Anthology: Bad Boys Of Summer Part 10

"I'm going to go around back and climb in the bedroom window." Lucius paced as he formulated the plan. "I need you to make a ruckus in the hallway-you know, cause a distraction. Maybe take Hero out or something, but make sure he's on his leash. And if the door to my apartment starts to open, get the h.e.l.l out of there. I don't want the b.a.s.t.a.r.d to have two hostages, understand?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to come up behind him. Try not to worry. I won't let him hurt her."

She grabbed his hands, and the strength of her grip stunned him. "Promise me, Lucius."

"I promise. Wait two minutes. That'll give me time to grab some gear from my truck."

"What gear?"

"My sniper rifle, for one thing."

Her eyes rounded. "You keep a sniper rifle in-"

"I keep all my gear locked in my truck." He cupped her cheek. "You're okay?"

"Yes."

"Be careful, Marci. Bethany will never forgive me if anything happens to you."

"And vice versa." She gave him a shove. "Now go. Show me what a bada.s.s SWAT guy can do."

Lucius didn't grin, but he did go back over the balcony railing and hit the ground running. Thank G.o.d his truck was in the back lot rather than out front, where someone might see him. Still, he used caution as he unlocked the truck and took out what he'd need.

Getting in the back window of his apartment might have been tricky except that he'd done it before, when he'd accidentally locked himself out when he'd first bought the place.

The building sat on a slight incline, so while they had balconies out front, at the side, the windows could be reached with a little stretch.

With the Blaser LRS2 slung over his shoulder, he hefted himself up, pried the window open, and after one quick glance inside, slithered silently over the sill. Crouching down, he crept across the floor to the open bedroom door.

He could barely see Bethany as she plastered herself against the door, speaking in a trembling monotone about dogs and psychic ability. He couldn't see Tracer, but judging by the direction of Bethany's gaze, Lucius knew he had to be positioned in front of her, probably with a weapon trained on her.

More than anything, Lucius wanted to take him apart. It wasn't easy, but he utilized patience, waiting for Marci's part.

Then it happened. From one second to the next, Hero barked furiously in the hallway, no doubt wanting in to protect Bethany. Marci called to him loudly, causing all the racket Lucius asked for.

A man's voice said, "What the f.u.c.k?" and then he was there, in plain sight, shoving Bethany aside and putting his eye to the peephole.

Lucius saw the gun gripped in his hand. He saw Michael stiffen and spin around to face Bethany. "You little lying b.i.t.c.h! You're Bethany, aren't you?"

Michael started to raise his gun hand-and Lucius put a bullet clean through his shoulder.

With a scream, Michael fell back against the door, splattering blood. His arm went limp from the wound.

In a few long strides, Lucius reached him. He retrieved the weapon, spared a quick glance for Bethany, who looked shaken but fine, and then he secured the scene-just as he'd always been taught to do.

"You're sure you're okay?" Lucius asked her for the umpteenth time.

Bethany curled in closer to his right side. She wore a pair of his shorts with his tee. The shorts read:Monkeys steal my underwear while I sleep . He wasn't sure Bethany had noticed.

Everyone else had.

"I'm okay." But she continued to tremble, so he tightened his hold, kissed her hair, and allowed others to handle everything.

On his left side, Marci leaned into him, too. Like her sister, she was still pretty shook up, so Lucius hugged her.

Hero sat before them, keeping them all three in his sights while paramedics worked over Michael, and officers helped themselves to coffee.

Lucius's team members kept looking at him-and grinning. But h.e.l.l, with two gorgeous twins plastered to him, he could have been in a p.o.r.n video. What red-blooded male wouldn't stare?

He kissed Bethany again, making sure everyone knew she was more than a mere conquest. Then, to seal the deal, he asked, "Will you marry me?"

Her head shot off his shoulder and she stared at him. "What?"

"I love you. I want to marry you."

His men hooted and raised their coffee cups in a salute.

Marci chuckled and finally freed herself from his hold. "This is wonderful." Then, to her wide-eyed sister, "Just say yes, Bethany."

Bethany looked ready to hyperventilate, but she nodded. "I do love you."

"I know. I love you, too. And unless I stake a claim right now, one of my guys is going to start getting ideas and I'll have to set him straight and there'll be more damage to my apartment."

One man laughed. Two snorted in challenge. Another said, "I just got the blood off your door. You make another mess and you can d.a.m.n well clean it yourself."

Marci glanced at the other men, all of whom watched her from across the room. She chuckled. "They're a cute bunch. All single?"

"Yeah." And then, loud enough for them to hear, Lucius said, "Of course they're single. What woman in her right mind would have them?"

There was more good-natured ribbing back and forth as the men touted their dubious qualities and flexed some outrageous muscle until finally, almost an hour later, everyone left the apartment and Lucius was alone with Bethany, Marci, and his dog.

Holding Bethany close, Lucius said, "I'd suggest we go out to dinner to celebrate, but I don't want to leave Hero alone."

Marci hugged the dog and sighed. "You are the most perfect man, Sergeant Lucius Ryder. I'm so glad you love my sister."

"I'm so glad she loves me back."

Bethany grinned. "You know, sis, if you'd give a guy a chance, we could both settle into marital bliss together."

"A double wedding would be nice," Lucius added.

Marci shook her head and backed up three steps. "No way. I'm happy single. Besides, what guy would want to hook up with a fruitcake like me?"

Both Bethany and Lucius quickly objected to that description.

"I appreciate the support, guys, I really do. But let's face it-I'm an oddity."

Lucius thought about it, then winked. "Well, like I said about the guys on my team, no woman in her right mind would want any of them. But a woman with an exceptional mind like yours..."

Marci balked. "Oh no, you don't. You will not play matchmaker, Lucius." She backed up until she reached the door. "I mean it. Now I'm sure you two have things to talk about, so I'll leave you to it."

The second she left, Bethany turned her face up to Lucius. "She's not happy, no matter what she says."

"Don't worry about it, hon. Given the way my guys were eyeing her, I won't have to play matchmaker. I'm betting they'll be calling on her tonight at the latest."

"You really think so?"

"Absolutely. SWAT guys are astute. We know a good thing when we see it." He pulled her onto his lap, then stood with her held in his arms.

"Where are we going?"

On his way out of the room, he said, "To see if I can find another favorite part for you." He kissed her, a tickling kiss because he smiled. "I'm thinking there might be dozens you aren't even aware of yet."

Giving in to her own grin, Bethany said, "You know, you could be right."

Hero sighed, turned a circle, and plopped down to sleep, secure that he now had a very happy home.

IT'SABOUTTIME.

Erin McCarthy.

One.

It was a good thing Trish never intended to get married, because from what she could tell of the male population as a whole, they were mostly idiots and not worth the reception expense.

She'd been stood up again.

How hard could it have been for Brad to call her midday when he had known she was at work and leave a wimpy cancellation on her home voice mail?

A lot less difficult than sitting by himself in a restaurant for an hour waiting for a date who never came, which was what she had just done.

Sighing, she pushed the door open and stepped into Ryan's Pub, wondering what it was about her that made men smile and promise things they never intended to deliver. While she had no desire to wade into matrimony despite her friends' recent success with it, she would still enjoy a little companionship. Someone to take to the Christmas party at work, a dinner partner, a man to fulfill her very real and getting slightly urgent s.e.xual needs.

"Hey, Trish. What's up?" Joe called from the bar as he deftly shook a martini shaker.

Wiping the seat with her hand first, Trish dropped down onto a stool in front of Joe. She slid her outrageously uncomfortable shoes forward on her feet, until they were dangling, held on only by the grip of her toes. "The usual. I got stood up by my date."

Joe looked properly outraged on her behalf, jaw dropping and shaker hitting the counter with all the force of his meaty arms. "No way! Well, the jacka.s.s obviously doesn't know what he's missing."

"Is there something wrong with me? Do I have a sign on my behind that says 'Lie To Me'?" she asked in exasperation.

Trish pushed the ashtray in front of her to the side and marveled at how morose she was being. This kind of thing didn't usually bother her. Life went on, with or without men, and thankfully, she'd never actually been emotionally hurt before, just annoyed. But lately she was getting lonely, and while good for many things, a computer couldn't carry a conversation or s.e.xually satisfy her. Okay, if you wanted to get technical, it probably could do both in a roundabout sort of way, but it just wasn't the same. She wanted to hear someone breathing next to her when she had a conversation, and she didn't think that was too much to ask, d.a.m.n it.

"You just intimidate men, that's all." Joe turned to deliver the drinks to customers, leaving Trish to ponder that. Intimidation was all about power, something she appreciated.

Intimidation was good in the courtroom, but not the bedroom. She'd never thought her s.e.x life-if she could remember that far back-was lacking in anything. But put in those terms, she wondered if she had ever really had a relationship with a man where they weren't both scrambling for control.

It was not an uplifting thought for a lonely Friday night in September when her good friend Kindra was three weeks away from her wedding to Mack, and Ashley was flashing a mammoth engagement ring from Lucas. Even Violet, who shied away from men, had managed to snag a pro baseball player, and Trish figured it wouldn't be too long before they went down the aisle. Dylan was already chomping at the bit to marry Violet since she was having his baby.

On nights like tonight, when Trish was alone and her friends were all cuddled up with their men, she couldn't help but feel a little tinge of something.

G.o.d, she was actually jealous. How small.

Joe bustled back and offered her a gla.s.s of wine but she shook her head. "Just a water, please." She didn't want an innocent gla.s.s of wine. Nor was she certain she could stop at one or two drinks of the hard stuff, not when her defenses were feeling as weak as they were tonight. And getting drunk alone was the adult equivalent of being the last kid picked for the dodgeball team in grade school. Sad. Better to stick to water.

"Shake it off, babe-you know you're hot stuff."

The drinks were so-so at Ryan's Pub, but it was nice to see a familiar face, nice to hear Joe's staunch support. Trish had been wandering into this pub off and on for five years, and hung out with her girlfriends there twice a month after their bowling night. "You know what, Joe? I don't feel like shaking it off. I want to feel sorry for myself tonight."

Maybe she wasn't justified. After all, she had a budding career as county prosecutor of domestic violence, a great apartment, and good hair. But men didn't seem to appreciate any of those things. She didn't think she was asking too much. It wasn't like she expected comfortable pantyhose to be invented. She just wanted a nice guy, loyal, honest, friendly.

She supposed she could get a dog.

But Kindra and Mack's yappy poodle annoyed the h.e.l.l out of her. A lizard was more her style.

"If you're going to feel sorry for yourself, slide on down the bar and join my buddy Caleb there. He's having a h.e.l.l of a pity party tonight."

Without much interest, she glanced over. A guy was propping his head up with a ma.s.sive, muscular arm, and trying to sip his beer without lifting his head. Moisture from the bottle dribbled onto the bar and his arm, and he made a halfhearted swipe at it. A quick count showed six empty bottles in front of him.

Now there was a winner. Hold her back.

"Do you know him?" she asked Joe, hoping she didn't look that pathetic. This guy looked like he'd set down some serious roots in Loserville.

"Yeah, I've known him for more than fifteen years. We played ball in high school together and he's a good friend." Joe leaned on the counter, moving closer to her, and kept his voice low. "He never drinks."

The six bottles hadn't emptied themselves. "Could've fooled me."

"I'm serious. But tomorrow his ex-wife is getting married. He's celebrating by getting s.h.i.t-faced."

Trish forgot to clench her toes, and her shoe fell to the floor. "That does not look like a man who is celebrating."

Joe stood back up. "I know. Looks to me like he's feeling sorry for himself. But that's what he said-that he's celebrating."

This was not a man who was about a blow a party horn and throw some ticker tape. If he called this celebrating she'd hate to see sulking. "Did you know his wife? Was she a b.i.t.c.h or something?"