OFFICER ALEX MYERS stared out of the tinted windows of the unmarked SWAT van. The twilight sky darkened into full night as they made their final approach.

What was it about the darkness that made criminals think for one second they were safe?

A few of the officers whispered, but for the most part his unit was completely silent. They’d practiced the approach over and over, for nearly two days straight, even adding a few guys to the entry team to account for the suspect’s anticipated fire power. Many people thought of Ransom, Texas as a small, sleepy town on the outskirts of Ft Worth, but times were changing. In the eight years Alex had been in Texas, he’d watched the city creep up to surround them. They weren’t just dealing with a couple of drunken boys or cow tipping gone wrong anymore.

He glanced behind him at the men and woman who had his back. There were only a handful of dedicated SWAT officers in Ransom, and Alex would trust every last one with his life if need be.

A blonde head at the front of the van ducked, and he heard the delicate strains of a muffled chuckle.

Jenna.

The muscles around Alex’s chest constricted at the thought of her name. Though not a badge carrying officer, Jenna charged into danger—unarmed—to administer first aid. Alex could recite her history as a combat medic, he knew her tours of duty, even the injuries she’d sustained during her service—and not a damn detail mattered. She was the best medic, cool under pressure and maybe more aware of the risks they faced than some of their officers. And yet, each time she accompanied his team his heart beat a little faster and his fingers itched to push her behind him. He would never need to. Jenna was as conscious of her own safety as theirs, but it didn’t stop his urge to protect her.

He glimpsed a flash of her smile as Val said something to entice that chuckle from her. All the guys flirted with Jenna in good fun. And who wouldn’t? She was a blonde bombshell of a looker and tough as nails. The only person Alex didn’t think had tried to win her over was Bonnie, the unit’s only female member.

Alex didn’t flirt with Jenna. He’d never mastered the dance of attraction. It was too delicate for the likes of him. If he wanted a woman, he’d tell her. No guessing games needed. But Jenna wasn’t interested. And why should she when she had her pick of all the unattached guys?

The driver knocked on the roof of the van as he took a turn.

Alex cleared his throat as everyone’s attention focused on him.

Right.

He was their Team Leader. Even more of a reason why he should be focused on the operation and not the way his gut rolled with jealousy at the way Jenna smirked at Val.

“Liam, anyone else go in there?” Alex tilted his head, a bad habit he’d developed working with the wireless ear pieces.

“No, sir. Just those five.”

“You heard that, boys.” Alex glanced over his six person entry team, plus Jenna. “We’re looking at no less than six suspects with enough firepower to recreate the Alamo. Let’s hit them hard before they know we’re there.”

There were a few muttered replies, but for the most part, they were a silent group. Tonight was different. Alex could feel it in the air. They’d never had an arms dealer set up shop in their jurisdiction. It was an unsettling mark of change in how much Ransom was no longer just a small town.

The van slowed. As if the application of brakes to rubber were a signal, adrenaline pumped through Alex’s veins. He could smell the new tread of his boots, gun oil and sweat.

The arms dealer’s house was one of many along the street. The only way to tell it apart from the other uniform brick ranch-style homes with their postage stamp yards was a pair of pink flamingos standing sentinel on either side of the large window looking out onto the street.

As the van drove past the sidewalk leading up to the house, Alex threw the back door open. He pulled his bulletproof shield up to cover his body and heard the soft thumps of half a dozen of the best officers in the county at his back.

Three strides and he was on the porch. Alex stepped to the right of the door frame while another officer took the left. Because of the threat to officer and civilian lives, they’d been granted a no-knock entry. A third officer with no shield whatsoever was right behind them, carrying a twenty-pound door ram. He stepped and swung, treating the ram as if it were an extension of himself.

Bam!

Half the hinges popped off, a screw pinged against Alex’s shield, and a startled shout came from inside.

“Come on,” Alex muttered.

A shrill cry split the quiet evening.

The cry of a baby.

No one had said anything about a child.

Fuck.

Before Alex could order a change in tactics, their breecher stepped back and rammed the door once more. All except the top hinge broke free.

He had to protect the child.

Alex kicked, sending the door crashing into the wall. He stepped into the empty space, gun at the ready, shield up. The entry was nothing more than a small, rectangular nook, forcing them through a bottleneck into the residence. He pivoted to his right.

There.

A stroller sat up against the wall, its precious cargo waving arms and legs, as if to say, I’m here! Right here!

“Ransom SWAT, put down your weapons!” Alex bellowed as he advanced into the living room. Two strides and he had the baby at his back, behind the relative safety of his shield.

The other officers darted in, their well-oiled machine performing exactly how they’d practiced.

A man leapt up from a recliner, grabbing a semi-automatic rifle from the coffee table and dove behind the sofa.

“Gun,” someone yelled behind him.

“Put your weapon down,” Alex yelled.

A bit of wrongness tickled his senses.

Alex ducked, going to a knee, so he protected the child with his body, but a stray shot hit his shield at an odd angle, knocking it to the side.

For a precious second, he was exposed.

He caught a glimpse of a man standing at the end of the hall, two handguns pointed directly at Alex.

The shooter squeezed his trigger a second before Alex returned fire.

He flinched, but remained where he was. There was no way to escape those two bullets.

The baby. He couldn’t move or the child would be vulnerable.

His last coherent thought was to grit his teeth.

The impact knocked Alex against the stroller. His vision hazed and all the oxygen left his lungs. Getting hit by a semi would have been a better experience.

“Cover him,” Val yelled. He stepped in front of Alex, shield raised, and fired.

From Alex’s position he could see the shooter’s feet fly out from under him and we went down hard.

People moved around Alex. He was vaguely aware of someone yelling, “I surrender.”

Somewhere in the house, a woman cried out, and the baby continued to wail.

“Alex? Alex look at me.”

That was Jenna. He squinted at her face. Where was his shield? He needed to protect her. Their tactical medics weren’t allowed to carry weapons and their field kits took up both hands which meant her safety was one-hundred-percent his responsibility as Team Leader.

“Stop fighting me. I need to make sure your vest stopped the bullets.” She wrestled his hands down to his side and wiggled her fingers under the protective Kevlar.

Bullets?

He’d only seen one shot. Had the first one knocked him out?

He inhaled and the first twinge of discomfort shot through his chest. Damn, that was going to smart.

“You’re fine.” She smiled at him then glanced up at the officers still shielding them. “He’s fine. The baby is fine. Get them out of here. What about the shooter?”

She picked up her kit while Val offered him a hand up. Alex’s hands shook a little, but that was the adrenaline. Cheating death was just part of the job. He picked up his fallen gear, brushing the incident off and glanced around the scene.

The main suspect was handcuffed, face-first on the floor. Four others were lined up in the hall, being frisked at gun point. And Jenna had moved on to the downed shooter. A couple of the guys gave him a thumbs up or a quick slap on the shoulder, but no one would breathe easy until the evidence was secured.

“Get them outside,” Alex said, pointing at the five, handcuffed men and women.

“Where’s my stretcher?” Jenna yelled.

“Move ’em, now.” Alex ushered the lot of them out of the way. If Jenna was barking orders, she must need the EMTs.

The suspects were hustled out with the others to await a slow, boring trip to booking while the baby was swept out to the ambulance for safe keeping. Alex and two others went room to room, doing a sweep and taking stock of what was inside while the paramedics and Jenna worked on the downed shooter. He kept a close eye on her, the ache in his chest having nothing to do with the barely missed bullets.

Alex opened every closet door and shed light on each nook and cranny. As he went from one space to the next, his stomach sank. There were enough guns and ammunition here to outfit a militia. Some of it so high tech it outstripped even what he was carrying. And to think, he’d driven patrol through the neighborhood a couple days before and seen children playing two houses down. If they hadn’t moved when they did, who would have died?

The buyers weren’t looking for a scary paper weight. These were the kinds of tools people bought to kill a person.

A cold sweat broke out along his spine as he followed the gurney out front. The once quiet street was now lit up like mid-day between the patrol cars and support vehicles. What if even a single gun went out into the community? What then?

“I think he’ll live.” Jenna stepped out on the porch and wiped the back of her hand across her brow. She’d rolled the sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows and her helmet was cocked back. A few tendrils of hair stuck to her brow. He wanted to smooth them into place and tip her head up to better see the depths of her green eyes.

“Good.” All of these people would get their day in court, and when they did, Alex would be there to make sure they faced as much jail time as the law could throw at them.

“You okay? You need to get your ribs checked out. Any trouble breathing?” Jenna peered at him, the no-nonsense medic staring out.

“I’m fine.”

“Alex, please don’t play the hero card. Those were cop killers. Those bullets are made to go through Kevlar. How and why it didn’t is a miracle. I think they must have hit at an angle or something.”

“It doesn’t serve anyone any good for me to play the hero. I’m fine. The vest did what it’s supposed to do. Worry about that one.” He nodded toward the ambulance.

“Wow—you okay? You said like, three whole sentences to me. Do I need to check you for a concussion?”

“I don’t have a damn concussion,” he muttered. At least not this time. Six weeks ago though, he’d bit it pretty hard going into a barn where a guy was holding his ex-wife. Alex had knocked his head pretty hard and got cut by a rusty nail. The hour or so he’d had to spend with Jenna focused entirely on him was both the best and worst memory.

“I need to go talk to IA. They’ll want to do a walk-through.”

He stalked toward the van, grinding his teeth. Internal Affairs would keep them a while, going over Val’s shooting, but that wasn’t what had him in a foul mood.

Of course he didn’t talk to Jenna. If he did if she laughed at what he said or flirted with him even a bit he’d trample all over the department’s policy about not dating coworkers. Besides, a girl like Jenna would never go for a guy with his record.