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Swat Standoff
Lena Diaz
They’re racing to the rescue… And a possible chance at love!When a SWAT team is kidnapped by an unknown assailant, Blake Sullivan and Donna Waters must race to the rescue. This dynamic duo need to put their differences aside to save the day and discover a hot, life-changing connection!


A SWAT team vanishes.
Can two partners put aside their differences to save them?
Playing hero backfires on sexy SWAT team member Blake Sullivan. He infuriates his partner, Donna Waters, as much as he attracts her. But before they can resolve their differences, they discover that the rest of their team have been kidnapped by an unknown assailant. Now as they race to rescue the small Tennessee town’s real heroes, they share a growing mutual trust...and a hot, life-changing connection.
Tennessee SWAT
LENA DIAZ was born in Kentucky and has also lived in California, Louisiana and Florida, where she now resides with her husband and two children. Before becoming a romantic suspense author, she was a computer programmer. A Romance Writers of America Golden Heart® Award finalist, she has also won the prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense. To get the latest news about Lena, please visit her website, www.lenadiaz.com (http://www.lenadiaz.com).
Also by Lena Diaz (#u4616cb0c-7ce0-5f3c-83fe-5b659724d9ea)
Mountain Witness
Secret Stalker
Stranded with the Detective
Missing in the Glades
Arresting Developments
Deep Cover Detective
Hostage Negotiation
The Marshal’s Witness
Explosive Attraction
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SWAT Standoff
Lena Diaz


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07904-4
SWAT STANDOFF
© 2018 Lena Diaz
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This story is dedicated to the Tennessee Takedown readers who demanded that I make it a series. I’ve absolutely loved writing these stories about the Destiny, Tennessee, SWAT team. I hope readers love SWAT Standoff, the exciting conclusion to this thrilling ride.
Contents
Cover (#u7bb57808-2724-5c3d-ac2f-e04c7cd556c6)
Back Cover Text (#u01b8d735-a977-55f7-9200-fc0462261ba2)
About the Author (#u7e6ebb2d-f7f4-551a-929f-59a350a8078f)
Booklist (#u97361c77-c5e6-54a4-a944-f29012da71e5)
Title Page (#u650e7252-ce18-5cd0-92c4-9a24507d3e18)
Copyright (#uf2768cbe-236e-5460-9621-4791e639bdab)
Dedication (#u53544ef7-92ef-5c79-b36b-81c44e425acb)
Chapter One (#ua7669bf2-884e-5704-8247-b2c624d72d12)
Chapter Two (#uf5316489-1183-53fb-9380-d314e44bb8d3)
Chapter Three (#u4a9eccce-aba2-5197-bba5-0a4513a3acb3)
Chapter Four (#u7166aaed-6f2d-5a7b-bba6-c87b9695c259)
Chapter Five (#u301e155d-10f3-5aea-8d90-e3a601d08bfc)
Chapter Six (#u31434298-19d7-538c-b302-f7f65434af0d)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u4616cb0c-7ce0-5f3c-83fe-5b659724d9ea)
SWAT Officer Blake Sullivan crouched behind some honeysuckle-vine-covered logs and peered at the weathered gray barn through his rifle scope. His target was little more than a shadow in the second-story window that had probably lost its glass long before Blake was born. How the suspect had managed to get up that high without crashing through the rotten stairs or floorboards was a mystery. The dilapidated building should have collapsed long ago in the violent winds that sometimes blew down from the nearby Smoky Mountains. Blake imagined the only reason that it hadn’t fallen down yet was that it was sheltered from the elements by a thick stand of Tennessee sugar maples and white flowering dogwoods.
With the early morning sun slanting through the trees behind him, and a lull in the light spring breeze that had been blowing moments before, conditions were perfect to take the shot. He eased his finger from the cold frame of his rifle to the smooth, welcoming cradle of the trigger.
Two chirps followed by a high-pitched whistle sounded off to his left. It sounded just like a bobwhite bird, common here at Hawkins Ridge and Tennessee in general. But Blake knew better. That was the SWAT team leader, Dillon Gray, signaling him. But if Blake looked away, he might lose the perpetrator. Dillon would have to wait.
Ignoring a second, more insistent whistle, he edged the barrel of the rifle down a fraction, exhaled slowly and squeezed.
Pop.
Red bloomed across the suspect’s chest. He cartwheeled backward, disappearing from sight.
Blake grinned. One down; one to go. Now he could see what Dillon wanted.
He looked over his left shoulder. The team leader stood a good twenty yards away, talking to Donna Waters, the only female member of their team. Dressed in green camouflage, they both would’ve completely blended into their surroundings if it wasn’t for the white S-W-A-T letters across Dillon’s back. Neither of them seemed to notice Blake. Whatever Dillon had wanted earlier must not have been that important.
Blake turned his attention back to the barn. Had the suspects split up? Initially, they’d worked as a team, staying close together. If they stuck to that plan, the second one had to be somewhere close by.
Nearly a full minute later, his patience was rewarded. A dark shadow moved near some trees to the right of the building. The man furtively looked around as if to see whether anyone had spotted him. Destiny, Tennessee’s entire seven-member SWAT team, plus their chief, was out here somewhere. Correction, six-member team, now that Colby had taken a new job a couple hours’ drive from Blount County.
Blake glanced back to signal Dillon and Donna. But, either they were blending in with the trees so well that he couldn’t see them now, or they were gone. He considered radioing the team to let them know he’d gotten one of the suspects and had eyes on the second. But he worried there might be static or that the sound of his voice would spook his prey.
He scanned the front of the barn again. The suspect took off, sprinting across the clearing toward the woods. Blake jerked up his rifle. The man looked right at him, his eyes wide with panic. He lunged for the cover of some pine trees.
Pop, pop.
Missed. The man disappeared into the dark gloom of tree cover.
Blake cursed and straightened, knees popping from crouching so long, and took off in pursuit. When he reached where the man had entered the woods, he shook his head. The guy was about five foot five and probably weighed a buck thirty, if that. He should have been light on his feet, easily weaving his way through the thin early-spring vegetation without leaving much of a trace. Instead, he’d plowed through like a linebacker, heedless of breaking small branches and leaving clear footprints in the dew-laden grass. He might as well have put out a sign saying Bad Guy Went This Way. Either the guy was an idiot, or he was extremely clever, trying to lead Blake into an ambush.
Another birdcall chirped behind him, this one the not-so-convincing squawk of a blue jay. There was no mistaking SWAT team member Randy Carter’s signal. Blake rolled his eyes. He doubted even a novice in the woods would think that was a real bird. He paused and glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, Randy stood in the same copse that Blake had left just moments ago. Randy motioned for him to come back and made another motion toward his left.
Blake shook his head, held up one finger and pointed down the path where the suspect had disappeared.
Randy insistently pointed to his left again.
Blake tightened his hand on his rifle in frustration. If Randy couldn’t understand a simple signal, then that was his problem. Blake refused to put the team in danger by breaking off pursuit. The suspect could circle back around and sneak up on one of them, or he could escape altogether. Ignoring Randy, Blake headed into the woods.
Ten minutes later, he found the suspect. The man was holding his rifle above his head to keep it dry as he waded across a waist-deep stream.
Blake brought his rifle up and stepped from the cover of trees. “Police. Freeze.”
The suspect whipped around.
Blake squeezed the trigger. Pop.
The suspect let out a blistering curse. A dark red stain covered his right shoulder. Blake took another shot, giving the man a matching stain on the left.
“I give up! Stop shooting!” The man held his gun over his head and glared at Blake.
Blake kept his rifle trained on him. “Work your way back to this side of the river. If you make any sudden movements, I’ll pop you again.”
The man’s eyes narrowed with the promise of retribution, but he started forward as ordered.
After taking the man’s gun, Blake pulled a set of handcuffs from the holder on the back of his belt.
The man’s brows shot up. “Really? You’re going to cuff me?”
“It’s all part of the game, my friend. Turn around.”
“You don’t play fair. That second shot was completely unnecessary.”
“I play to win. That’s all that matters.” He clicked the cuffs into place, slung the straps of both rifles over his shoulder and marched the man back toward the barn. Now that it was safe to break radio silence, he pulled the two-way off his belt and opened a channel.
“Blake to base. SWAT two, suspects zero. I got both of them. The first one in the barn, the second at the river. I’m on my way back with the second one.”
His prisoner glanced over his shoulder, aiming a frown his way.
“Keep moving.”
The man gave him a look that should have made him burst into flames.
The radio remained quiet as they strode toward the barn. No one answered Blake’s call. He pressed the button again.
“Blake to base. Copy?”
No answer. Maybe they were in a communication dead zone. Cell phones were virtually useless out here. He supposed the same thing could happen even with their powerful radios. Or the equipment could be malfunctioning. Destiny was a small town with an equally small law-enforcement budget. Their equipment wasn’t exactly top of the line and was rarely purchased new. The only reason that Destiny could even afford to have their detectives operate in a dual role as a SWAT team was that neighboring townships augmented the Destiny Police Department’s budget. In return, Destiny SWAT responded to calls across several counties, when needed. But even the extra money never seemed to be enough.
When they moved into the clearing by the barn, Blake jerked to a halt and drew in a sharp breath. There, lying on the ground, were his teammates—everyone except their leader, Dillon. They were all dressed in green camouflage uniforms, covered with red splotches.
Chapter Two (#u4616cb0c-7ce0-5f3c-83fe-5b659724d9ea)
Blake’s prisoner started laughing. He was tempted to shoot the man again.
“I see you got your suspect,” someone snarled close by.
He whirled around to see Dillon Gray striding toward him. Beside him, Chief Thornton’s white puff of hair lifted and fell with every step he made. Both of them looked mad enough to wrestle hornets.
A sinking feeling settled in Blake’s gut. What had he done wrong this time? He looked to his teammates for support. But they were all lying motionless on the ground. He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders as Dillon stopped directly in front of him, the chief a few steps back.
“What happened?” Blake waved toward the team. “I don’t understand. I took out the first suspect in the barn. I know he didn’t get off any shots. And I followed this guy to the river.”
“There were three suspects,” Dillon snapped. “While you were off gallivanting alone, the third suspect ambushed the rest of the team.”
Blake’s gaze dropped to the red splotches on Dillon’s chest that added weight to his accusation.
“But our intel said there were only two.” Blake motioned toward his prisoner, who was still laughing, but was now sitting on top of a rotting log. “This guy took off, so I—”
Bam. White-hot pain exploded through Blake’s jaw and he slammed back onto the ground. He glared up at Dillon, whose fist was still clenched as if he were ready to punch him again.
“What the hell was that for?” Blake snarled. “I got two of the bad guys.”
“Yeah. You did. But you ignored the signals from both Randy and me and went all Rambo on your own.” Dillon waved toward the bodies on the ground. “You weren’t here when the team needed you.”
Blake shoved to his feet. “I don’t know what has you so fired up. If an entire team can’t handle one bad guy without my help, you should be mad at them, not me.”
“You idiot.” Dillon took another step toward him.
The chief grabbed his shoulder. “Easy,” Thornton said. Then he let Dillon’s shoulder go and moved back, making it clear that he trusted his most senior officer to handle the situation. But he’d rather it not devolve into a fistfight.
Blake wanted to punch both of them. He’d done his job. It was the rest of the team who’d failed.
Dillon’s jaw clenched and unclenched several times before he spoke again. “You can get up now,” he told the team. “Everybody reload your paint guns and get fresh camo. We’re doing this again until we get it right.”
A chorus of grumbles sounded from the others as they stood. But they dutifully headed toward the stacks of supplies on the other side of the clearing, where their gear was laid out for the day’s training exercises.
“Tim, you okay?” Dillon asked the man who’d played the suspect that Blake had “killed” in the river.
“A bit bruised. He shot me twice. That second one was out of pure meanness.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. You didn’t go down,” Blake said. “I had to make sure you were dead.”
“I was in the water. What was I supposed to do? Go under?”
“It might have been more convincing.”
The man swore.
Dillon waved Tim toward the other SWAT team members. “Have one of the others uncuff you. If you don’t want to stay for round two, I understand. You’ll get paid either way.”
“Nah, that’s fine. As long as he isn’t part of the next exercise.” He angled his chin toward Blake.
Blake rolled his eyes. The man was being melodramatic. But then Dillon stepped closer, blocking his view of their pretend-perpetrator.
“That won’t be a problem,” Dillon said. “Blake’s not participating in any more training.”
Blake frowned. “Why not?”
“Seeing your teammates lying dead on the ground isn’t answer enough?”
He barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “You obviously staged that for effect.”
“You’re right. We did catch the third suspect. But it was a close thing. None of us knew there was a third one out here. The chief surprised us with that element, which just proves how important it is to always be alert and operate as a team, watching each other’s backs.” He poked Blake in the chest as if for emphasis. “You were supposed to watch your partner’s back. But Donna said you took off without her halfway through the scenario. What was that about?”
Blake felt his face flush with heat. He glanced toward the trucks. Donna had already changed into fresh camo and was retying her blond hair into a ponytail. She was also the only member of the team not paying attention to him and Dillon. Had he upset her? Did she feel that he’d let her down?
She’d been training him for several months, teaching him the Destiny Police Department’s way of doing things, which wasn’t the way he’d been trained in Knoxville. He was supposed to stick with her today. But when he’d seen the suspect racing through the woods, he’d taken off in pursuit, without waiting for his partner.
“I screwed up,” he admitted. “I didn’t want the suspect to get away, so I chased him to the barn. I assumed Donna would follow. But I lost her.”
“No kidding. She was scanning the woods, searching for the suspects, and when she turned around, you were gone. Not exactly a team move.”
Blake clenched his hands into fists at his sides. Not that he’d use them. He and Dillon were both a couple of inches over six feet and equally brawny. No doubt a fight between them would be long, bloody and painful. But that wasn’t why Blake wouldn’t hit him. Blake respected Dillon, even if the sentiment wasn’t returned. He’d never raise his fists against him.
Too bad Dillon didn’t share the same compulsion.
Blake waggled his jaw to ease the ache. “I had no reason to believe that Donna was in jeopardy. I would have come back to look for her, but the suspect holed up in the barn, giving me the perfect opportunity to pursue him. Once I took him out, the other suspect appeared. What was I supposed to do? Ignore him? Let him go?”
“What you’re supposed to do, always, is follow orders. Your primary objective today was to stick with your partner. I made that crystal clear this morning. Failing that, when I signaled for you to report to me, you ignored my signal.”
“I couldn’t turn around. I would have missed my shot.”
“You could have responded to me over the radio if you were worried about losing your sight line of the suspect. But you didn’t.”
“Not at first, no. I couldn’t risk the noise alerting him. I did call later, after—”
“After the rest of the team was ambushed? And killed?”
Blake clamped his jaw shut. Why was he even trying to explain? As usual, Dillon refused to listen. He was a great leader and friend—to the rest of the team. But he’d disliked Blake from day one and made no secret about it. The only thing Blake could figure was that Dillon resented him because the chief had hired him without asking for his input.
If Chief Thornton hadn’t offered him a job when he’d run into Blake at the Knoxville Police Station and gotten a taste of the drama going on there, Blake would be unemployed by now, with no prospects for another law-enforcement job. He owed a lot to the chief, including his silence about Blake’s past. Blake hadn’t wanted to share the details of what had happened, because he didn’t want to prejudice his new team against him in case they didn’t agree with his side of the story. But on days like today, he wondered if they’d both made a mistake. Their pact of silence meant that both of them had to lie to the team in answer to their questions about Blake’s past. And lies were the worst sort of foundation on which to build trust. Which was why he always felt as though he were running in quicksand around here, never gaining traction no matter how hard he tried to fit in.
Except with Donna.
Beautiful and smart, she was the one bright spot in his life in Destiny, the one person who treated him as if he mattered. And he’d gone and screwed up with her, too. He’d run off after a suspect when he should have stuck by her side, training exercise or not. She probably despised him just as much as Dillon now.
He raised his hands in surrender, trying to defuse the situation. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone after the suspect on my own. I see that now.”
“Gone off on your own? It’s not that simple. You risked your partner’s life. And don’t you dare tell me it was just a paint-ball fight. This weekend’s exercises are designed to test our instincts and improve our reactions, just as if this was the real thing. If this was the real thing, you just proved you can’t be trusted to watch over your partner or follow instructions.”
“You’re overreacting. If this had been a true SWAT situation, I would have stayed with Donna.”
Dillon shook his head. “You still don’t get it. You can’t act one way in training and plan on acting another way on an actual call. Training is supposed to make things second nature, so you’ll react on muscle memory, without having to think about it. You have to treat every exercise like the real thing. Didn’t they teach you that in the military?”
Blake stiffened and glanced at Thornton. But there was no help from that quarter. Thornton wouldn’t even look him in the eye.
“Are we done here?” Blake demanded, his patience gone. There was only so much lecturing a grown man could take with his entire team a stone’s throw away, witnessing his humiliation.
“Yeah. We’re definitely done. Because you’re toxic—always have been. You’re a lone wolf, a rogue who has to do things his own way. People like you get people like me killed. The chief saw something in you when he hired you. I’ll admit that I never did. But I worked with you, gave you every opportunity to prove my doubts wrong, to figure out how to be a member of this team. But all you’ve managed to do is prove me right. And I’m not willing to risk the lives of everyone here for your ego.” He motioned toward Chief Thornton. “And neither is he. We both agree on this. It’s over. Go home, Blake. You can turn in your equipment Monday morning. You won’t need it anymore. You’re fired.”
Chapter Three (#u4616cb0c-7ce0-5f3c-83fe-5b659724d9ea)
Donna entered the sleazy establishment that passed as a bar in this corner of Sevier County. Back in Destiny, this place would have been condemned and torn down, deemed unfit for even pigs to slop around in.
There was a plus side, though. It was quiet, too early in the evening to have more than a handful of patrons. And none of them had felt inclined to feed any money into the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner of the room.
Wrinkling her nose at the smell of urine and stale beer, she forced herself to step all the way inside, even though she was tempted to make an emergency run for a can of Lysol first.
A familiar figure sat on a bar stool at the far end, accepting what she hoped was his first drink of the night from the bartender. If Blake Sullivan was plastered, that was going to make her little crusade that much more difficult.
When he lifted the shot glass to his mouth, his hand shook and he sloshed some over the side.
So much for hoping that he wasn’t plastered.
He downed the amber liquid in one swallow and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Donna flexed her hand against the pistol holstered at her waist. If it had been loaded with paint balls instead of nine-millimeter slugs, she’d have already shot him. She was that ticked.
“Hey, lady,” the bartender called out. “No guns allowed in here.”
Blake slowly looked at her, his reflexes obviously dulled by the liquor. A sober cop would have jerked around to assess the danger as soon as the bartender mentioned a gun.
She pulled her badge out of the pocket of her jeans and flashed it. “Cop.”
The bartender’s expression turned frosty, his eyes as dark and deadly looking as the ones on the cobra tattoo snaking up his neck. “Makes no difference to me. No guns.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not staying.” She put her badge away and strode across the room, her boots echoing on the scarred hardwood floor. Stopping beside Blake’s stool, she motioned toward the door. “Let’s go.”
He scowled at her. “Another whiskey.” His words were slurred, his face ruddy.
The bartender stepped toward him with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Before he could refill the shot glass, Donna slapped her hand over it. “He’s done.”
“No. He’s not.” Blake yanked the glass away from her and held it out toward the bartender. “Fill ’er up.”
The bartender lifted the bottle.
“He’s drunk,” Donna warned. “You pour that, and he gets behind the wheel, I’ll arrest both of you.”
He hesitated, shrugged and moved down the bar to a patron who promised to be less trouble.
Blake glared at her through bleary eyes. “This isn’t Blount County. You can’t arrest anyone here.”
“He doesn’t know that.” She jerked her thumb toward the bartender.
Blake swiveled around and slouched back against the bar. “How did you find me?”
“Call tree.”
He frowned. “Call what?”
She sighed. “One of many things you’ve failed to learn, even though I’ve told you about it before. Destiny’s a very small town, so—”
He snorted. “No kidding.”
She wanted to punch him. Instead, she forced a smile. “Unlike you, I consider Destiny’s cozy size to be one of its many assets. Case in point, the call tree. Someone goes missing, I can make one call, and pretty soon, half the people in the county are looking out their windows. It’s more efficient than a big city’s AMBER Alert system.”
His mouth quirked up. “You put out an AMBER Alert on me? I had no idea you cared so much.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t know,” she grumbled. “Maybe you should pay more attention.”
His brow crinkled in confusion, but his inebriated brain couldn’t seem to grasp what she meant. Thank goodness. Admitting she cared about the brute while in a bar that smelled like pee wasn’t something she wanted sober Blake to remember.
“My point is that one of the benefits of living in Destiny is that we watch out for each other. After a few calls, I knew you’d left town and what road you’d taken. Unfortunately, just like with my jurisdiction, my useful contacts end at the county line. So I had to do a bit of searching on my own after that.”
He picked up his empty shot glass, frowned and thunked it back onto the bar. When he looked at her again, he blinked as if surprised that she was still there.
“What do you want?” he slurred.
She eyed the few people in the room, noting how closely they were paying attention to the exchange. It was bad enough that they were witness to Blake being drunk. If word got back to Chief Thornton or Dillon, there was no way she could fix what was probably already an unfixable situation and get them to rehire him.
“We need to talk. Alone.”
He shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere. I like it here.”
She snorted. “Yeah. It’s real nice. Great ambience. You could mark your territory right where you’re sitting, and I bet no one would bat an eyelash.”
His brow wrinkled again. “Huh?”
She counted to ten and tried to remember all the reasons she liked this man enough not to shoot him with real bullets. But she couldn’t seem to think of even one at the moment. “Just step outside so we can talk. You can drink yourself under the table later.”
“Bar.”
It was her time to frown in confusion. “What?”
“Drink myself under the bar.” He thumped the polished surface for emphasis. “You called it a table.”
“No, I...” She drew a deep breath. “Whatever. Let’s go.”
“Nope. You have something to say to me, say it right here. Then you can skedaddle on home and let me drink in peace.” He waved toward the bartender and held out his glass.
The bartender took one look at Donna and shook his head. “Sorry, man. No can do.”
She snatched the shot glass from him and set it out of his reach. When he opened his mouth to complain, she stepped closer, sandwiching her hips between his open thighs. The way his breath caught when she leaned in close would have been satisfying if she thought he was reacting to her as a woman. But as drunk as he was, there had to be another explanation. Like maybe the smell of shampoo and soap from her recent shower was too startling a contrast to the odor of urine and stale cigarettes he’d been basking in this afternoon.
She whispered in his ear. “You smell like a brewery, so I’m betting your bladder is full. I’m also betting you’d rather not wet yourself in front of all your lovely friends—which is exactly what you’ll do if I have to come back in here with my Taser and take you on a five-second ride.” She stepped back and shrugged. “Your choice. Walk out of here on your own with me. Or wait here for my Taser.”
Her threat carried the weight of sincerity. She wasn’t bluffing. He mumbled some coarse words and threw a few bills on the counter. But he didn’t argue anymore as he stumbled after her to the parking lot outside.
When they reached her previously white Ford Escape, courtesy of the muddy back roads she’d slogged through to find him, she leaned against the front passenger door. A raindrop splatted on the top of her head.
She glanced up at the dark, ominous-looking clouds. The weatherman had predicted more thunderstorms tonight, which was why Dillon had cut their training exercise short. He’d wanted them to have enough time to thoroughly clean and stow their equipment, real guns or not, before it started to pour.
Normally Donna would have been right there with her teammates, helping out. But she’d been so upset over Blake getting fired that she couldn’t focus and started making mistakes. Dillon had finally told her to go home and come back fresh in the morning for the second part of the training.
After a hot shower failed to make her feel any better, she’d done the only thing she could think to do. She’d called Blake. A lot. And texted. When that failed to get a response, she’d started to worry. That was when she’d put out a few feelers, trying to figure out where he might have gone.
Now, watching him sway on his feet in front of her, she was questioning her sanity in thinking she could undo the damage that he’d done today. After all, he’d accomplished what no one else had ever done.
He’d made Dillon Gray give up.
For goodness’ sake, Dillon lived on a horse rescue ranch. He and his wife ran horse clinics every summer to help disabled and underprivileged children. He believed every living being could be helped or rehabilitated if given enough trust and support. For him to wash his hands of Blake was a shock that still had Donna reeling. But even if Dillon was ready to give up on him, she wasn’t.
Not yet, anyway.
“I’ll make this quick before we get soaked,” she said. “I think Dillon overreacted. Calling you toxic, staging our fake deaths in that exercise to try to shock you and make his point, then firing you anyway, was a bit extreme.”
“No kidding,” he drawled, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice.
“But,” she continued, “I do agree that you’re not a team player. And he had every right to kick your butt after the stunts you pulled today.”
Thunder sounded overhead. But it was nothing compared to the dark look in Blake’s eyes as he stared down at her.
“I got two of the perpetrators all by myself. Two.”
“Whoop-de-do. Any one of us could have done what you did. But that wasn’t the point of the training.”
He arched a brow. “Seriously? Catching the bad guys wasn’t the point?”
“Well, yes, of course it was. But not on your own. The purpose was to teach us how to operate together, to have each other’s backs.”
“I need another drink.” He started back toward the building.
She jumped in front of him, boots crunching on gravel as she shoved him against her car. “I drove halfway across this county looking for you. It was only through dumb luck that I drove past this place and saw your truck out front. The least you can do is listen to what I have to say.”
He arched his brows. “Call tree didn’t work the way you’d hoped, huh?” he mocked.
“You fool.” She shoved him again. “I wouldn’t have even known that you’d driven out this direction if it hadn’t worked.” Another raindrop plopped onto her cheek. She wiped it off and glared up at him.
“I never asked you to come after me,” he said. “What the heck do you want, anyway?”
“What I want is to know that I didn’t waste the last four months of my life trying to turn your sorry butt into a decent detective and SWAT team member. I’ve been showing you everything that I know—”
“Stuff I already know.” He thumped his chest for emphasis. “This whole teach me how to do things the Destiny way is an insult. I was in the military before I became a cop. Surprisingly, I never once needed a babysitter. And I wasn’t too shabby a detective in Knoxville after that. And yet you people all treat me like I’m a rookie. I’ve been putting away criminals just as long as any of you—longer than some. But you ignore any suggestions I make and criticize every little thing I do. You feel like you’ve wasted your time with me for the past four months? Welcome to my world, lady. I’m not exactly feeling like coming to Destiny was my smartest move either.”
She blinked up at him, surprised at both his words and the hurt and resentment in his tone. Did he really feel that way? Or was it the liquor talking? He sure sounded coherent, even if his words were slurred. More important, could he be right? In their zeal to help him fit into the team, had they done just the opposite? Pushed him away?
“Blake, I don’t know what to—”
He waved his hand in the air as if to erase their conversation and stepped to the side, forcing her to turn to face him.
“Forget it,” he said, sounding angry and weary. “You wanna light me up with fifty-thousand volts? Be my guest. It won’t be the first time I’ve been on that ride. But I’m not hanging around to listen to another lecture. I’m done.” He started toward the bar.
“Blake, wait.” When he didn’t stop, she added, “Please.”
He stiffened and halted in his tracks. But he didn’t turn around.
She hurried over and stood in front of him. The defeated look on his face had guilt curling inside her even more. All along, she’d never once considered that the problem might be on both sides—maybe because blaming him was easier than facing her own failures.
“I’m sorry. Really, I am. I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t a valued member of the team. It never occurred to me that—”
He shook his head. “Don’t. Don’t apologize, Donna. You’ve been the one good thing in my life since coming here. But it was a mistake coming here to begin with. My mistake. I was in a tough spot with...my career in Knoxville. And I took the easy way out, or thought I did, when the chief approached me about working for him. I should have known it was too good to be true.”
She frowned. “A tough spot? The chief? Are you saying that he recruited you? I don’t understand. Your file says you came here for a change in pace, to get away from the city grind. There wasn’t any mention of the chief asking you to come here.”
“My file.” He laughed, sounding bitter again. “I wonder what else Thornton invented to cover for me.”
“Blake, you’re not making sense. What are you talking about? Were you in trouble? Why would he have to cover for you?”
He squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain and scrubbed his hands over the stubble on his jaw. “I’m drunk. Not making sense. Forget what I said.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “Look, I appreciate you checking on me, making sure I was okay—assuming that’s why you’re here. But I’m a big boy. And it’s time I started taking care of myself.”
She stood in confusion, his little speech sparking all kinds of questions as he circled around the front of her car and headed toward his truck. All this time, she’d never once questioned his decision to leave his position on a large team in Knoxville to come here, probably because of her own bias in thinking that Destiny was the better choice. But to someone like Blake, who definitely didn’t seem to care for small-town life, could the move have been considered a step down?
The pay had to be less, no question. But she’d figured the benefits of a smaller, more intimate team would have made up for it. To someone like her, it would. But now that she looked at it with fresh eyes, it really didn’t make sense. Not for a guy who made no secret of his preference for cities over small towns. Then why had he come here? And what role had the chief played in his decision? More important, where would he go from here?
It wasn’t until he wobbled and missed a step, nearly falling on top of the car next to his truck, that it dawned on her that she needed to intervene. She hurried after him, reaching his side just as he fit his key into the lock. Or tried to. He missed and scraped about six inches off the paint. She grimaced in sympathy. But before he could try again and do more damage, she swiped his keys.
“Hey, give those back.” He grabbed for them, but she whirled around and ran for her car.
In spite of his wobbly gait, he caught her in three strides. He grabbed her with one arm around her waist and whirled her around to face him. Good grief, he was strong. She pushed her hands against his chest but couldn’t budge his viselike grip.
“Let me go.”
“After you give me my keys.” He held out his free hand, palm up.
She should have been angry. But she was still feeling guilty and confused over everything he’d said. And there was the distraction of how darn good his hard body felt against hers, and how wonderfully masculine he smelled. Even the whiskey on his breath didn’t deter her ridiculous, unwanted response to being this close to him. Instead of pushing him away, she wanted to slide her hands up his chest and lock them behind his neck. Which was why she had to make him let her go. Now. Before she made a fool of herself.
She pinched his arm. Hard.
He snatched his arm back and rubbed where her nails had formed indentations on his skin. “What’d you do that for?”
“You’re drunk.”
“No kidding.”
A drop of rain landed on her head. Then another. “Look, I just want to talk some sense into you. I came here to ask you to come back. You’re a good cop, a solid detective. You—”
“Was,” he interrupted. “I was a good cop. Past tense. Dillon fired me. Remember?” He squinted at her through the smattering of raindrops that were starting to fall faster.
“Maybe we can fix that. Dillon has scheduled another training exercise at nine tomorrow morning. If you show up in your gear, like you’re ready to try again, you can talk to him, apologize—”
“Apologize? You’re kidding, right? He said I was toxic. You think an apology is going to change his opinion?”
“I think it would be a great start.”
He shook his head. “There’s no point in talking to Dillon. His mind is made up.”
“So, that’s it?” she said. “You’re just going to quit?”
“I...was...fired.” He enunciated each word slowly and concisely, as if she were hard of hearing. “I don’t have a choice. My career in Destiny is over. Finished. There’s nothing I can do.” He held his hand out again. “We’re about to get soaked. Give me my keys, and I’m out of your life forever.”
His words took the breath right out of her. Did he really not care about her at all? What was she to him? Not even a friend whom he would miss? More angry than concerned about his welfare at this point, she whirled around and dashed toward her car.
This time, the element of surprise was on her side. Or maybe the rain slowed him down. She’d just gotten her driver’s door closed and locked when he reached her. His shoes slid across the gravel as he tried to stop. But he ended up slamming against her door and grabbing her side mirror to keep from falling on his face.
He swore and straightened. Then he yanked her door handle a few times before leaning down to glare at her through the window. The clouds chose that moment to open up. Rain pelted down on him in sheets, drenching him in seconds. He hunched his shoulders against the onslaught, his dark eyes promising retribution through the glass.
“I need my keys,” he yelled to be heard over the thunder and rain. He rapped his knuckles on the window. “Keys.”
“You’re drunk,” she yelled back. “You have no business driving. Walk home.” She dropped his keys onto the seat beside her and started the engine.
He slammed his hand against the roof of her car, making her jump. “My house is over twenty miles away.”
“I can give you a ride home. But your truck stays here.”
“No.”
They glared at each other through the window. Him probably hating her. Her hating herself for having wasted so much time on him, both personally and professionally. Maybe she should give up on men entirely. They weren’t worth the trouble.
She put her foot on the brake and shifted into drive.
His eyes narrowed. “Donna, don’t you dare—”
She slammed the accelerator and zoomed out of the parking lot.
Chapter Four (#u4616cb0c-7ce0-5f3c-83fe-5b659724d9ea)
Where was Blake, and was he okay? Those two questions had been worrying Donna all evening, ever since she’d left him standing in the rain, yelling after her.
She sat in her recliner, her legs tucked underneath her, while she cradled a cup of hot chocolate in her hands. It wasn’t that the house was cold. Outside, it was only mildly chilly, and then only when the winds blew down from the nearby mountains. But she didn’t need cold weather as an excuse to have hot chocolate. It was her poison of choice when she needed soothing.
Tonight, she definitely needed soothing.
Across the room, the TV screen hung over the fireplace, dark and quiet. Typically, unless her mom or one of her mom’s well-meaning klatch of friends had set her up on yet another disastrous blind date, she would spend Saturday nights binge-watching recorded cop shows. The ones with the fake forensics and technology were the most entertaining. Where an investigator could search a single database and come up with a person’s entire life history in seconds—like what books that person had checked out of the library in kindergarten and never returned. Nothing could make her laugh harder than their implausible, ridiculous storylines. But tonight, instead, she stared at the set of keys on the coffee table. Blake’s keys.
And she wasn’t laughing.
Guilt was riding her hard. Not for taking his keys. She’d probably saved his life, or someone else’s, by not letting him drive. But she shouldn’t have left him in that parking lot with no way home. She should have argued with him until he agreed to get in her car. She could have taken him back later—once he was sober—to get his truck.
Where was he now? What was he doing? She had absolutely no clue. When she left him, she’d driven away for all of fifteen minutes before guilt had sent her back to that rancid-smelling bar. But even though his black pickup was still sitting in the gravel right where she’d left it, Blake wasn’t.
The bartender had only shrugged when she asked him where Blake had gone. She suspected he knew the answer. But he had no inclination to tell her. Four hours later, with the clock edging close to midnight, Blake still hadn’t responded to any of her calls or texts.
Not that she could blame him.
If he’d left her in that parking lot, she’d be furious. For days. Maybe longer. Mama always said her temper ran hotter than a busted radiator and cooled just as slowly.
She let out a heavy sigh and set her still-full cup on the side table. There was no use delaying the inevitable any longer. No amount of chocolate or silly cop shows were going to make her relax. And there was no point in trying to sleep. How could she even try to close her eyes when he could be lying hurt somewhere, maybe passed out in a ditch?
That lovely image had crossed her mind so many times that she’d called the emergency room in Maryville to see if he’d been brought in. The state police and the dispatch operators for both Blount and Sevier Counties had no reports on him either. She should have been relieved. Instead, she was more worried than ever. It was as if he’d vanished.
Okay—that was it. She absolutely couldn’t sit here any longer, waiting for a call that was never going to come. She would have to head back out and find him herself. Again. And this time, she wasn’t leaving until he was safe and sound at home.
After retrieving her holster and pistol from the floor beside her chair, she went into her bedroom to change out of her nightshirt. A few minutes later, dressed in jeans and a simple button-up blouse, she headed toward the front door.
A loud knock had her whipping out her pistol and flattening herself against the wall beside the door. Her pulse rushed in her ears. Who would be pounding on her door this late? Or even at all? Saying that she lived in the boonies was an understatement. Visitors willing to drive out this far from town, this far from anything, were extremely rare. Even her own family was loath to make the trip and bounce down the pothole-filled street in front of her house. Donna was the one who usually made the long trek to see them instead.
The knock sounded again. “Donna?” Blake’s deep voice bellowed. “I know you’re up. I saw you through the front window.”
Blake. He was okay. Thank God. Her shoulders dropped, the tension draining out of her as she holstered her gun and reached for the dead bolt. Then his words sank in. She hesitated, without opening the door. “Why were you peeping in my window?”
“I wasn’t peeping.”
She could practically hear him roll his eyes.
“Your lights are on, and the blinds are open,” he continued. “I could see you from halfway down that death trap out front that you call a road. The suspension on my truck is probably shot now. What’d you do? Tick the mayor off, and now he won’t send the city out to maintain your street?”
She flipped the dead bolt and pulled open the door. “Actually, it’s his wife. She sped through a school zone, so I radioed for a patrol unit and followed her to city hall. She didn’t appreciate me detaining her until the uniformed officer got there. And she especially didn’t like the two-hundred-fifty-dollar ticket.”
His brows rose as he stepped inside. “Did you know who she was when you saw her speeding?”
“Yep. Honestly, I probably wouldn’t have bothered if she’d blown by me out on the highway. It’s not like we have enough traffic around here to worry about her causing an accident. But she could have run someone’s kid over. That’s an unforgivable sin in my book. So if the price of making her stop and think next time is a bumpy ride home every day, I’ll pay it.” She winced. “But I do need to get a four-wheel drive if this vendetta goes on much longer. My little SUV isn’t designed for that kind of punishment. It’s already starting to rattle, and it’s only a few years old.”
He smiled. “I didn’t know you had a soft spot for kids. Why haven’t I heard this story before?”
She cocked her head. “Why haven’t you ever visited my house before? And why haven’t you invited me to yours? We’re partners. We should kick back together after work sometimes, or on weekends.”
His smile faded. “The answer to those questions are irrelevant, since I’m not a cop anymore.”
She shook her head. “Once a cop, always a cop. And as far as I’m concerned, this current situation with Dillon is temporary.”
“That’s actually why I’m here. Partly, anyway.” He waved toward the two leather couches and recliner a few feet away. “Mind if we talk for a few minutes? Or is the open door an unsubtle social signal that I should leave?”
She blinked, surprised to realize that she was still holding on to the doorknob. “Sorry. Go on, have a seat.” She shut the door behind him and followed him into the part of the house that functioned as a family room.
He perched on the edge of one of the two couches, resting his forearms on his thighs with his hands clasped together. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him look so unsure of himself. His confidence in everything that he did was one of the things that had always bugged Dillon, because he took it as arrogance. He expected the new guy to show more humility and work harder to fit in. Until Blake’s little speech in the parking lot earlier, she’d thought pretty much the same thing. Now she wasn’t sure what she thought.
“Nice place,” he said as she sat beside him on the couch. “It looks a lot bigger inside than it does from the outside.”
“It’s the vaulted ceiling and the open concept. My dad helped me with the remodel. Took a couple of years. That was a long time ago, though. It’s about ready for another update—new lights, new plumbing fixtures. The floors could use refinishing. But I don’t have the free time I used to, before I added part-time SWAT officer to my full-time detective duties.”
“You and your dad did all the work?”
“Most of it. We rooked my three sisters’ husbands into helping with the heavy lifting. But for the most part, it was me and Dad. With Mom supervising, of course. She’s a worse back seat renovator than any back seat driver.” She waved toward the kitchen, which was separated from the rest of the room by a butcher block island. “You want a beer or something?”
His brows arched again. “I think we both know I had more than my quota of alcohol earlier today. But thanks.”
“Right.” She rubbed her hands on her jeans, hating the awkwardness that had settled between them. “I see you have your—”
“I wanted to ask you—”
They both stopped and smiled.
He waved at her. “You first.”
She cleared her throat. “I was just going to ask how you got here. Since I, um, have your keys.”
“My neighbor. I called him and he was just a few miles away, running an errand. We both have spare sets of each other’s keys in case we lock ourselves out of our homes or cars. He and his son picked me up at the bar. His son drove my truck home while I slept off the liquor. In case you were wondering how I got my truck back.”
“I tried to call—”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped the glass before turning it around. “I noticed.”
The home screen showed fifteen missed calls.
Her face flamed hot. “Are all of those from me?”
“Every one.”
“Wow. I didn’t realize I’d been that big a pest.”
“You texted even more than you called.” He smiled and put the phone away. “I came over here for a couple of reasons. The first was to apologize.”
She frowned. “What would you apologize for? I’m the one who left you stranded, in the rain, at a horrible, smelly bar. In my defense, I did eventually turn around and go back. But you were gone.”
“Yeah, this is the part where I have to admit that I hid in the men’s room when you came back into the bar looking for me. Not one of my prouder moments. But I was still angry and didn’t want to talk to you.”
“I knew that snake-tattooed bartender was lying. Well, at least you’re okay. And you didn’t end up with your truck in a ditch somewhere.”
His jaw tightened. “Believe it or not, I’m not the bad guy everyone seems to think I am. And unlike the mayor’s wife, I care about the other people out on the road. I would never drink and drive, in spite of how I acted earlier. The fact that you thought I would only contributed to my foul mood, so I didn’t bother to tell you that all I was going to do was lie down in my truck and sleep it off.”
“Blake, I didn’t mean that the way it—”
He held up his hand again. “Please, let me get all this out before you think I’m blaming you for my own actions. I’m not. I was a jerk to you today. You were worried about me.” He patted his pocket where he’d put his cell phone. “Obviously. And I didn’t have the decency to answer even one of your calls or texts to let you know that I was okay. I’m really sorry, Donna. And even though I’d argue it wasn’t necessary to take my keys, and it wasn’t fun being left standing in the rain, it was a wake-up call. The whole day was a wake-up call, in a lot of ways. I hope you can accept my deepest, heartfelt apology. Can you forgive me?”
He startled her by taking one of her hands between his, while he watched her and waited for her reply. She swallowed hard, trying to remember what he’d even said. It was hard to focus when his large, warm hands held hers and he was staring at her with such intensity.
The man had definitely missed his calling. Instead of law enforcement, he should have been a sexy leading man in Hollywood, making all the women swoon and throw themselves at his feet. All it would take was one look from those intense, dark blue eyes to make the rest of the world fade away. She didn’t think he’d ever looked at her this way before. It was doing funny things to her belly, and her pulse was racing so fast, it was a wonder he didn’t say something about it.
He’d showered recently. His short, nearly black hair was still damp. And he was wearing fresh clothes—jeans, boots and a blue pullover shirt that made his eyes look an even darker blue than usual.
Not that any of that mattered.
She shouldn’t care how gorgeous he looked, or how incredibly wonderful his warm skin felt against hers. But he’d never focused the full force of his attention on her before, not like this, as if the only thing that mattered in the world was her.
“Donna? Help me out here. I have no idea what that sharp mind of yours is thinking right now. Are you about to forgive me, or should I run for my truck before you pull out your gun?” His mouth quirked up in a half grin that had her toes curling against the floor.
Good grief, what was wrong with her? She was obviously more tired than she’d thought. And the day’s events had made her emotions raw. Blake the police officer she could handle. Blake the sexy, nice, attentive man sitting across from her—holding her hand—was draining her IQ points by the second. If she didn’t do something fast, she’d start stuttering and batting her eyelashes at him. Or worse, lunge across the couch and find out once and for all if he was the excellent kisser that she’d always fantasized that he would be.
His brows crinkled with concern. “Donna? Are you okay? You look flushed.” He reached toward her face as if to check her for a fever.
She jerked back and yanked her hand free. Popping up from the couch, she said the first thing that flashed into her mind. “I have to pee.”
His eyes widened.
She groaned and sprinted from the room.
* * *
WHAT HAD JUST HAPPENED? Blake stared at the empty spot on the couch beside him where Donna had been sitting just seconds earlier. Obviously he’d upset her, or she wouldn’t have run out of the room like that. But other than an apology, he couldn’t figure out how he’d managed to make things worse.
He blew out a frustrated breath and stood. He was too agitated to keep sitting on the couch, so he paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. Now that he’d delivered his pathetic apology, with disastrous results, he wasn’t even sure whether he should hang around to tell her the other reason that he was here. After all, there were dozens of explanations for his concerns—all of which seemed valid and far more likely than the insane scenario that kept running through his head. Maybe he should have started with the scenario and skipped the apology part. But he’d been worried that she’d be too angry to listen if he didn’t smooth things over first.
A lot of good that had done.
He checked his watch. Thirty minutes to midnight on a Saturday. This was silly. He should just go home and try to sleep off the aftereffects of a very nasty hangover that was already making his head pound in spite of the aspirin he’d taken. Everything was bound to look different in the morning. His concerns would be proven false, and everyone would go about their lives like normal.
Except for him.
Nothing had been normal in his life for a very long time.
“Blake.”
He turned to see Donna standing by the recliner, her brow lined with worry. He cleared his throat and stepped over to her. “Whatever I did, if my apology somehow offended you, I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“What? No, no. You did nothing wrong. It was just...” She shook her head. “Forget it. It was something stupid. Nothing to worry about. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“Then we’re good? You’re not upset with me?”
“I’m upset that you got yourself fired. And I’ll be really upset if you don’t try to talk to Dillon to get your job back. Maybe if you just apologize to him, explain your side—”
“That’s why I’m here. I mean, other than trying to fix things between you and me. I came here because I did try to contact Dillon. I wanted to meet with him, just the two of us, and talk this thing out.”
“Oh, well, that’s great. We’re supposed to go back to Hawkins Ridge for another exercise in the morning, around nine. Maybe you could go up there and talk to him then, while the rest of us are getting everything set up.” She frowned. “Why are you giving me a funny look? What’s wrong?”
“It could be nothing.”
“Tell me.”
Lightning flashed off in the distance, illuminating the front windows. A distant boom of thunder followed. And still, he couldn’t seem to force the words out. The longer he stood there, the more he felt like he’d jumped the gun. The whiskey and his hangover were dulling his brain, not to mention the lateness of the hour.
“Well?” she prompted.
“Forget it. It’s stupid. I’ll do what you said, try to catch Dillon in the morning before your training session. Sorry I bothered you so late.” He circled around her and headed for the door. He’d just flipped the dead bolt and was reaching for the doorknob when she grabbed it instead. He looked at her in question.
“You’re not leaving yet. Something bothered you enough to come over here close to midnight to talk to me. It wasn’t just to tell me you were sorry. What’s going on? Talk to me.”
He dropped his hand and shook his head. “Forget it. I’m sure it’s just the storm interfering with signals. Or maybe they’re all too ticked at me to answer. I ignored dozens of texts and calls from you, and it didn’t mean I needed help.”
“Blake, if you don’t start making sense, I swear I’m going to shoot you.”
By the irritated look on her face, he didn’t doubt that she would. He let out a deep breath and prepared himself for her laughter. “Dillon’s missing.”
She blinked. Then blinked again.
“See?” he said. “Told you it was stupid. It’s nonsense. I went off half-cocked and still half-drunk and imagined all sorts of crazy things. I’m sure he’s fine.” He reached for the doorknob, motioning for her to move her hand.
She suddenly stood on her tiptoes, leaned in close and sniffed.
He jerked back. “What are you doing?”
“Seeing if I can smell whiskey on your breath.”
He gritted his teeth. “I’m not drunk. I haven’t touched a drop since you left me at the bar.”
“And yet you said that Dillon’s missing. What does that mean?”
The smile hovering on her lips had him feeling even more ridiculous. “I wanted to talk to him, like I said. So as soon as I sobered up, I called, both cell phone and radio. He didn’t answer.”
She shrugged. “Why would he? He fired you. I doubt he ever wants to talk to you again. Which is why you need to go see him in person—”
“I did. I went to his horse ranch. He wasn’t there. Neither was his wife and daughter. The guy who oversees the operations—”
“Griffin.”
He nodded. “Griffin. He said Mrs. Gray and her daughter had gone off on some cruise. But he didn’t know where Dillon was. He figured he was still in the woods, conducting training exercises.”
“What time was this?”
“Close to nine, I imagine.”
She glanced past him, probably to the wall clock that he’d noticed over the TV earlier. “It’s way too late to try calling him again. I’m sure he’s okay, though. Dillon’s one of the most capable men I know. He—”
“I called Randy, too.”
“Okay. What did he say about Dillon?”
“Nothing. Randy didn’t answer his phone either.”
Her brow furrowed. “That’s not like him. Even if he was upset, which is a rare thing for him, he wouldn’t have ignored your call.”
“That was my thought, too. So I called Max. Then Chris. I even tried the chief, on his home phone. No one answered any of my calls. I would have at least expected the chief’s wife to answer.”
She shook her head. “She’s on the cruise with Ashley. All the team’s wives went—Dillon’s wife, Ashley, and their baby, the chief’s wife, Claire, Max’s wife, Bex, and Chris’s wife, Julie. It’s a law-enforcement family cruise some charity put together, a getaway for the families who do so much to support their law-enforcement loved ones. That’s how it was advertised, anyway. That’s why Dillon scheduled the training this weekend. I could have sworn you knew all this. Scenic Cruises? Out of Miami? It was organized by some charity group out of Knoxville. I’m sure Dillon mentioned it.”
“I’m sure he mentions lots of things to you. He and I rarely speak unless he’s ordering me around or telling me I screwed up.” He waved his hand in the air. “Forget it. That’s not the point. I tried calling all of them tonight. No one answered. It’s highly likely that they’re ignoring me because of what happened today, and I overreacted. But I couldn’t ignore it without letting you know. Just in case.”
“Just in case what?”
He fisted his hands at his sides, feeling like an idiot. But he’d gone this far. He might as well go all in. “In case the entire SWAT team was abducted. Minus you and me, of course.”
She blinked again. Then she started laughing.
He endured her laughter for a full minute. He couldn’t take more than that. He brushed her hand off the doorknob and yanked open the door.
“Blake, wait. I’m sorry. Please don’t go. I shouldn’t have laughed at you. But you know cell service around here is awful. Your calls probably didn’t even go through.”
Since her voice was still laced with laughter, he didn’t bother to reply. He strode out of the house and took the porch steps two at a time.
“Blake?”
He hopped into his truck and took off down the road, punching the gas to give free rein to his sour mood and temper. That was when he hit the first huge pothole. The front right tire slammed into the hole, and the entire truck lurched at a sickening angle before the tire popped out again. He cursed and was forced to slow to a near crawl. It took him a good ten minutes just to reach the end of the street-from-hell.
A flash of white zoomed at him from the left. He jerked around to see Donna’s white Ford Escape barreling onto the road from an overgrown field. He swore and slammed his brakes, skidding and coming to a bouncing halt just a few feet from her driver’s side door.
She stopped too, her face looking pale and drawn as she stared at him through her driver’s side window, illuminated by his headlights. Before he could even unbuckle his seat belt, she was out of her SUV and running to his passenger door. He pushed the button to roll down the window.
“What the hell was that for?” he demanded. “You almost made me run right into you.”
“I called them,” she said. “The whole team. No one answered. I sent a group text. Nothing.” She swallowed, looking visibly shaken. “I even tried the radio. All I got was static. It’s not raining anymore. We can’t blame the storm now. I can see them not answering your calls. But they wouldn’t worry me like this. My God, Blake. What’s going on?”
He popped open the passenger door. “Get in.”
Chapter Five (#u4616cb0c-7ce0-5f3c-83fe-5b659724d9ea)
Blake slowed his truck to turn down a gravel road that would lead them to the wooded area where they’d conducted the paintball exercise that morning. Beside him, Donna clutched a flashlight in her hands, anxiously staring through the windshield.
“What happened after I left Hawkins Ridge?” he asked. “Did Dillon take the team to another training site, maybe in one of those communication dead zones? Since you didn’t have a partner at that point, I would guess he sent you home early. Maybe they decided to stay late, or came back for round two long after you were gone.” He steered around a rut in the road.
“No. I mean, yes. Both.” She swiped at her bangs, something she rarely did unless she was upset. “After Dillon...ordered you to leave, I...uh...went home early. Like you said. You know, because I didn’t have a partner.”
“Okay. He continued the training without you, then. Like I said, the communications might not be working. Or maybe the storm caught them by surprise, and they had to wait it out. A rain-swollen creek could have prevented them crossing, and they’re sitting it out until it goes down.”
“No. That’s not it. He did send me home early. But training was over for the day. All that was left was for the team to clean the equipment and stow it in their trunks for next time. You know what a stickler Dillon is about maintaining equipment, even fake guns. Cleaning them and prepping the gear for the trip back would have taken a good half hour, maybe forty-five minutes. But he wouldn’t have kept anyone longer than that. He kept up with the weather reports, knew a storm was moving in. No way would he risk anyone’s safety by having them out in the middle of it. I’m telling you, they’re not training.”
The gravel ended, and the remaining fifty yards of road was dirt. The truck bounced around the last curve, and the clearing was revealed up ahead. But it wasn’t empty. Five trucks sat parked side by side, exactly as they’d been that morning. Blake gave Donna a puzzled glance as he parked beside them. He killed the engine and looked over at the obviously empty vehicles.
“Why would they still be up here?” he asked. “It doesn’t look like the vehicles have moved at all. I thought you said Dillon wanted everyone home, safe, with the storm coming in.”
“He did.” Her voice was quiet and strained, her face pale with worry for her friends. She opened her door.
“Wait. Did you call the station when you were making all those calls earlier?”
“Yes. The chief and the team hadn’t checked in. But I was careful not to alarm the skeleton night staff. I was blasé in how I asked the question.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Let’s see if there’s a reasonable explanation, or whether we need to raise the alarm after all.”
He left the engine running with the headlights on to help them see better. But even with that, and a bright moon overhead, it was difficult to see much beyond the beams of their flashlights.
They took turns shouting out to the team. But no one answered. After a few minutes of searching, they were back at the parking area, with no clue about where their friends had gone.
Or, rather, where Donna’s friends had gone.
To Blake, they’d always been just coworkers. Now, after he’d been fired, they weren’t even that. But they all bled blue. If something had happened, he was darn well going to do everything he could to help them.
Whether they wanted him to or not.
“Maybe there was a medical emergency,” Blake theorized. “If they stayed up here awhile after you left—maybe to do another training exercise—and they got caught in the storm—”
“Dillon wouldn’t let that happen. He would have gotten them out of here before the storm let loose.”
Her steadfast trust in Dillon was a little irritating. Blake didn’t think the man could walk on water the way Donna did. “He’s not a meteorologist. Let’s assume for a moment that he misjudged the storm, that after you left he decided they should train a little longer, and they got caught out here. They took shelter somewhere, maybe in the old barn, where our fake perpetrator was hiding during the paint ball exercise. They could have holed up inside to wait out the storm. After the lightning stopped, something else happened. Maybe the chief had a heart attack, or one of them got cut or something. So they needed to take him back down the mountain to get him help.”
He pointed to the puddles still in the dirt, the wet spots on the trunks of the trees closest to the clearing. “Judging by the way the slope runs here, this parking lot is probably like a bowl in the rain. It could have been a small lake by the time the storm passed, and they couldn’t get to their vehicles.”
“So they just, what, trekked through the woods and got lost? Even if someone was hurt and they had to hoof it down the mountain, where are they now? They grew up around here. Getting lost isn’t something that would happen.”
“What else could have happened? I don’t see any tire tracks or footprints. No signs of anyone else coming up here. In spite of my fears earlier, foul play against an entire SWAT team seems hard to believe.”
“A SWAT team with fake guns,” she said, her voice quiet. “Dillon was all about safety. He made us lock up our real guns and ammo while we did the exercises. He didn’t want to risk an accidental shooting.”
He studied her. “What are you saying? That instead of accepting that they could be lost in the woods, you think someone came up here and...what? What did he do with them?”
“No, I’m not saying that at all. I’m just throwing out the facts as we know them. The team drove up but didn’t drive back down. They aren’t answering their phones, radios or us yelling at the top of our lungs. Something bad must have happened.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper the next time she spoke. “I think we may be in over our heads. We should call the station, get some volunteers out here to help us conduct a more thorough search. Even if they’re not lost, they could be stranded somewhere, maybe in a cell phone and radio dead zone. Obviously something happened to them or their vehicles wouldn’t still be here.”
“Agreed. We need to get some help out here.”
He raised his flashlight beam, training it straight ahead, slicing a path of light through the darkness of trees and bushes about twenty feet away. “While you make that call, I’m going to go deeper in to check that barn and the clearing in front of it. There have to be some footprints there, maybe a piece of torn fabric caught on a branch. I’d like to find some tangible proof that might show us where the team was last. The trackers will want to start from the last known position.”
She shoved her cell phone back into her pocket. “We’re not splitting up. I’m your partner. We’ll check it out together. Then I’ll call this in.”
The wobble in her voice had him hesitating. He looked down at her, noted the intensity in her expression, the shine of unshed tears sparkling in her eyes. He’d been with Destiny P.D. since late fall of the previous year and had been her partner for over four months. In all that time, she’d always been decisive, in control, never breaking down no matter how tough things got. He’d never once seen her rattled. But right now she seemed...fragile, vulnerable. And he’d bet it wasn’t just because she was worried about her friends. There was something else going on here. And he thought he knew what it was.
“Donna?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s not your fault.”
She frowned. “What’s not my fault?”
“Whatever happened, whatever is going on with the team. I think you’re second-guessing yourself, feeling guilty. But if anyone’s to blame, it’s me. If I’d been a good partner to you, we’d have both been here with them when—”
“When what? When aliens beamed them up to the mother ship? Come on, Blake. This is crazy. Four highly trained SWAT team members and the chief of police don’t just disappear off the face of the earth. You know what I’m starting to think is going on? Group hysteria, or mass hysteria, or whatever psychologists call it. We’re both feeding off each other’s fears and making this into something it’s not.”
“I honestly hope you’re right.”
“But you don’t think I am.”
“I didn’t say that.” Before she could interrogate him about what he really thought, he said, “How about we finish our due diligence and get this over with? This whole place is giving me the creeps.”
“You won’t get any argument from me about that,” she mumbled, scanning left and right with her flashlight, before training it in front of her again.
They headed into the woods, side by side. The truck’s headlights didn’t penetrate more than a dozen feet in, because trees blocked the light. Forced to rely solely on their flashlights and the moonlight overhead, they studied the ground, the branches and the bark of trees they passed.
When they stopped by a tree with red and blue paint splotches on it, Donna gave a small smile. “So much for Dillon’s claim that our biodegradable paint will fade in the first rain. He’s not going to be happy about that. He’ll probably drop the vendor and start researching a new one.” Her smile died a quick death as fears for her friends obviously invaded her thoughts. She stalked past the tree, and he rushed to catch up.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the law-enforcement family cruise?” he asked, trying to steer her thoughts to more innocuous ones while they performed their search.
She hesitated, then continued forward, sweeping her flashlight across the ground. “Honestly, I guess it never occurred to me to bring it up in conversation. It’s not like you ever socialize with the rest of us after work. Not very often, anyway. I’m not even sure you’ve ever met Chris’s wife, Julie. And you probably only know Max’s wife, Bex, from your first real case with us last year, when someone was trying to kill her. Dillon’s wife, Ashley, of course, everyone knows. The station would probably riot if she ever stopped dropping off her homemade treats.”
“She does bake a mean oatmeal raisin cookie.”
“Banana nut bread. That’s my favorite. Her recipe is to die for, and she refuses to share it. Trust me, I’ve asked. Many times. That stuff is amazing.” She pressed a hand to her heart as if paying homage.
“Yuck on bananas,” he said. “Not my thing.”
“No banana pudding?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Not even if I was starving.”
“No wonder you don’t fit in with the team,” she teased. “Banana pudding is a staple of any well-balanced diet. Especially in the South.”
“And yet somehow I’ve survived all these years without it.” He stopped and looked around. “This is about where I first spotted the guy I ended up shooting in the second floor of the barn.”
“Larry. The second guy, the one you caught at the river, was Tim. Mike was the third guy. I don’t think you ever saw him though.”
He supposed he should have known the first two men’s names. Maybe she and Dillon were right, and he really wasn’t making enough of an effort to fit in. He’d really never accepted the blame for how things were going, always thinking it was everyone else’s fault that they refused to accept an outsider. The truth, as with most things, was probably somewhere in the middle.
“Were Larry, Tim and Mike with the team when you left?”
She put her hand on his arm, her eyes widening as she pulled him to a stop. “Mike had to leave early. But Larry and Tim were still there. I didn’t even think about calling them. If one of them answers, maybe they know where the guys went. Or, heck, maybe for some reason, they all piled into Tim and Larry’s trucks and went to a bar somewhere, and it’s too loud to hear their phones. With the wives out of town, it makes sense. They’re having a guys’ night out. Why didn’t I think about that? Maybe Tim and Larry are the designated drivers. I bet we’re going to feel really silly in about one minute. I just know it.”
“I’m all for silly. It beats the alternative.”
She checked her watch and winced. “If they’re not in a bar, if they’re back at Larry or Tim’s house, sleeping off a binge, someone’s not going to be happy about being woken up at one in the morning. But no way am I waiting until a decent hour to call. Which unlucky soul gets woken up? Larry or Tim?”
“I think Tim suffered enough being shot twice. I vote for Larry.”
“Larry it is.” After tucking her flashlight under her arm, she scrolled through her contact list and punched the send button.
A few seconds later, she crossed her fingers in the air and spoke into the phone. “Larry? Yeah, hi. This is Detective Waters. Donna, that’s right. Hey, I’m really sorry to call so late, but it’s important. What? Oh, yes. I’m fine. Sorry. You?”
She made an impatient rolling motion with her hand as she waited for Larry to finish whatever he was babbling about.
Blake didn’t wait. If it was taking this long to get anything out of Larry, and she had to call Tim, too, he could at least check the barn out, since it was visible through a gap in the trees up ahead. He motioned toward the gap, and she gave him a helpless gesture, pointing at the phone. He smiled and headed toward the barn, sweeping his flashlight back and forth.
The dilapidated structure was just as he remembered it—a sagging collection of warped gray boards, which were partially covered in vines that should have given up the ghost a long time ago. He figured it was similar to many other old structures throughout the Smokies, like those found near Cades Cove. It was a relic of another century. But unlike its cousins that were protected because they were in the Smoky Mountains National Park, this one was clearly suffering from a lack of historical society preservation.
If the building could talk, he imagined it would have some amazing stories to tell, the same way old men liked to rock on front porches, reliving the glory days with anyone who would listen. He smiled at that thought and pulled one of the large double doors open.
And froze.
Footsteps sounded behind him.
“Blake? Larry wasn’t out in a bar with them. And Tim—”
He whirled around to stop her, but it was too late. She’d already seen inside. Her eyes widened with horror at what was visible in the beam of her flashlight.
“Oh, no. No, no, no. Oh, please, God. No.”
She dropped to her knees beside the bullet-riddled body of SWAT officer and fellow detective Randy Carter.
Chapter Six (#u4616cb0c-7ce0-5f3c-83fe-5b659724d9ea)
Donna tried to peel Blake’s hands off her arms. He was crouched beside her and wouldn’t let her touch Randy.
“Let me go,” she pleaded. “I have to check for a pulse. Maybe we can still save him.”
“It’s way too late for that. The blood’s already starting to dry. He’s gone.” He gave her a light shake. “Donna, look in my eyes, not at him. Trust me, you don’t want this to be the last image of your friend burned into your brain. You don’t want to remember him this way for the rest of your life.”
She was still trying to pry his fingers off her, but the anguish in his voice cut through her own haze of grief and despair and made her pause. Part of her had known that Randy was beyond help. But part of her was in denial, or had been. Blake’s tone had snapped that second part back to reality.
She shifted her gaze to his. The hollowness and pain in his dark eyes nearly stole her breath. What was he remembering from his own past? What kind of tragedy would put those shadows in someone’s eyes? Without even thinking about it, she cupped his cheek.
He ducked away, forcing her to drop her hand.
“Come on,” he said, his voice gentle but strained, all signs of whatever he’d been thinking about erased from his expression. “Let’s make that call to the station.”
“But—”
“But nothing. Randy was your friend. You shouldn’t be here, cop or not. The best way to help him now is to leave the crime scene to others to process.”
He didn’t give her a chance to argue. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her out of the barn. She was so surprised that she didn’t think to protest until he was lowering her back to standing.
She smoothed her shirt down and straightened her shoulders. “I’m a police officer first, a woman second. And I’ve spent half of my life working hard to ensure that I’m treated with the same respect that my male peers are treated. So don’t you dare ever try to carry me like that again unless we’re lovers and you’re carrying me to bed. Got it?”
His eyes widened, and she could feel her face flaming over her poor choice of words. But in that one moment, with him carrying her from a crime scene, all her struggles, the fights to be treated with respect in a profession dominated by men, came boiling to the surface. She would grieve, bitterly, for her longtime friend later. But right now she needed to be the best cop—the best detective—she could be so they could catch the killer and find the rest of the team.

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