Page 102 of The Mistletoe Mix-up

“My crime-fighting Birdy,” Sam said, kissing her forehead. “I feel the need for a dual shower. I don’t suppose you could blow off work and come join me.”

“That’s not how my job works, but how about tonight after work we get dirty again?”

Sam grinned. “I’m all for that.”

Chapter Thirty-one

Burglary in progress at the Wolf’s Den.”

Wren’s heartbeat quickened as dispatch came over the radio. Technically, she was heading back to the station to clock out. It was Christmas Eve, and Sam wanted her to head over to the Winters to visit after she got off work, but there was no way she was going to let Quinton twist in the wind. Especially since he wasn’t a fan of some of the other officers on duty.

She picked up her walkie off her shoulder. “This is Officer Wren Little; I’m headed that way.”

“Thank you, Officer Little.”

After the games, she’d had a few disturbance calls, mostly family squabbles, but the closer she got to the Wolf’s Den, the harder her pulse pounded. She had so many questions about what she was walking into that she got back on her radio.

“Dispatch, this is Officer Little. Do you know how many suspects and if they’re armed?”

Static erupted before their dispatcher, Lisa, got back on the line. “Single suspect is armed and behaving erratically.”

“Thank you. Over.”

Wren’s stomach rolled and twisted as she pulled up front at the same time as Barret. She got out of her cruiser, leaving Duke in the back seat. When the dog started to protest, she firmly said, “Stay.”

He quieted down, but as Wren joined Barret in front of the bar’s double doors, she could feel the canine’s heavy gaze on her back.

“I got your back,” Barret said as if sensing her unease, and she nodded.

“And I got yours.”

They headed to the front door, which was open, hands on their guns. Wren got a look at a skinny guy waving a gun at Quint, and rage pushed through the fear, tamping it down as she watched the bar owner’s pale face.

“This is Mistletoe Police Department,” Wren called out, standing on one side of the open doorway while Barret took the other. “Is everything okay in there?”

“No, everything is not okay,” a high, shaky voice called, “and you need to leave.”

“Do you mind if I come inside, actually?” Wren shot back. “I’d like to talk to you.”

“We’ve got everything under control here. Once Quinton gives me what I want, I’ll be on my way.”

Wren nodded at Barret, who took off for the patio door. “And what is it you want? Cash? Booze?”

“I want the cash that’s owed me.”

“Well, if I put my gun away, could I come inside and talk to you unarmed? See if we can’t work this out.”

“Okay.” The guy sounded young and inexperienced, but that could make him even more dangerous.

Wren holstered her gun and stepped inside, assessing the situation. Quint was on the other side of the bar with one of his bartenders. At the back near the rooms was one of the bouncers, and the other one looked like he had been knocked out cold near the door. Half a dozen patrons huddled in the back.

Wren stopped to check the bouncer’s pulse; he was fine. Then she took a step forward, her hands in the air.

“I’m Wren. What’s your name?”

The skinny guy was shaking. The gun in his hand was almost too big for his thin frame. He looked like he was on something, and Wren’s heart skipped a beat. People on drugs were not usually calm and collected or playing with a full deck in these kinds of situations.

“Ivan,” he said.