But I did then.
Because that was the moment.
The moment I saw her.
“Ma’am,” I said. “I’m going to need you to toss your gun to the left. Now. Right now. Release the gun from your hands.”
She said nothing, but I knew this could go either way. I’d seen the look before. Wild, unbridled emotion. She was a loose cannon.
“Drop the gun, lady. I willnotsay it again.”
I crept closer, keeping my eyes locked on that damn pistol she wouldn’t let go of. I caught movement behind her and risked a glance at Officer Darby emerging from the treesat her back. His eyes were fixed on her, bulging with adrenaline. His knuckles white around the gun in his hands, pointed directly at that mane of wild hair. The kid stumbled on a tree root, but caught himself. A flicker of awareness flashed in the woman’s eyes, my first indication to suggest she was coherent, at least.
“Drop the gun.” Darby’s pitched voice sounded like a pre-teen at a Bieber concert. Normally, I’d laugh. But not this time. That shaky, squeaky voice was a sign of lack of control. Not good.
And then it hit me. This was the kid’s first dead body.
So then, my focus was split between him, his gun, and the woman, and her gun.
It was the shitshow of all shitshows.
I could not be patient anymore.
“Ma’am—”
Everything slowed.
The pistol slipped from her red-stained fingers in slow motion, catching a glint of moonlight before thudding to the ground. Her emerald eyes sparked—defiant, feral. Her hips shifted, one fluid pivot on her heel, and then?—
She ran.
“Don’t shoot, Darby!” I shouted, snapping back to the moment.
I shoved my Glock into the holster and took off after her, boots pounding the dry dirt, heart slamming against my ribs. Three strides later, I launched forward, my body cutting through the humid summer air.
We collided.
The hit knocked the breath from both of us. She went down hard beneath me. Pain shot up my back as we hit the earth. Then came the flash of her head slamming into my jaw.
She hadhead-buttedme.
She wasfightingme.
Twisting, bucking, legs kicking like a feral horse. Her hands were small, but lethal, clawing at my arms, her body slippery with sweat against mine.
I can say with one-hundred percent confidence, that in my two decades of military and law enforcement, not a single man or woman had ever fought me after I tackled them. It was instant surrender, every time.
Not with this one.
Thiswoman.
Her curls lashed across my cheek, strands catching on my stubble. Her skin was warm, flushed with adrenaline. The scent hit me next—sweet and wild, like coconut and heat and vanilla and danger. My grip tightened.
What the hell was I doing noticing the way she smelled?
She writhed beneath me again, hips twisting, thighs locked against mine. I was fighting to subdue her, but my pulse betrayed me—racing for a reason that had nothing to do with the job. My hands slid against her slick skin, and I swore, for a second, our breaths synced.
She wasn’t screaming.
