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This single-parent-plus-cop gig wasn’t going well at all. But he was determined to make it work. And he was next in line for a desk job. It just might take a year or two for one to open up.
It was almost ten after eight when he started his engine.
The shadow at his window appeared out of nowhere.
Miguel saw the barrel of the gun just half a second too late. His arm came up reflexively.
It didn’t do a damned bit of good.
Fire shot through him, starting just under his left arm.
He slumped. Reached for his own weapon where he’d put it in the seat as soon as he’d slipped his holster off for the night. He’d have locked it in the glovebox until he got home with the kids. He never had a loaded weapon in the car where one of the kids could get to it. He just didn’t.
His right hand wrapped around the front strap of his Sig Sauer. Sweat or blood slicked his hand on the grip. He pulled the weapon around.
Pointed it at the shooter.
But the son-of-a-bitch was gone.
Three little faces flashed into his head. His kids. He wasn’t leaving them alone. He wasn’t. They needed him.
Somehow, he pulled himself into an upright position. He shoved open his door. Pulled himself out of his seat. He had to get inside the TSP building. Get to help. To fight.
He wasn’t leaving his kids alone in this damned world. Never. It wasn’t going to happen. He had to get back to his kids somehow.
Miguel used his truck and the one next to it to balance himself. And he just kept going. Until he was in the middle of the parking row.
He saw the two dark-haired women coming toward him. Laughing. The street lights up above just accented how damned beautiful they were now.
Beautiful. They were so damned beautiful. Alive.
Hope was back. He’d heard she was back on the clock again. She had a crutch. Guilt for how she’d been hurt stabbed him. Taking care of his kid.
Fear for his kids was all that had him fighting the pain.
“Miguel!” Heather called his name. “Are you?—”
Miguel fell to his knees in front of the woman he’d considered one of his closest friends for years. He never should have let them lose touch. Heather, or her twin sister. It had just hurt after losing Nick, then losing their teammate Curtis to cancer. To having the rest of their team just disbanded without warning three years before. It had just hurt too much.
He’d thought Finley Creek would be a new beginning for all of them. He’d never thought it would be his end.
No.
He wasn’t going to think that way. He had to get back to his kids.
“Shooter. Ambush. Heath?—”
He vaguely heard the sound of that crutch hitting the concrete. He heard Hope on her phone. Calling the shooting in. “Watch your backs…”
The words were torn from him. But that damned bastard could still be nearby. And he didn’t want them hurt. Not them.
Something soft—fingers, he thought—brushed the hair on his brow. “Heather’s got her weapon out, Miggy dude. It’ll be okay. We’ve got you now. You’ll be okay. I promise.”
He opened his eyes. When had he closed his eyes? Miguel couldn’t remember. He looked up. Into devil dark eyes in a beautiful face.
“Don’t…call me Miggy.” No. Not really beautiful. He hadn’t thought so before. Not really. But she was, honestly. It was more sassy, feisty. Adorable, more than anything. Not classically beautiful like her older sister. No. But she was just as beautiful in her own way. Fascinating. That was the word. “You’re gorgeous, you know that, brat? Fascinating. A guy can’t look away from you sometimes.”
“Thanks for that, pal, but I think you are a little bit delusional right now. Heather is the gorgeous one, not me. I’m just the kid-sister type—I have so heard it before. You just lie still. I am the wrong Coleson for this, you know. Joy and Samia are the ones that deal with blood and guts and just making people better. Me, I’m usually the Humpty Dumpty they have to put back together again, honestly.”
