The food court in the Atlanta mall is hot, crowded, and claustrophobic.

Exactly the kind of place I don’t like to be.

The tight crush of bodies and roar of conversation reminds me too much of the outdoor markets in Afghanistan. If my Steel Infidel buddies hadn’t insisted they were starving to death, I would’ve suggested swinging by a fast food joint on our way back home instead. Being in a shopping mall on Valentine’s Day is not my idea of fun.

As we squeeze our way between the packed tables, I can feel a bead of sweat slowly begin to slide down the back of my neck. Out of habit, I check for the exits. Floor-to-ceiling glass double doors at one end of the food court and restrooms on both sides in the middle.

I wonder if there will ever be a time when I can relax and stop being in ‘fight or flight’ mode every second of the day.

Probably not.

Being constantly on guard kept me alive for years when I was a Marine in the Middle East. No need to stop now. Though it would be nice to be able to sit down, relax, and eat a hamburger in peace every now and then. Like all the other men wandering around the food court with glazed-over, panicked looks in their eyes.

I wonder what their issue is before I realize they’d waited until the last minute to pick up a Valentine’s Day gift for their girl. Most are wearing expensive business suits, fancy ties, and freshly shined shoes. They’re carrying fast food trays in one hand and delicate little blue shopping bags from one of the mall’s jewelry stores in the other.

More than a few of them glance at us with barely concealed disgust before quickly looking away without making eye contact. I guess our tattoos and black leather jackets with Motorcycle Club patches make them nervous.

I sure as hell hope so.

Luckily, I don’t have to worry about shopping today. There isn’t a little lady waiting at home for me tonight. I’ve managed to dodge Cupid’s arrow for yet another year.

Unlike my two Steel Infidel buddies, Sam and Flint Mason.

My best friend, Sam, couldn’t be talked out of buying lacy red lingerie as a gift for his wife. His brother Flint and I tried our best to convince him it wasn’t the best or most original idea for a Valentine’s gift. He laughed and said the gift was for him, not her, and that his wife’s real present, her own motorcycle, was hidden back at the clubhouse.

Flint, the Steel Infidels VP, didn’t do much better with his shopping. The best idea he could come up with was two pounds of peanut butter fudge from the candy shop. While fudge would certainly be at the top of my most wished for list, you would think a man smart enough to be a lawyer could think of something better for his gal.

If you ask me, both of the Mason brothers suck in the romance department. How they managed to snag two wonderful ladies, I’ll never know.

“Hey Toby! What do you want to eat?” Sam asks from behind me. “Are you in the mood for pizza?”

I’m barely listening.

A bearded man on the other side of the food court has caught my attention. He’s overdressed for the weather in a long trench coat that hangs almost to his knees. While I watch, he removes his coat and places it carefully on a chair next to him. Underneath, he’s wearing a dark business suit.

Nothing to worry about.

Just another fancy ass preppie on his lunch break.

I seriously need to chill out.

“Toby!”

Sam suddenly punches my shoulder hard, and I flinch.

“What is wrong with you?” he says. “I asked you what you wanted to eat and you’re just standing there staring off into space like a zombie. Damn man, why are you so jumpy today?”

I shrug.

“I don’t like crowds. That’s all. And it’s hot as hell in here and stuffy. We should have made this trip to Atlanta yesterday. Why did you two wait until Valentine’s Day to do your shopping?”

“I shop better under pressure,” Sam answers. “And I had to keep the twins yesterday while Lila did some super-secret stuff on the computer. Speaking of the twins…”

Uh oh.

I shake my head and hold up my hand. I know what’s coming next.

“Whatever you’re going to say, the answer is a definite no.”

Sam ignores me and keeps talking.

“Since you don’t have a date tonight, would you mind keeping Travis and Trevor for a few hours?” he asks. “Just long enough for us to go to dinner?”

I let out an incredulous laugh.

“Are you kidding me? I can’t handle those two little tornadoes by myself. What about Flint and Kendra?”

“No way,” Flint answers adamantly. “We have plans. We lined up our babysitter weeks ago. Don’t even think about asking us.”

“Come on, Toby,” Sam begs. “I promised Lila I would get a babysitter for tonight. The boys aren’t that much trouble, I swear.” He grins. “As long as you let them do whatever they want. It’s only when you tell them ‘no’ that the trouble starts. Just remember that and you’ll be perfectly fine. I swear.”

Sam has no idea what he’s asking. His twin toddlers are cute but are way too much for me to take care of. Dogs are my thing, not kids. Especially not the little ones.

“Why didn’t you start asking around earlier if you needed a babysitter?”

Sam throws up his hands. “I did,” he answers. “All week I’ve been trying. Everyone says they’re busy tonight, even the ones who I know for a fact don’t have a Valentine’s date. I don’t know why nobody is willing to babysit for us. I even offered to pay three times the normal rate.”

“Well, I do. The twins are mini-Sams with sharp teeth. That’s why.”

Sam gives me a pitiful look and I roll my eyes. There’s not much I wouldn’t do for him, and he knows it. He’s been my best friend since high school and we’ve been through hell together. I was one of the only people who knew what was going on back when his Dad was beating the crap out of him, and now he’s doing his best to be here for me.

As much as I can let him.

Sometimes my demons are too scary to share with anyone.

I finally give in with a loud sigh. It’s not as if I have anything better to do tonight anyway.

“If you want to bring them by the clubhouse I’ll keep them there, but only if you get a couple of the Sweet Butts to help me out. Or maybe three. Pretty ones too. Not one of the Old Ladies.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” he answers with a relieved smile. “Thanks man. I owe you big time.”

“Damn right you do.”

Flint points to a family getting up from a table on the other side of the room. “I’ll go grab us a place to sit while you two order food,” he says. “Buy me one of whatever you’re having. And a large sweet tea.”

As both a lawyer and the Steel Infidels VP, Flint could fit in as easily with the businessmen in suits as he does with me and Sam. The motorcycle club is lucky he gave up his position as an attorney in Atlanta to come back home and rejoin the MC.

His legal skills have come in handy more than a few times. For some unknown reason, the members of the club have an unlucky knack of getting into trouble.

When Flint snags the table, he throws up a hand and nods back at us.

“I wonder if he realizes the fudge is going to melt on the two-hour bike ride home,” Sam says with a laugh. “All he’ll have left is a gooey, peanut-buttery mess. Kendra will be so pissed. Sometimes my brother is a dumbass.”

He peeks over my shoulder and points behind me.

“Hey look! Isn’t that the girl from the evening news over there? She’s setting up a live feed with her cameraman. What’s her name? Mandy? Misty? She’s a lot hotter in person than on television.”

I turn around to see where he’s pointing.

“Her name is Maggie,” I say. “Maggie Turner from Channel 5.”

“Why am I not surprised that you know her name?” Sam says with a hint of sarcasm. “She’s exactly your type…long dark hair, nice curvy ass, big tits.”

I shake my head.

“Nah, I don’t have a type. As long as they’re willing, that’s good enough for me.”

Sam laughs. “Bullshit! Every girl you date is almost exactly the same, so I would say you definitely have a specific type. And she’s it.”

Sam’s right, though I’m not going to admit it. Maggie is my type and much prettier in person than on television, stunning really. She’s shorter than I imagined, with long straight dark brown hair and green eyes. And curvier too with an ass just begging to be grabbed.

She’s scanning the food court as if she’s searching for something, and her eyes suddenly land on me. Catching me watching her, she smiles and turns to say something to her cameraman. He glances our way, nods, and picks up his gear to follow her.

“Aww…crap,” I say. “I think she’s headed this way. I wonder what she’s doing?”

Sam makes a face at me. “Probably a thirty-minute segment on how bad men suck on Valentine’s Day. Or a 10-hour documentary.”

The line we’re standing in to order food starts to move. Before Sam has a chance to step up to the counter, Maggie and her cameraman are in our face.

“Hi gentlemen,” she says with a fake bright smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Do you have a second? I’m Maggie Turner with Channel 5 and this is my cameraman, Bill.”

I nod my head at the cameraman and look away, trying to appear disinterested.

“I was wondering if you would mind letting me ask you a few questions for the evening news?” she continues. “It won’t take but a couple minutes of your time, I promise. I’m interviewing shoppers about their big plans for Valentine’s Day.”

We both stare at her blank-faced. I don’t know how to respond or if I should. I can’t imagine why she would want to interview a couple of bikers when there are tons more suitable men in the food court.

She looks at me, and I realize she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“You’re two of the most…interesting men in here at the moment,” she explains. “Come on, fellas. Help a poor girl out.”

I’m not sure if she means that as a compliment or an insult.

The word “interesting” could mean either.

I notice Flint watching us from across the room. He is not amused.

No wonder.

All three of us are carrying concealed weapons. Not to mention an outrageous amount of cash from an illegal gun transaction we made right before our pit stop at the mall. He is definitely not thrilled about a news team approaching us. He shakes his head at me and makes a motion with his hand at his neck to cut the conversation.

I nod back at him. I’ve got this.

“We’re in a little bit of a hurry, ma’am,” I say politely. “And we’re not here to shop. We just stopped in for a quick bite to eat. Someone else would be a better choice for you. I don’t even have a girlfriend. Valentine’s Day isn’t my thing.”

I give her my best dumb country-bumpkin smile, hoping she’ll take the hint and move along without any fuss.

She doesn’t.

Her eyes narrow, and I get the distinct feeling she’s determined now more than ever to drag us right into the six o’clock news.

This is bad.

Real bad.

The last thing the Steel Infidels Motorcycle Club needs is publicity. After being the target of a federal investigation last year, we’ve done everything we can to keep things quiet and clean. Not legal, just under the radar of law enforcement and anyone else who might be interested in the club’s activities.

Maggie peeks at the bag Sam is holding. The strap of a lacy red bra is peeking out through the crinkly heart-covered tissue paper.

“What do you have there?” she asks Sam. “Someone has been shopping. Wouldn’t you like to deliver a special message to your lady friend on air? I’m sure she would love it. You know how women eat up that kind of stuff. You’ll make her day.”

I try to catch Sam’s eyes to warn him, but he’s not paying one bit of attention to me. As usual.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she continues. “If you let me ask you a couple of questions, I’ll let you give her a live on-air message. What would be better than that for a Valentine’s gift?”

Sam’s eyes light up and my heart sinks.

Dammit, Sam! What the fuck are you doing?

Of course he’s going to do the interview. He can’t resist. Sam always chooses the riskier choice. Flint is going to be so pissed at him.

And at me if I can’t stop him.

“What about Lila’s surprise?” I ask, hoping he’ll get the hint. “You don’t want to spoil it, do you? And we really don’t have time for this. We need to get going and hit the road so we can make it back to the mountains before dark.”

“The North Georgia mountains?” Maggie asks, turning back to me. “You’re a long way from home. So you drove what? At least a couple of hours to do your shopping here in Atlanta? That’s interesting. I’ll be sure to add that in.”

I frown at her and wish she would stop talking. I don’t want her finding out where we’re from. Or anything else for that matter. The less she knows about us, the better.

“North Carolina,” I lie. “The North Carolina mountains.”

Bardsville, our home town, is a mere fifteen minutes from the North Carolina state line, so I’m only fibbing a tiny bit. Georgia…North Carolina. Not much of a difference really.

She’s already focused back on Sam, who is practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet in his eagerness to do this.

“So what do you say?” she asks him.

“Sure, I’ll do it,” he replies. “My wife will love it!”

Hell no she won’t.

Sam’s wife is the most guarded, secretive person I’ve ever met. I can’t imagine Lila would enjoy having her name splashed across the news any more than I would. She’s a computer hacker turned federal agent turned back to hacker. Once she hooked up with the Steel Infidels, she crossed over to the dark side and never went back.

“Terrific!” Maggie says, as if she knew all along that he would agree to be interviewed. “And what about your friend here?”

She turns to look up at me. The top of her head barely reaches my shoulder. She’s petite and just the right height to wrap my arm around her shoulder, tuck her under my arm, and hold her close against my side.

Too talkative for me though.

“What are your big plans for tonight, big fella?” she asks me. “Dinner? Dancing? Maybe cooking dinner for your lady?”

“Nothing,” I answer more gruffly than I mean to. “As I said before, there’s no lady.”

She blinks at me and seems a little surprised at my short answer then shrugs.

“Okay, well, we can still fit you in too. I’ll tell the viewers you’re available. Our phones will be ringing off the hook. All you need to do is stare deep into the camera with those soulful blue eyes. What do you think, Bill? Where would be the best spot to set up the camera to interview these two? Maybe over this way a little bit?”

She scoots out of the way of the line of pizza customers piling up and keeps talking to her cameraman about us as if we’re not standing right there beside her.

“Wait a second,” I say. “You misunderstood. I’m not doing an interview.”

Maggie waves her hand at me dismissively.

“Oh, you’ll be fine. Don’t worry or be nervous. It’s a short segment.”

Sam snickers and shoots me a look. I know what he’s thinking. That I’m letting this little slip of a girl steamroll right over me.

And he’s right.

The situation caught me by surprise, that’s all. It’s not every day that a news team sticks a camera in my face. Meanwhile, Maggie is babbling on about camera angles and background shots while I wait for a chance to interrupt her without seeming overly rude.

It occurs to me that I don’t particularly like her very much. She’s abrasive and aggressive. Soft and pliable is more my taste.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Flint stand up and start walking our way.

Good.

He’ll put a stop to this craziness.

“Let’s move down a little toward the doors,” she tells her cameraman. “That way you can get the wide angle of the food court behind us.”

Maggie places a manicured hand on my upper arm and starts tugging me along with her to an empty wall beside the pizza place. Motioning for Sam to join me, she lines us up so that our backs are to the dining tables.

“Make sure to get a wide shot of the shoppers behind them,” she says to her cameraman. “Is my hair and makeup okay, Bill? Let’s get this over with so we can go back to the station.”

She smooths down her white blouse and flips her long hair back over her shoulders.

“Beautiful as always,” her cameraman replies before hoisting the camera onto his shoulder and backing up a few feet.

She turns to Sam. “What are your names?” she asks quickly. “I almost forgot to ask. We’re running short on time.”

“I’m Sam,” he says.

Thank God he didn’t give his last name. I don’t answer. Not that she notices. She is focused on her mission.

Taking a deep breath, she puts on a bright smile and holds up the microphone. “Five seconds,” she says to us before counting down to one.

Seriously? She’s doing this right now? What an obnoxious, pushy woman.

I look over at Sam. He shrugs his shoulders at me and grins.

“Good evening,” she begins, talking straight into the camera. “This is Maggie Turner reporting live from Northside Mall in downtown Atlanta. I have with me two gentlemen who have driven all the way from North Carolina to do their Valentine’s Day shopping.”

She turns to Sam and waves a hand at the pink shopping bag he’s carrying.

“I see you’ve already made a few purchases. Are you impulse shopping today or were you searching for something specific for your sweetheart?”

Sam starts to give her one of his bullshit answers. Knowing him, there is no telling what’s about to come out of his mouth.

Suddenly, a loud noise rings out and we all flinch.

A gunshot?

No, it can’t be.

Maybe a truck backfired in the parking lot right outside the glass doors. I’m dreaming things up again. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard imaginary gunshots that turned out to be nothing.

I hate this PTSD shit.

Always thinking there’s an improvised explosive device in every pothole or bag of trash on the side of the road. Jumping at every loud noise.

Then another pop explodes, louder this time.

Definitely gunshots.

Fuck!

The cameraman drops straight down to the tile floor right in front of us. His camera slides off his shoulder while blood gushes from a wound, quickly soaking through his shirt.

I can’t tell where he’s been hit. I hope the bullet missed any vital arteries. I’m not a medic, but it doesn’t look good from where I’m standing.

The loud boom! boom! boom! of several more shots ring out. The sound echoes off the walls around us.

Jesus Christ!

A woman screams on the other side of the food court. The display case of a Chinese food takeout place next to us shatters in a shower of glass.

Maggie is standing there in shock, still holding the microphone up in front of her like she’s expecting her cameraman to get back up and continue filming.

“Get down!” I yell. “There’s a shooter!”

Sam runs four big steps to the pizza counter and leaps over.

In a split second, I assess the situation. Maggie is wearing a short skirt and high heels. There’s no way she can make it to safety behind the counter on her own.

It’s too risky.

I grab her with both hands and throw her under the nearest table. Diving on top of her, I cover her body with mine as much as I can. She’s short and I’m able to tuck her head, arms, and most of her legs underneath me.

“Don’t move,” I whisper in her ear. “Stay down, keep your head covered, and don’t make a sound.”

Her body is trembling, but to her credit she doesn’t let out even a whimper. I’m hoping she’s tougher than she appears.

I’m not betting on it.

With any luck, she can keep her shit together and not draw any more attention to herself.

A surge of adrenaline quickly kicks in.

And a dreadful sense of familiarity.

As bad as the situation is, it feels like home to me.

I hate it.

When I left Afghanistan for the last time, I thought this crap was behind me.

The joke is on me.

As always.

Hell never gets left behind.

I reach for the gun in the side pocket of my leather jacket and carefully slide it out. When I tucked it into my pocket earlier this morning, I never dreamed I would need to use it today.

Well, maybe at the gun trade since there’s always a chance those deals can go downhill in a hurry. Just not in a food court surrounded by a bunch of investment bankers who are crapping in their pants about now.

The shots continue to come, along with more screams and sounds of confusion. A baby is crying. He sounds more scared than injured. I try not to think about the casualties and injuries that no doubt must be mounting up.

All I need to do right at this moment is concentrate and focus on locating the shooter. The same thing I’ve done countless times before in Afghanistan.

The Marines called me the Guardian Angel.

I watched over my platoon through the crosshairs of a special rifle like a Border Collie guarding sheep. My buddies depended on me to keep them safe.

Kill or be killed was my motto.

Anything to keep my buddies alive.

I lift up my head slightly and glance around the food court.

Where are the damn shots coming from?

And where is Flint? The last time I saw him, he was walking across the food court toward us.

I glance up at the second floor overhanging the food court and see a man standing by the railing in a baseball cap and heavy winter overcoat.

The shooter.

I hope to God he’s alone.

Something tells me he’s not.