Читать книгу Swat Standoff - Lena Diaz - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Donna entered the sleazy establishment that passed as a bar in this corner of Sevier County. Back in Destiny, this place would have been condemned and torn down, deemed unfit for even pigs to slop around in.

There was a plus side, though. It was quiet, too early in the evening to have more than a handful of patrons. And none of them had felt inclined to feed any money into the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner of the room.

Wrinkling her nose at the smell of urine and stale beer, she forced herself to step all the way inside, even though she was tempted to make an emergency run for a can of Lysol first.

A familiar figure sat on a bar stool at the far end, accepting what she hoped was his first drink of the night from the bartender. If Blake Sullivan was plastered, that was going to make her little crusade that much more difficult.

When he lifted the shot glass to his mouth, his hand shook and he sloshed some over the side.

So much for hoping that he wasn’t plastered.

He downed the amber liquid in one swallow and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Donna flexed her hand against the pistol holstered at her waist. If it had been loaded with paint balls instead of nine-millimeter slugs, she’d have already shot him. She was that ticked.

“Hey, lady,” the bartender called out. “No guns allowed in here.”

Blake slowly looked at her, his reflexes obviously dulled by the liquor. A sober cop would have jerked around to assess the danger as soon as the bartender mentioned a gun.

She pulled her badge out of the pocket of her jeans and flashed it. “Cop.”

The bartender’s expression turned frosty, his eyes as dark and deadly looking as the ones on the cobra tattoo snaking up his neck. “Makes no difference to me. No guns.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not staying.” She put her badge away and strode across the room, her boots echoing on the scarred hardwood floor. Stopping beside Blake’s stool, she motioned toward the door. “Let’s go.”

He scowled at her. “Another whiskey.” His words were slurred, his face ruddy.

The bartender stepped toward him with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Before he could refill the shot glass, Donna slapped her hand over it. “He’s done.”

“No. He’s not.” Blake yanked the glass away from her and held it out toward the bartender. “Fill ’er up.”

The bartender lifted the bottle.

“He’s drunk,” Donna warned. “You pour that, and he gets behind the wheel, I’ll arrest both of you.”

He hesitated, shrugged and moved down the bar to a patron who promised to be less trouble.

Blake glared at her through bleary eyes. “This isn’t Blount County. You can’t arrest anyone here.”

“He doesn’t know that.” She jerked her thumb toward the bartender.

Blake swiveled around and slouched back against the bar. “How did you find me?”

“Call tree.”

He frowned. “Call what?”

She sighed. “One of many things you’ve failed to learn, even though I’ve told you about it before. Destiny’s a very small town, so—”

He snorted. “No kidding.”

She wanted to punch him. Instead, she forced a smile. “Unlike you, I consider Destiny’s cozy size to be one of its many assets. Case in point, the call tree. Someone goes missing, I can make one call, and pretty soon, half the people in the county are looking out their windows. It’s more efficient than a big city’s AMBER Alert system.”

His mouth quirked up. “You put out an AMBER Alert on me? I had no idea you cared so much.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know,” she grumbled. “Maybe you should pay more attention.”

His brow crinkled in confusion, but his inebriated brain couldn’t seem to grasp what she meant. Thank goodness. Admitting she cared about the brute while in a bar that smelled like pee wasn’t something she wanted sober Blake to remember.

“My point is that one of the benefits of living in Destiny is that we watch out for each other. After a few calls, I knew you’d left town and what road you’d taken. Unfortunately, just like with my jurisdiction, my useful contacts end at the county line. So I had to do a bit of searching on my own after that.”

He picked up his empty shot glass, frowned and thunked it back onto the bar. When he looked at her again, he blinked as if surprised that she was still there.

“What do you want?” he slurred.

She eyed the few people in the room, noting how closely they were paying attention to the exchange. It was bad enough that they were witness to Blake being drunk. If word got back to Chief Thornton or Dillon, there was no way she could fix what was probably already an unfixable situation and get them to rehire him.

“We need to talk. Alone.”

He shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere. I like it here.”

She snorted. “Yeah. It’s real nice. Great ambience. You could mark your territory right where you’re sitting, and I bet no one would bat an eyelash.”

His brow wrinkled again. “Huh?”

She counted to ten and tried to remember all the reasons she liked this man enough not to shoot him with real bullets. But she couldn’t seem to think of even one at the moment. “Just step outside so we can talk. You can drink yourself under the table later.”

“Bar.”

It was her time to frown in confusion. “What?”

“Drink myself under the bar.” He thumped the polished surface for emphasis. “You called it a table.”

“No, I...” She drew a deep breath. “Whatever. Let’s go.”

“Nope. You have something to say to me, say it right here. Then you can skedaddle on home and let me drink in peace.” He waved toward the bartender and held out his glass.

The bartender took one look at Donna and shook his head. “Sorry, man. No can do.”

She snatched the shot glass from him and set it out of his reach. When he opened his mouth to complain, she stepped closer, sandwiching her hips between his open thighs. The way his breath caught when she leaned in close would have been satisfying if she thought he was reacting to her as a woman. But as drunk as he was, there had to be another explanation. Like maybe the smell of shampoo and soap from her recent shower was too startling a contrast to the odor of urine and stale cigarettes he’d been basking in this afternoon.

She whispered in his ear. “You smell like a brewery, so I’m betting your bladder is full. I’m also betting you’d rather not wet yourself in front of all your lovely friends—which is exactly what you’ll do if I have to come back in here with my Taser and take you on a five-second ride.” She stepped back and shrugged. “Your choice. Walk out of here on your own with me. Or wait here for my Taser.”

Her threat carried the weight of sincerity. She wasn’t bluffing. He mumbled some coarse words and threw a few bills on the counter. But he didn’t argue anymore as he stumbled after her to the parking lot outside.

When they reached her previously white Ford Escape, courtesy of the muddy back roads she’d slogged through to find him, she leaned against the front passenger door. A raindrop splatted on the top of her head.

She glanced up at the dark, ominous-looking clouds. The weatherman had predicted more thunderstorms tonight, which was why Dillon had cut their training exercise short. He’d wanted them to have enough time to thoroughly clean and stow their equipment, real guns or not, before it started to pour.

Normally Donna would have been right there with her teammates, helping out. But she’d been so upset over Blake getting fired that she couldn’t focus and started making mistakes. Dillon had finally told her to go home and come back fresh in the morning for the second part of the training.

After a hot shower failed to make her feel any better, she’d done the only thing she could think to do. She’d called Blake. A lot. And texted. When that failed to get a response, she’d started to worry. That was when she’d put out a few feelers, trying to figure out where he might have gone.

Now, watching him sway on his feet in front of her, she was questioning her sanity in thinking she could undo the damage that he’d done today. After all, he’d accomplished what no one else had ever done.

He’d made Dillon Gray give up.

For goodness’ sake, Dillon lived on a horse rescue ranch. He and his wife ran horse clinics every summer to help disabled and underprivileged children. He believed every living being could be helped or rehabilitated if given enough trust and support. For him to wash his hands of Blake was a shock that still had Donna reeling. But even if Dillon was ready to give up on him, she wasn’t.

Not yet, anyway.

“I’ll make this quick before we get soaked,” she said. “I think Dillon overreacted. Calling you toxic, staging our fake deaths in that exercise to try to shock you and make his point, then firing you anyway, was a bit extreme.”

“No kidding,” he drawled, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice.

“But,” she continued, “I do agree that you’re not a team player. And he had every right to kick your butt after the stunts you pulled today.”

Thunder sounded overhead. But it was nothing compared to the dark look in Blake’s eyes as he stared down at her.

“I got two of the perpetrators all by myself. Two.”

“Whoop-de-do. Any one of us could have done what you did. But that wasn’t the point of the training.”

He arched a brow. “Seriously? Catching the bad guys wasn’t the point?”

“Well, yes, of course it was. But not on your own. The purpose was to teach us how to operate together, to have each other’s backs.”

“I need another drink.” He started back toward the building.

She jumped in front of him, boots crunching on gravel as she shoved him against her car. “I drove halfway across this county looking for you. It was only through dumb luck that I drove past this place and saw your truck out front. The least you can do is listen to what I have to say.”

He arched his brows. “Call tree didn’t work the way you’d hoped, huh?” he mocked.

“You fool.” She shoved him again. “I wouldn’t have even known that you’d driven out this direction if it hadn’t worked.” Another raindrop plopped onto her cheek. She wiped it off and glared up at him.

“I never asked you to come after me,” he said. “What the heck do you want, anyway?”

“What I want is to know that I didn’t waste the last four months of my life trying to turn your sorry butt into a decent detective and SWAT team member. I’ve been showing you everything that I know—”

“Stuff I already know.” He thumped his chest for emphasis. “This whole teach me how to do things the Destiny way is an insult. I was in the military before I became a cop. Surprisingly, I never once needed a babysitter. And I wasn’t too shabby a detective in Knoxville after that. And yet you people all treat me like I’m a rookie. I’ve been putting away criminals just as long as any of you—longer than some. But you ignore any suggestions I make and criticize every little thing I do. You feel like you’ve wasted your time with me for the past four months? Welcome to my world, lady. I’m not exactly feeling like coming to Destiny was my smartest move either.”

She blinked up at him, surprised at both his words and the hurt and resentment in his tone. Did he really feel that way? Or was it the liquor talking? He sure sounded coherent, even if his words were slurred. More important, could he be right? In their zeal to help him fit into the team, had they done just the opposite? Pushed him away?

“Blake, I don’t know what to—”

He waved his hand in the air as if to erase their conversation and stepped to the side, forcing her to turn to face him.

“Forget it,” he said, sounding angry and weary. “You wanna light me up with fifty-thousand volts? Be my guest. It won’t be the first time I’ve been on that ride. But I’m not hanging around to listen to another lecture. I’m done.” He started toward the bar.

“Blake, wait.” When he didn’t stop, she added, “Please.”

He stiffened and halted in his tracks. But he didn’t turn around.

She hurried over and stood in front of him. The defeated look on his face had guilt curling inside her even more. All along, she’d never once considered that the problem might be on both sides—maybe because blaming him was easier than facing her own failures.

“I’m sorry. Really, I am. I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t a valued member of the team. It never occurred to me that—”

He shook his head. “Don’t. Don’t apologize, Donna. You’ve been the one good thing in my life since coming here. But it was a mistake coming here to begin with. My mistake. I was in a tough spot with...my career in Knoxville. And I took the easy way out, or thought I did, when the chief approached me about working for him. I should have known it was too good to be true.”

She frowned. “A tough spot? The chief? Are you saying that he recruited you? I don’t understand. Your file says you came here for a change in pace, to get away from the city grind. There wasn’t any mention of the chief asking you to come here.”

“My file.” He laughed, sounding bitter again. “I wonder what else Thornton invented to cover for me.”

“Blake, you’re not making sense. What are you talking about? Were you in trouble? Why would he have to cover for you?”

He squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain and scrubbed his hands over the stubble on his jaw. “I’m drunk. Not making sense. Forget what I said.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “Look, I appreciate you checking on me, making sure I was okay—assuming that’s why you’re here. But I’m a big boy. And it’s time I started taking care of myself.”

She stood in confusion, his little speech sparking all kinds of questions as he circled around the front of her car and headed toward his truck. All this time, she’d never once questioned his decision to leave his position on a large team in Knoxville to come here, probably because of her own bias in thinking that Destiny was the better choice. But to someone like Blake, who definitely didn’t seem to care for small-town life, could the move have been considered a step down?

The pay had to be less, no question. But she’d figured the benefits of a smaller, more intimate team would have made up for it. To someone like her, it would. But now that she looked at it with fresh eyes, it really didn’t make sense. Not for a guy who made no secret of his preference for cities over small towns. Then why had he come here? And what role had the chief played in his decision? More important, where would he go from here?

It wasn’t until he wobbled and missed a step, nearly falling on top of the car next to his truck, that it dawned on her that she needed to intervene. She hurried after him, reaching his side just as he fit his key into the lock. Or tried to. He missed and scraped about six inches off the paint. She grimaced in sympathy. But before he could try again and 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.