No fucking way. I keep my gaze on Volkov, my weapon ready, my breathing slowed to the count I learned at the academy and re-learned every time I waited for evidence on a case Dale Miller didn’t want me to solve. I’ve done this before, too.
The room waits.
I take one step closer. “You misread the morning, Chaz.”
His grip on Sophie’s arm tightens. The tendons in his hand show. The watch on his wrist glints.
“Step. Back.” He grits his teeth.
“You misread the other day, too. If you hadn’t, you would have come when I had her at the house alone. You came today because you wanted witnesses. You wanted me to step back in front of the town. A story you can tell. You didn’t come here ready to die.”
His jaw twitches.
I see the calculation in his eyes. He must realize the only move is to fire. He might even be realizing the man who built a case against the town’s beloved sheriff doesn’t break eye contact with a gun-toting hostage taker even when said hostage-taker is twelve inches from killing the woman the new sheriff loves.
I should’ve told her that I love her this morning. Hell, all those years ago.
Sophie’s hand moves an eighth of an inch. The only thing near her is…
The steam wand on the espresso machine.
Good girl.
I keep my gaze on Volkov.
“Last chance.” His finger on the trigger moves.
Sophie hits the steam release and brings the wand up in the same motion. The blast of steam catches Volkov on the side of the face and the hand holding the weapon. I rush toward them.
He flinches. The gun angle shifts a quarter inch, and he fires.
The round catches me center mass.
I have time to register the impact against my vest. It’s like being kicked by a horse. The force knocks the breath out for a full second and makes the next breath the hardest one, but I keep moving before the second breath comes. I’m over the counter in three steps and on Volkov in two more. I tackle him to the floor behind the bar with my full weight on his wrist, holding the gun.
The gun falls to the floor. Gideon is right there and kicks it across the floor toward Mason without me having to ask.
Volkov fights. He’s good. Strong. He’s been built for this longer than I have. He goes for my eyes with his free hand, and I get my forearm across his throat. His free hand finds my vest where the round hit, and he digs his thumb into the bruise.
The air rushes from my lungs again.
Wells is on his other arm, Cole has his legs, and Jesse has Volkov’s other hand pinned at the wrist. Gideon has his gun aimed at Volkov’s head. Mason is by Sophie. Reeves reads him his rights with the cadence of a man who has practiced it for years.
Volkov doesn’t say anything.
I get to my knees.
Sophie is three feet from me, her back against the cooler. Her left wrist bleeds from the inside of her forearm. Her face is pale, and her eyes are on mine. But she’s breathing. Thank God, she’s breathing and alive.
That is the only thing I need to know right now. “With me?”
She nods.
“You’re hurt.”
“It’s a cut.”
She’s still bleeding. “Stay there.”
