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Joe growled and took a step forward.
“Don’t move. I swear I’ll kill her.”
“You’re not going to shoot anyone in here. This place probably has a hotline to the SFPD.”
Joe’s cold voice had her swallowing hard. How could he be so sure?
“Look, I don’t have anything. I didn’t take anything out of that locker because it was empty.” She spread her arms out to the sides. “Search me.”
Someone laughed from the other room, and the man’s eye twitched.
What would he do if they were interrupted? Would he start shooting? She couldn’t allow that to happen.
“Take me out of here, and I’ll show you. I have nothing on me.”
“Hailey, no.” Joe moved closer. “I’m not going to let him take you anywhere.”
“What the hell is going on in here?” Two of the men from the card game stumbled into the locker room and hovered at the doorway, their eyes wide as they looked from Joe’s gun to her captor’s.
“None of your business. Get the hell out of here...losers.”
The two men turned, and then one of them grunted and charged at Hailey and the man holding her.
The attack surprised her captor. He swung his gun from Hailey’s head toward his oncoming attacker and took a shot.
Hailey screamed.
Joe lunged forward and pushed her behind him.
The homeless hero fell on top of the shooter and they grappled on the cement floor, the gun between them.
Joe raised his own weapon, taking aim at the two men rolling on the floor.
“Be careful, Joe. Don’t hit the homeless guy.”
Cheers and shouts filled the room and Hailey’s mouth dropped open as she saw the men crowding the doorway and rooting on their guy as if this were an MMA fight instead of a life-or-death struggle.
Joe got closer to the melee on the floor and shouted, “Stop. Stop.”
A shot sounded, and Hailey covered her ears as the sound bounded off the walls. She plastered herself against the lockers, her mouth dry as she watched the two men on the floor slowly separate.
The transient rolled off the other man, breathing hard and clutching his bloody leg. He coughed and then laughed like a crazy person.
Hailey’s gaze shifted to the man who’d had her at gunpoint.
Joe crouched beside the form sprawled out on the cement, blood pumping and spurting from a wound on his chest. Joe had his fingers at the man’s pulse and was furiously whispering something in his ear.
Patrick stormed into the room. “What the hell happened here? Someone call 911. Trace, are you okay?”
The transient on the floor groaned and rolled to his side. “The guy shot me in the leg. They saw it. Self-defense, man. He had a gun on that woman.”
Patrick stepped away from the carnage on the floor and grabbed Hailey’s arm. “Is this true?”
“It’s all true. That guy—” she pointed at the man expiring on the floor, Joe still beside him “—had a gun on me, and Trace came in here and charged him.”
Joe straightened up, rubbing his hands on the thighs of his jeans. “He could’ve gotten Hailey killed, and himself, but Trace definitely saved the day.”
Trace grabbed his bloody leg. “The guy called us ‘losers.’ I’m no loser. I’m a US marine.”
An hour later, Hailey slumped behind the wheel of the Jag with Joe beside her. “Since you’re all over that police report, is it going to get back to your superiors?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m just glad Trace kept his mouth shut about my gun. That would’ve been a whole lot harder to explain without a concealed-carry license here in California.”
“I’m just glad the guy didn’t decide to shoot me first before Trace got to him.”
“Trace had the element of surprise going for him. Never been happier to see a marine.” He traced a finger down her throat. “It’s still red. The only thing I regret is not killing the bastard myself.”
“You were too busy worrying about me.” She smoothed a thumb against the crease between his eyebrows. “Did you get anything out of the dead guy?”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw you talking to him, or at least trying to talk to him as he lay dying. Did he give you any answers to your questions?”
