Page 48 of Wild Card (Men of Action #4)

TALON

The bullpen quiets when we walk in, all eyes aimed our way, loaded with sympathy and collective anger. It’s the shared emotion that comes with the news of our shit fucking night.

We started our shift with a multi-car pile-up. Three dead, two in critical, one passenger who was texting and offered no real information. The only one who went unscathed was an eleven-month-old, who was securely strapped into his car seat that saved his life.

We stayed on the scene with Tennessee Highway Patrol until we were no longer needed. Not ten minutes later, dispatch had all available headed toward an armed robbery, possible hostage situation.

We were the first units to arrive, and by then, it was a bloody crime scene.

Restaurant owner closing down for the night when two men broke in.

According to the owner, he tried to reason with them, but they were waving weapons in the air.

One of them got twitchy and took a shot, clipping him in the thigh.

Their plan was full of mistakes, but they had no idea they’d happened upon a military veteran who had experience and carried. One shot, one guy went down. The other freaked and began shooting.

There was a waitress waiting to be escorted to her car who was in the bar area when it all started. She’s the one who made the call, relaying to dispatch as it played out.

The owner was clipped twice more, causing the woman to scream and alert the shooter to her presence.

We found her in his hold, swollen cheek, busted lip, and gun to her head.

She wasn’t terrified.

She was pissed.

When she saw us closing in, she wriggled free, took a swing and missed. He raised the gun, and that’s when Ford neutralized him with a shot to the arm.

The owner is in surgery, predicted to make it.

The two thugs are in surgery, likely to survive.

We bypass our desks, heading straight to Captain Boyd’s office.

He watches us file in, sitting back in his chair with a cool expression.

“I’ll do the paperwork, but not going for another fucking psyche evaluation.” Ford has been bitching about the possibility of a psyche evaluation since shooting the guy.

Boyd’s eyes flare. “You get a promotion since you walked into the station?”

Ford remains quiet.

“Why is it always you four who think you can tell me how to manage my department?” Boyd asks, then throws up his hand. “No response necessary. I’m not in the mood for your mouths. I’ll read your reports, which I expect before you rookies breeze out of here.”

I make a show of checking my watch, already knowing our shift ended over an hour ago. Since moving Willow into the house, overnight shifts aren’t as irritating. But I’m ready for this one to end.

And I’m not alone.

Boyd crooks his eyebrows expectantly, reading my thoughts. “You got somewhere to be?”

“Someone a lot prettier than you is expecting me.”

“All of you are pains in my ass.”

I crack a grin, my mood lifting with the chance to fuck with him. “Peewee, Peewee, Peewee, you know you hit the jackpot with us.”

He glowers. “More like rock bottom. You make a man consider retirement.”

All teasing halts. The man can outperform half the men who work under him. Most avoid him at all costs, knowing he sets high expectations. Our relationship is different. We may push boundaries, but Boyd gives as good as he takes.

He’s a powerhouse of a leader who would be a loss for the force.

“You serious?”

“Came out of the academy at eighteen, edging up on thirty-two years.”

“What the hell would you do with yourself?” Ace responds flatly.

Boyd shrugs. “Got options.”

The calmness of his response is a tell. The man may be an abrasive hard-ass, but he’s methodical. No way he’s taking retirement at fifty and playing golf.

The wheels in my head spin, recalling anything unusual. My eyes scan over his desk, catching the edge of a black folder with the familiar gold-blazed emblem.

Several things fall into place.

The closed-door calls.

Mid-day disappearances.

Ford and Rowan’s shower. Boyd and Tom in a private discussion that appeared serious.

Tom left the force to open his bar. He and Boyd worked together for over twenty years.

Boyd has no interest in opening a bar, but he would go to his friend for advice.

The gold-blazed emblem is a dead giveaway.

The four of us exchange a look, coming to the same conclusion.

“Fuckin’ A, Hayes Security poached you.”

Boyd remains stoic.

“Private security comes with its own red tape. But working with James Hayes comes with a different set of rules,” Major states.

“He sure as hell pays a fuck load of money,” Ace throws in.

“James’ team is top-notch,” Ford remarks.

“You guys would know, considering your experience.” Boyd breaks his silent stare-down.

“When is this happening?” I mentally roll through his possible replacements.

“No decisions made yet. There are some loose ends here. You four specifically.” He digs through his desk and tosses a folder our way. “You cocky asses came in here with your mind already focused on the next steps.”

I don’t have to see what is in the folder to know it’s our SWAT recommendations.

We fast-tracked through the academy process and started at this station. A lot of people were pissed and doubted us.

We made our intentions clear early on that our goal was SWAT. There was no reason to dance around the inevitable.

Captain Boyd was less than impressed with our brazen declaration and let us know our asses were on the line.

He predicted we’d fuck up.

We came to an understanding.

He set expectations we kicked the shit out of.

Our injuries sidelined our original timeline, but we’re coming up on the application window.

He knows we go together. SWAT takes us all or nothing.

“Think of how awesome it will be on your record to have us accepted on the first try? Go ahead and plan that retirement party,” I suggest.

“Arrogant badass shits.” He chuckles lightly. “You four make the cut, then I decide on my next steps.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make you look good.”

“Get out of here and get my reports done. I’m already paying overtime.”

“But we’re worth it.” I flutter my eyelashes and duck to dodge the pen he throws across the room.

We go to our desks, fire up our computers, and log into the interdepartmental application system.

The reports can fucking wait.

If it wasn’t so fucking cute watching her pout as she stomps around the room, I’d throw her on the bed and fuck the attitude right out of her.

My cock twitches at the thought, and I adjust myself, watching her disappear into the bathroom.

Cabinet doors open and close, a clanking clinks on the counter, followed by a muffled, “Shit.”

I fight to hide my grin when she returns with an overnight bag.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I am going to spend the night with Chase and Wyatt.”

Chase gave me a heads up an hour ago Willow was on a tangent. It didn’t take a detective to know why.

It’s been four days since we completed our SWAT applications. The process typically takes time, but we’d heard that our names made the cut for the next stage.

I intentionally kept the news from Willow.

Apparently, she overheard Rowan and Ford this afternoon.

Chase said she called him in a snit, bitching about me keeping secrets.

She’s barely spoken since I got home, pretending to study.

Bull-fucking-shit.

The woman is as transparent as spring water.

“You’re not running to your brother.”

My dick goes rock solid as she shoots lethal daggers my way. “I am.”

“Drop the bag, Princess. We have plans.”

“My plans are heading to my brother’s house for a much needed night with my nephew.”

Shit, I want to be deep inside her with that sass. I force myself to push off the doorframe and go to her, toss the bag, and hoist her over my shoulder.

She lets out an audible whoosh and beats on my back.

“Let me down!”

“Not a chance.”

Rowan is out on the porch with the dogs. She laughs and waves as we pass through the house.

“Talon Simms! Do not manhandle me.” She squirms and wriggles, kicking her feet high in the air.

I take us through the garage and deposit her on the seat of my bike. Her face is flushed, but her eyes go wide when she sees the new helmet beside her.

“Put it on, babe. We’re going for a ride.”

Her gaze lights with excitement, and for a split-second, her irritation vanishes then returns with a little less ire. “Now you want to take me for a ride? I’ve been waiting forever and now I don’t even want to go.”

“Liar.”

“Wait! You may need this.” Rowan hurries to us, handing me a bag with the familiar logo I asked her to pick up this afternoon. “Have fun!” She rushes back into the house before Willow can question her.

I take the lightweight jacket out of the bag, slip it on Willow, and zip it up.

She runs her hands over her chest and abdomen, her face in awe. “How did you know?”

“Baby, you’ve been looking at this jacket every day online.”

“I was watching for a sale.”

“It’s yours.”

Between Rosie, my mom, and the girls giving me hints, we’ve almost replaced the clothing Rylee ruined.

“It’s too much.”

I grab the helmet and carefully pull it over her head, ignoring the comment. If she thinks a fucking jacket is too much, she’s really going to blow soon.

I grab my own helmet, climb on, and pull her arms around my waist.

“Talon! I’m not in the mood…”

The rest of her gripe is drowned out by the roar of the engine and picks up again as we hit the cul-de-sac.

“What do I do!?”

“Hold tight.”

She clutches me with a death grip and I ease her into the speed, weaving our way to a back street and open road.

My body reacts to the feel of her plastered against me, her hands sliding into my pockets, and thighs tightening on mine.

She relaxes, placing her chin on my shoulder and giving me all her weight.

The days are longer, but I planned this for the timing, driving us to Franklin and the perfect spot to watch the sunset.

When I pull to a stop on an old disserted field and cut the engine, she’s trembling.

She jumps off and stumbles, catching herself on my arm.