Swat Standoff. Lena Diaz

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СКАЧАТЬ 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

      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. СКАЧАТЬ