“Gavin, the police are on the way,” Zoe said from a few steps behind him. Calm, collected, she eased him as well. A good thing, because for a second, he’d wondered how much trouble he’d be in if he bent down to let Mean Guy get closer, then tossed him to the ground and stomped the fucker’s neck. Nothing like an internal decapitation to cut down on a crime streak.
Instead, Gavin eased away, kicked the gun and ammo farther from the criminals, and waited with Zoe for a pair of uniforms. He gave a quick statement, echoed by the woman with her son, Zoe, and a few others who’d gathered to witness.
“Fastest takedown, man,” a twentysomething guy was telling the cops. “Like a ninja. Dude did some kind of kung fu.”
The cop looked to Gavin and raised a brow.
“Simple hand-to-hand. Marine Corps.”
The cop nodded. “Thanks. We’ll contact you if we need anything else.”
They had his number. Gavin nodded, still trying to come down off the adrenaline high. Would this give him bad dreams tonight? He didn’t know.
Zoe tugged him away, and to his mortification, he heard clapping behind him.
“Semper Fi, man,” one of the onlookers yelled out.
He put up a hand to wave and walked faster.
“Slow down, Mr. Marathon. My legs don’t go that fast unless I’m running.”
“Sorry.” He let out a breath, subtly trying to calm himself.
She didn’t touch him, but Zoe helped all the same. “You know, that was pretty damn heroic.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t like the way they were looking at that woman and her kid. Christ. It’s nearly broad daylight.”
“Well, it’s almost nine, but you’re right. That was pretty gutsy of them. That or desperate.”
“Should have broken his hand. Thou shalt not steal.”
She chuckled, and Gavin relaxed even more. “Exactly. But I’m serious, Gavin. What you did was heroic, and you should be rewarded.”
His body thrummed. “Oh?”
“But not with sex. It wasn’t that impressive.”
* * *
Gavin barked a laugh at Zoe’s outright lie. Not impressive?Good God.He’d disarmed two dangerous men with his bare hands! One had a gun, the other a knife, and he’d handled them as if back in the class at Jameson’s demonstrating a simple self-defense technique.
“You never showed us that clearing-the-gun move at the gym. I’d like to learn that one.”
“Hmm. It’s a little more advanced.”
They entered the parking garage, and she saw him become alert for trouble. The way he’d been while they walked back, but more so. She wondered if this episode with the purse-snatchers would bother him. Coming back from the service and having issues would surely lead to other problems with conflict. She’d seen TV specials on war trauma and PTSD, which might be what he suffered from.
Nightmares, the inability to handle crowds, body hyperarousal, sleepless nights. Just some of the symptoms of posttraumatic stress. He’d seemed okay with the crowd tonight, though to be fair, the museum hadn’t been packed, just moderately filled with art lovers who respected personal space.
Gavin unlocked her car door, then moved around to his. The expression on his face was painful to see, an emptiness in his gaze, a kind of internal hurt. But he hadn’t asked for her comfort, and a man like Gavin would have his pride.
Once inside his car, they sat in silence.
“Well? What now, Mistress?”
She forced a smirk. “Now we go to my place. Not for sex.”
“Quit reminding me,” he growled and drove her home. They chatted about the exhibit some more, and about which other cultural events he had no interest in. He agreed onnever, everseeing an opera or a ballet. But he liked quiet, intimate jazz bars, which surprised her. Jazz was fairly sophisticated music for someone not into art.
