Page 50 of Armed ’N’ Ready

Radios squawked, and her front yard glowed with the ricochet of flashing red-and-blue strobes. The DPC and her house were situated on a quiet stretch of road, with no other houses for at least a quarter mile in either direction. Given the early hour, chances were her neighbors were asleep and wouldn’t know anything about the incident unless it hit the newspapers.

At least a dozen officers packed her front yard, including Special Agent Cox, Eric, and two of Nick’s other friends—Matt and Kade.

Eric got to them first, resting a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “You guys all right?” He looked from Nick to her, his eyes filled with concern.

“We’re fine.” Nick gave her waist a little squeeze, snugging her that much closer and making her feel totally protected.

She’d expected him to release her the minute the troops arrived, but he didn’t, and she was grateful for the support. Mentally and physically. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off, and if his arm hadn’t been around her, she might have slipped to the ground like a limp noodle.

Matt and Kade joined them.

Matt frowned. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?” She eased from Nick’s embrace, placing one hand on his chest as she looked at his face.

A small cut beneath his right eye oozed blood, probably, judging by the split skin, from the fistfight he’d had with the three men. When she reached up to touch his face, he clasped her hand, pulling it away.

“It’s nothing,” he reassured her. “I’m fine.”

He wasn’t fine, and neither was she. Okay, so she hadn’t been hurt, not physically, anyway, but she was so far from fine it wasn’t funny. “Would someone tell me what just happened here?” Her voice had come out in a high-pitched squeak.

Cox joined them on the front step. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

“Three men tried to kidnap her.” Nick’s tone was hard as he released her and walked to where Saxon dutifully guarded the two prone figures.

She followed but stood off to the side as he succinctly described what had happened.

“These two assholes,” he continued, “dragged her out of the house. Her hands were taped together. There was a third guy waiting in a van at the curb. He took off and left his buddies behind.”

“I don’t suppose you got the tag?” Cox asked.

Nick shook his head. “Too dark. Headlights never came on. Chevy, black or brown. Late-nineties model with a busted-up rear bumper. These guys”—he indicated the men on the ground, who were beginning to stir—“have gang tattoos.”

How in the world did he take in that level of detail, let alone in the dark and while fighting off three armed men?

Because this was his world, a dangerous one, and she was so far out of her element it was pathetic.

He pointed to the front door. “Between them, they had two switchblades, two nine mils—Ruger and Glock—and two cell phones. The serial numbers on the guns were filed off. We can check all their recent texts and calls and see who they’ve been talking to lately. Based on their tats, these guys are low-level gang members, so you can bet they’re taking orders from someone else.”

Her heart squeezed as she listened to his voice—totally devoid of emotion. Tough as nails, cold as ice. As if someone had flipped a switch, he’d instantly morphed back into a hard-ass cop.

It wasn’t that she’d forgotten who or what he was. It was the reaffirmation that there really were two distinct aspects of this man and his life. One, she now knew, was filled with warmth, passion, humor, and music. The other, shadowed by violence and ugliness, the depths of which she hadn’t truly understood until now. This was the world he worked in, and it terrified her.

Turning, she went up the steps, pausing to glance at the guns and knives he’d taken off those men. It was hard to imagine how many lives could be snuffed out by those weapons. One bullet or knife strike was all it would take.

She shivered then put her hand on the screen doorknob, clasping it tightly. She might not be a cop, but she didn’t have to be one to understand with unerring certainty that this was all connected to whatever Joe was involved in. “I have to check on Stray,” she said, looking at the men lying on the ground. “They kicked her.”

Nick’s expression softened, as did his tone when he spoke. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Quietly, she turned the knob and went inside to the living room. Her stomach roiled with anger at the danger and chaos Joe had brought into her life. When he showed up, she fully intended to rip into him with every foul word in her verbal repertoire. Which wasn’t much, really, but she’d concoct something special just for him.

In the corner of the living room, Stray lifted her head from the dog bed. “Oh, you poor thing,” she crooned, sitting on the floor to stroke her soft, velvety ears. Her head filled with rage and her heart with sadness at what Stray had endured trying to protect her. “Thank you, girl.” The dog nuzzled her hand then licked her arm. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

Uttering a long sigh, Stray lowered her head and rested her muzzle on the edge of the bed.

Men’s voices drew her attention. Through the screen door, she watched Nick collect the guns, knives, and cell phones, dropping them into a plastic bag. Then the door opened, and Saxon entered first, followed by Nick, Matt, Eric, Kade, and Special Agent Cox.

Saxon went to Stray. The shepherd lowered his head to sniff the other dog, then gently licked her muzzle. The gesture was so tender and loving that Andi nearly laughed. Not at the sweet affection Nick’s dog was showing to hers, but at yet another similarity between Saxon and his master.