cheeks. "Fine, it's no big thing."

Shay wasn't so sure the girl was as unaffected as she claimed, but her heart rate was only slightly elevated, not dangerously so. Shay gave Amber a gentle squeeze, her eyes zipping back to search the crowd to find Vince, her unlikely savior. He blocked a punch then secured his attacker in a headlock.

Now that she had a better vantage point, she could see the cops making headway. Vince's presence helped even the odds, shoving apart the rival gang members. The street began to open up like the Red Sea to divide the warring parties of onlookers. Cops filled in blank s.p.a.ces as they worked without weapons.

Amber twitched against Shay, the girl's feet inching closer to the brawl. "He's going to get hurt."

Which "he" did Amber mean?

"You need to think about your baby. You're having a little girl, right?"

Tears welled in her eyes. "Yeah, but what about him?"

Shay didn't even know how to answer that other than to tuck the girl closer to her side.

A handful of cops stayed on the fringes, eyes darting, monitoring, hands on their holstered service revolvers. If anyone started pulling guns . . . Part of her longed for her own weapon, and another part of her was grateful the 9 mm was tucked away safely in her backpack somewhere in her office.

Slowly, the tide turned. Eli and Vince restrained Rickie and Caden, while Officer Jaworski and two other police officers snapped cuffs on the other offenders.

Caden gave a final token struggle against Vince's hold, a bruise purpling his jaw, blood trickling from his eyebrow.

"Back down," Vince barked, intimidating through his sheer size alone, "and listen to the cop, or you're going to end up eating asphalt."

"f.u.c.k you, old man."

"Stand in line, kid."

Officer Jaworski took command from the middle, no longer using his megaphone or baton, just the power of a deep ba.s.s with authority that added years to his youth. "I want to make it crystal clear. If anything goes down tonight, I took note of who's here, so I'll know exactly who to haul in first for questioning. You'll end up sharing a cell with your 'friends.' "

An uneasy truce settled. Sure, there was mumbled BS and shuffling feet, but fists stayed down. Amber found her sister and gave Shay a wobbly smile. "Thanks, Miss Ba.s.sett."

"Call me if anything feels the least bit out of the ordinary with the baby. You have my cell phone number."

"Sure, whatever." The girl bolted away and fell into her sister's arms, sobbing.

A sigh shuddered through Shay as her official role started to ease enough for her mind to slow and question . . .

Vince had actually shown again.

And he could have been hurt in a riot gone wrong. Like before. She swayed for a dizzying second before she regained control. She would not, absolutely would not bend over and hold her knees.

After he pa.s.sed Caden over to the cops, Vince powered toward Shay. "Are you okay?"

She rubbed the back of her neck to try to get some blood flowing to her brain again. G.o.d, she needed to replace the mental image of Vince injured because of her, of what could have happened, of what could happen still if that bomb threat wasn't a hoax. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You're so pale, you look like you're going to pa.s.s out."

He thumbed the corner of her mouth, his hand coming back with a smear of blood. She pressed her fingers to her face, fast, suddenly aware of her body again now that the threat had pa.s.sed. Her cheek throbbed from the elbow jab, but nothing felt broken.

Cool air brushed her stomach, and she glanced down. At some point, a big hole had ripped in the side of her T-s.h.i.+rt, a grubby s.h.i.+rt and jeans now after her trip around broken bathroom stalls, Dumpsters, and dirty cop cars. She smelled like weed, and her hair felt sticky with blood. How could a tiny split in her lip bleed so much?

She pressed the tip of her tongue against the cut.

Vince's eye fell to her mouth. Held. Heated.

She tucked her tongue back in her mouth and looked away. "Just shaken up but okay. You've learned some new moves since we were teenagers."

"Saw it in a James Bond movie." He shrugged dismiss ively.

He had done that before, made a joke of life when everyone else was on the verge of tears. Yet he couldn't be unaffected by this now. Fights they'd seen and been in seventeen years ago were too horribly parallel to the present. She felt it often enough in her job on a day-to-day basis, but having Vince here . . .

How could she not think of the worst night of all? Bullets had been flying, bodies falling. Vince throwing himself between her and the guns.

Except this time, no one had died. Yet.

Vince gripped her arm, his touch hot and solid. "At least sit down. You're weaving on your feet."

She eased herself to the curb. "Bomb threats and fire alarms are actually fairly common around here. So far, it's always turned out to be a prank. One time a girl flipped the alarm on her way to the bathroom. Her mother had brought her in for a physical, and the teen didn't want her mom to know she was pregnant. She figured tripping the switch would get her out of the appointment."

That had been Amber.

Why hadn't she thought of it until now? Amber couldn't have had anything to do with this threat, too, could she? She'd been lucky to get off with a slap on the wrist before. What would she have to gain from such a risky move now?

Vince crouched down on one knee, his eyes alert, muscles straining at his blood-smeared white T-s.h.i.+rt. "Clearing the room sounds like a temporary fix."

"You know how kids are. Many don't think beyond today." Maybe Amber hadn't needed a reason.

"Any ideas who might be at fault this time?"

She shook her head, not ready to speak on that subject until she had her thoughts together. "I just wish I'd been able to grab my backpack when I checked my office, but I didn't see it right away, and it seemed more important to get the heck out of there."

"We'll go back to the clinic once we've gotten the official all clear from the bomb squad." He squeezed her shoulder, sending a s.h.i.+ver of something besides warm comfort down her spine.

She glanced up at him, into his eyes, eyes very guarded.

What didn't he want her to see? And for that matter, another thought returned to niggle at her brain now that the threat seemed to have pa.s.sed.

"Vince, I appreciate your help, but how did you know to come back?"

Paulina had made it through one bomb threat today, but she wondered how she would survive the other bombsh.e.l.l she would have to drop in Don's lap before too much longer.

For now, she decided to be grateful the workday had ended without exploding a congressional witness-and Don's daughter. She'd left the office in capable hands while she ate and slept.

With Don.

She sat across from him at her small dining room table, a Brahms ballade softly coating the thick silence between them. He stabbed his fork through the chicken souffle, deflating it one poke at a time.

Souffle?

Okay, so it was a ca.s.serole cooked with cream of mushroom soup like her mama used to bake in their tiny Kentucky backwoods trailer park. But the smell comforted her, making her feel loved and relaxed-feelings she'd thought Don would need after a day like today.

She'd figured wrong. He barely touched his food, and he certainly didn't appear in the least relaxed.

Paulina rubbed her cloth napkin along a smudge on the clear gla.s.s tabletop. "Have you spoken to Shay?"

"No." Poke. Jab. Bite.

"Why not?" she prodded, a lot gentler than he tore apart his mostly uneaten dinner.

"She's probably busy giving statements." He dropped his fork in favor of the crystal goblet and downed half the sparkling water with a lemon twist. "Deluca called to tell me she's all right and that he's making sure she's settled for the night. If anything, I should be worried about Deluca's boss chewing his a.s.s for turning over the controls to the remote listening device and speeding away to the center. Scanlon's normally cool, but he cursed up a blue streak over that one."

She ignored his attempt to distract her with talk of work. She'd had more than enough of the office with Congressman Mooney's aide calling her repeatedly for security updates. Thank G.o.d the overeager aide wasn't in the loop on the air force angle, or her phone would be ringing off the hook. "Seems to me Shay would want to know you're concerned."

Paulina nudged a serving dish of steamed asparagus across the table-Jolly Green Giant straight from the can into a bone Waterford serving dish. She wasn't much of a cook, but Don had never complained before.

He grunted, the gla.s.s table providing a clear view of his knee jostling with agitation.