Chapter Five
The lineup was a bust.
Detective Laughlin had given Jo eight men—all with long, straggly, reddish-blond hair and scary looking—but not one of them remotely resembled the man she’d seen in the shop yesterday. A tad frustrating, but she knew what she saw and the men who’d just filed out weren’t it.
She turned back to the detective who stood behind her in the small room, giving her enough personal space as to not pressure her. The overhead track lights shined down on him, giving his face a weird glow. Wasn’t this experience creepy enough without the detective looking like something out of a horror movie?
The door opened and Wes poked his head in. “We’re good out here. Everyone is cleared out.”
Meaning the men she’d just failed to identify had gone back to wherever they came from and she could enter the hallway without being seen.
Detective Laughlin nodded. “Thanks.”
“Slight problem though.”
“Oh, come on,” Jo said, flapping her arms.
He held up his hand, came into the room and shut the door. “We got company outside. Gabe saw four bikers, two on each corner.”
“Oh, come on!” Jo said again.
Detective Laughlin propped his hands on his hips, his face stretched long, incredulous. “Now?”
“Yep.”
Even for her, this was a new one. Prior to being on Operation Clean Sweep, she’d never—not once—faced threatening situations. In the last few months, her life had turned into a series of threatening situations, and with the addition of this nightmare, the whole blasted thing had gotten old. Fast. Each time before, she could—at least a little bit—accept partial responsibility. Admittedly, she’d put herself in potentially dangerous situations by hunting down a smuggler. But this? All she’d done was walk into a store and buy a pair of knockoff shoes.
“They’re waiting for me to come out,” she said.
“That’s our working theory. Don’t panic.”
“Ha!”
And they wondered why witnesses refused to testify. Case in point. Right here. Witness intimidation.
Wes marched over to her and gently touched her elbow. “We have a plan. A good one.”
Something about his stance, shoulders back, feet spread and the steady, deep tone of his voice made her think of Gabe when he went into mission mode. So alike these two men were. No wonder they both worked special operations.
Wes went through the plan, carefully outlining each element of how they’d get her out of the building. Including dressing her like a hooker. Oh. Goody. Her entire career she’d worked hard—enormously hard—to not be just a leggy blonde. She worked hour upon hour, keeping her legs closed and her mind sharp so the men in her field saw a brilliant lawyer. One who’d fight for her clients as rough and hard as any man. She’d used her brain to succeed.
At least until now.
Now, she’d have to dress like a whore.
Wes cocked his head, drawing her back to the conversation. “Are you comfortable with that, Jo?”
Not one bit. Not that it would stop her. No chance. A bunch of thugs would not make her cower. Even if intimidated, she’d never give in to it. For her, it’d be easier to throw herself off of a building. A very high one. “I’ll deal with it.” She pointed to the door. “Is Gabe out there?”
“Yeah.”
“I’d like to talk to him for a second. In private.”
“Sure.”
The detective and Wes filed out, and a second later, Gabe strode through the door, his usual I-will-kick-your-ass posture in place. “Jesus, Jo, I’m sorry.”
She waved that off, made sure to keep a good two feet between them, letting him know she didn’t want to be babied. No time for it now. What she needed from him was Sergeant Townsend. Not her boyfriend. Sergeant Townsend would think strategically. Unemotionally.
“This plan,” she said, “what do you think?”
“It works. As much as I hate putting you through it, I think it’s your best option. The get-up sucks though. You might as well be walking out naked.”
And in a building full of cops, male cops who were used to badge bunnies—as Gabe called them—lifting their skirts for men in uniform, that would be humiliating. “I’m focusing on the big picture here. I am. I know I have to do this.”
“But?”
“Can I get out of here without half the men in the building seeing me?”
“Way ahead of you.” He gestured to the door. “I talked to Palermo. He said you can change in here. Then you walk out, hook a right and not twenty feet down is the back door. We’ll put him in front of you and me in the back and Laughlin’ll keep the horndogs out of the hallway.”
She dropped her head into her hands, let the relief, silly as it was, clear her mind. Her man. He’d known what to do. Which wasn’t a surprise given all the recent experience he’d had saving her butt. Such a good man. One who didn’t deserve the chaos she inflicted on him. She went on tiptoes and kissed him quick. “Thank you. I love you.”
“I love you, too. And I’ll get you out of here. Trust me on that.”
Five minutes later, Jo stood in the middle of the room wearing an electric blue micro-mini that barely—barely!—covered her rear and a white halter top with a neckline that dipped to her belly button. Not for the first time she thanked the surgeon who’d given her a bang-up boob job because there’d be no bra-wearing in this getup. Obviously, the woman who’d worn this outfit was shorter and thinner than Jo, what with the skirt doubling as sausage casing and the surgically enhanced boobs refusing to be contained.
Dear God.
The only upshot? No mirror for her to stare at her reflection in. A mewling formed deep in her throat and she swallowed because, no way. Nope. Not happening. As humiliating as this was, she would not cry.
A knock sounded on the door. “Jo?”
Gabe.
She cleared her throat, let out a bursting breath. “Come in.”
The door swung open and he stepped in, took one look at her and—whoopsie—froze. Terrific. She plopped her hands on her hips, which might have been a mistake because her boobs bounced and well…so did Gabe’s eyes.
“Come on!” she hollered.
But the man had been struck stupid. His gaze traveled down her body, of course pausing at her chest because he was a self-proclaimed breast and leg man. But, seriously? Now he wanted to do this?
“Sergeant,” she said. “You have seen me naked.”
He shut the door, puffed his cheeks and blew air. “I know, but this is—” He waved his hands. “—different.”
What a flaming idiot. “Don’t tell me you like it.”
He made a half-hearted attempt to shake his head and she rolled her eyes.
“I know.” He pounded his fist against his forehead. “I’m the biggest fucking liar walking. I can’t help it. The horny part of me likes it. My brain though? That part of me doesn’t.”
At that, Jo laughed. What else was there to do? “Thank you for your honesty, at least.”
“You ready to do this?”
“I guess. I’m not wearing those crazy shoes though. That would put me over the edge. I’ll wear my flats.”
He reached behind him and retrieved a set of handcuffs from his back pocket. “Honey, in that getup, no one is looking at your feet.”
One thing about men, simple creatures that they were, everything came down to sex. And Gabe was no exception. He was as red-blooded as the rest of the probable horndogs outside that door.
She held her hands out and Gabe secured the handcuffs. The clink of metal pierced her ears and she stiffened.
As usual, he picked up on the tension and met her gaze. “You’re fine. Okay?”
He ran his hands up her forearms, the heat from his hands seeping into her skin. “I know.”
“Besides, we can use these cuffs later.”
Flaming. Idiot. “You know you’re a pig.”
He twisted his lips to hide a grin. “Couldn’t resist.”
Before leading her out, he checked the hallway and moved into it. As soon as she reached the doorway, Wes fell in line in front of her, giving her a quick perusal—simple creatures, all of them—along the way.
“Eyes, forward,” Gabe shot. “You might be a lieutenant, but you’re not my lieutenant and I’ll kick your ass.”
Wes snorted and Jo figured she must have turned aquatic because the surrounding level of testosterone should have drowned her by now. But thankfully, as promised, they’d cleared the hallway and gave her an easy walk to the waiting van parked just outside the rear entrance.
“We’re heading straight out the door,” Wes said over his shoulder. “The officer will drive a few miles, then pull over and you can hop into the car with Gabe. Townsend, you’ll have to haul ass out to your car so you can follow them.”
“I’m on it. If I lose them, Jo’ll call me and give me a location.”
They hustled her outside and she climbed into the waiting van knowing—absolutely positive—her rear was hanging out the back of the micro skirt.
“You’re good,” Gabe said, right on her heels, blocking the view of anyone who tried to sneak a peek from inside.
“Thank you.”
She settled onto the bench seat of the van and glanced out as Wes slid the door closed, the lock catching with a ka-chunk.
Let the games begin.
* * *
Gabe strode through the front doors of the PD, jogged down the steps, and shot a glance at both corners, and yep, there were his buddies, still on their motorcycles, still harassing pedestrians. In seconds, the desk sergeant would come through the side door of the building and start jawing at them, busting balls in an attempt to create a diversion.
During the ball busting, the van would pull out, and if there was a Save-Jo’s-Ass god, he—or she—needed to throw some good vibes their way.
Speaking of asses… From the corner someone yelled something about moving one. Gabe glanced over. Hello, Officer.
Appeared Jo’s savior was right on time. Gabe hopped into the rental, fired it up and backed out quick enough to see the van merge into traffic. At the light, they made a right and Gabe let one car squeak between them. Might as well at least try not to look like Captain Obvious.
He checked his rear view and—shit on a shingle—the bikers turned the corner two cars behind. All the goddamned rotten luck. The desk sergeant must have chased them off and now they were right on him. He grabbed his phone, dialed Wes because Jo being in handcuffs would make answering her phone damned hard.
“What’s up?” Wes said.
“I got company.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.” Because I was dumb enough to engage these assholes while on the phone with my mother. If ever he’d made a boneheaded mistake, flipping that guy off would rank right up there. “I don’t know if they’re following me or the van or it’s just crappy luck they turned this direction.”
“Why would they be following you?”
Great. Now he had to admit it. To fucking Wes. A guy he sort of liked, but hated at the same time. Call it professional rivalry, but Wes, being a lieutenant, had what Gabe wanted. “When I walked outside before, they were jawing at me. I may have—”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. I’m gonna peel away, see if they follow me.”
“Fuckers,” Wes huffed. “I’ll hook up with the van, keep Jo on the move until we sort this out.”
Gabe disconnected and scanned the area just ahead. A four-way intersection. Pick a side, any side. He hooked a right—no turn signal—and checked the mirror. Goddamnit. His guys followed. Good work, Captain Obvious. Now he had to lose them in an unfamiliar city or lead them straight to Jo, who they probably wanted in the first place. Congratulations, boys, you got a two-for-one! His best guess was the other two bikers were still back at the PD waiting on their witness to come out and these guys thought they’d have some fun with Gabe. Well, assholes, bring it on.
Half a block ahead, what looked like an alley came into view and he floored it, hoping to get a jump on the bikers. He checked his rear view again. Still there.
At the alley, he braked hard, squealing the tires as he turned left, his body in a full explosion of energy that he only felt on the job, and damn, he loved that feeling. The killer combo of fear and excitement. Total adrenaline rush. On the back end of the turn, the rear of the rental swung wide and took out two garbage cans that spilled into the alley. Gabe checked the mirror, spotted the bikers following. The first guy swerved—major mistake—to avoid the trash can and—bye-bye—dumped his bike over.
One down.
One left.
At the end of the alley, Gabe sailed around the corner—oncoming car. Shit. He floored it and the car bolted, barely missing a collision with the approaching car. The driver screamed to a stop in the intersection, sat on his horn and flipped Gabe off. Whole lotta flipping off going on today.
“Sorry, dude.”
He checked the mirror again, found his biker buddy still with him. But the odds were even now. One on one. Advantage Gabe. His phone rang. Wes. Now he wants to chat? He snatched it up as he barreled through another intersection and hit the speaker button.
“Hey.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. How’s Jo?”
“She’s fine. Hang on.”
“Are you there?”
Jo’s voice. On speaker. And, damn that was a relief. Just hearing her slowed his heart rate. “I’m here. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Wes met up with the van and got me. We’re cruising around. Where are you?”
“I lost one of them. He’s ass over elbow in an alley picking through garbage.”
“Nice,” Wes said.
Gabe grinned. Maybe Wes wasn’t so bad. “The other one is behind me. I’m about to pull over and have a talk with him.”
“Come again?” Wes said.
“Gabe, please don’t,” Jo added.
Gabe blew right over whatever their concerns might be.
“Wes, you got anyone on patrol you can send to check on a couple of guys about to throw down? They delay this jackhole and I move on my way.”
“I like it,” Wes said. “Keep driving until you hear from me.”
At the next block, Gabe rattled off the cross streets then promised to stay on the current road and disconnected before Jo could start arguing. He tossed the phone on the seat, checked on his tail and hoped like hell those patrol officers showed up.
After the next light, he pulled into a bus stop, the only open spot on the street. A bus showing up would be the least of their problems. No one sat on the bench waiting, so chances were if a bus did show up, the driver would keep going. Gabe jammed the car into park, hopped out and stormed the biker who’d pulled behind him.
“What’s your problem, dude?”
“Hey, mama’s boy. I’m gonna fuck you up.”
Ya think? He swung his leg over the bike—now—and Gabe launched forward, shoving him backward over the bike. The guy, surprisingly nimble for someone that fleshy, hopped to his feet and the sun glinted off something in his hand—knife! Another burst of energy slammed Gabe and he kicked out, sending the switchblade flying. Biker boy scrunched his face and roared, a seriously primal howl, before plowing into Gabe, the full force of that extra body weight knocking him back a few steps. Whap, whap, whap. Gabe popped off a few jabs. The guy staggered a few steps and Gabe cracked him again, sending him to the ground. Jesus, where’s that squad?
As much as he’d like to beat the ever-loving-shit out of this guy, he was still a police officer and a street brawl wouldn’t help his chances at a promotion.
A wailing siren mixed with the honking of horns and shouts from passing cars. People sure loved a show. The whoop-whoop of the siren grew louder and the patrol car swung around the corner. Two cops jumped out.
Finally. Gabe threw his hands up, turned to the two officers.
“On the ground. Now!”
Flesh-boy jumped up, his face a bloody mess, but Gabe had to give him points for stamina because he made another move toward him. Lunging as Gabe sidestepped.
“On the ground!” both officers hollered, their voices sharp and seriously direct.
Gabe made eye contact with the officer closest to him, a young guy with sandy hair and a baby face, but this kid was all business as he jerked his head sideways. “You. Against the car.”
“Whose knife is this?” the other cop asked.
“His,” Gabe said. “I kicked it out of his hand.”
The cop pointed at the biker. “You. Over there. My partner will talk to you.”
Which meant the older officer had gotten the 411 from Wes. Or at least from someone in contact with Wes. Gabe strode to the car, his hands at his sides where they could be seen.
“Townsend, right?” the officer asked.
“Yeah.” Gabe checked his name tag. Wilson. “Thanks for the help.”
He nodded. “No problem. These biker gangs are a pain in my ass. Let’s stand here a second, pretend we’re deep in conversation and then you’ll hop into your car and leave. We’ll keep your friend here busy. The knife alone gets him a ride to HQ. Palermo said you’re ESU out East.”
“Yeah. A sergeant. On vacation with my girl.”
And, yikes, he’d said it. Freely admitted to a stranger that Jo was his girlfriend. Stress did that to a man. Made his lips looser. Or maybe, being royally sick of hiding, he didn’t give a shit anymore.
“Helluva way to spend a vacation.”
“Amen, brother.”
Wilson glanced right, checked on his partner cuffing the biker. “Turn around. I’ll pat you down to make this look good and you’re on your way.”
“Roger that.”
Gabe put his hands on his head while Wilson did a cursory patdown that avoided the crotch area. Thank you very much.
“You’re good,” he said. “Take it easy.”
The biker stood on the curb in cuffs, glaring at him, and Gabe would have loved to smart off, but no sense poking that bear again.
At least not until they switched out their rental car, because if this biker had any kind of street smarts, which Gabe figured he did, he’d have already memorized the license plate. If numbnuts fell into the category of enterprising criminals, he might have connections that could secure an address for the car. In this case, they’d have to get the rental car company to give them the name of the hotel where their customer was staying. No easy task, but the Save-Jo’s-Ass god could only be expected to do so much. Why take a chance? They’d play it safe and return the rental.
First, he needed Jo.
Fast.