Crossfire

Spinning around, Kenny brought his rifle up, shocked to see that Lee hadn’t locked and barricaded the door as Kenny had told him to.

A man in his middle forties, dressed like an undertaker in a dark suit, came walking in with an air about him as if he owned the place. Who in the hell was this? He looked vaguely familiar in a way that made Kenny nervous.

What were all these people doing here?

The man was so preoccupied he didn’t see them at first. He stopped when he did, not showing any concern at first to see two policemen in city hall before it opened for the day.

But then his gaze took in the assault rifle in Kenny’s hands. Kenny pointed the barrel at the man’s chest.

“Well, if it isn’t Judge Lawrence Craven,” Kenny said, and laughed, finally recognizing him. He looked different without his robe on and that bench in front of him.

Craven studied him for a moment. “Four years for burglary.”

Kenny smiled. “You remembered. I’m touched. What the hell are you doing here before city hall opens, anyway?”

Craven glanced toward the stairs but didn’t answer.

Obviously he’d come by to see someone, but he didn’t want to say who. Now why was that?

Not that it mattered. This was a stroke of luck. “Lee, we just got a real break. This hostage is better than your Ms. Sinke or all the councilmen and lawyers in the world. Make sure no one else can come through that damned door and let’s go see what other hostages we have.”

7:54 a.m.

AS ANNA WALKED with Flint down the hallway to the briefing room, she couldn’t have been more aware of him. After all these years, they were here together. Only not together. Not even close.

When she thought back to when they’d first met…She shook her head. What happened to those two people who were so head-over-heels in love?

She smiled to herself at the memory of the first time he’d asked her for a date. She could practically smell the salt, hear the Pacific breaking on the sandy beach, feel the sun on her back. She’d been coming out of the water, her surfboard tucked under her arm, happy in her element, when she’d seen someone waiting for her.

She’d squinted into the sun, seeing first the dark silhouette of a man, then the uniform. A cop. Her heart sank. Bad news. Something to do with her family?

“Hi,” he said. “You probably don’t remember me.” He seemed so different in the uniform, sand sticking to his freshly polished black cop shoes, and looked as out of place and uncomfortable as anyone she’d ever seen.

“You’re a cop,” she said, relieved and yet feeling foolish. Of course he was a cop. She knew that. She’d just forgotten that part and hadn’t recognized him in uniform for a moment. He hadn’t been in Southern California long; his skin was not yet tanned. His hair was straight black. One errant lock hung down over one dark eye.

How could she have forgotten that deep, wonderful voice? Or that boyish face? Or that bump on his forehead?

She reached out to gently touch the knot on his head. “I see some of the swelling has gone down.”

He grinned. “You remember me, I guess.”

“How could I forget?” she joked, remembering the huge bump he’d gotten on his head from being hit by a fly ball during a cop tournament baseball game, then the crazy ambulance ride to the hospital, where the doctor had assured them both that it was only a slight concussion. And all the time, the guy’d been trying to get her home phone number.

He’d insisted she not leave his side, even with the entire police department baseball team packed into the hospital emergency room, all laughing as Flint pleaded his case for her phone number, saying it was her fault he got hit by that fly ball. If he hadn’t been admiring her….

She’d finally given him the number. But he’d never called.

Instead he’d shown up at the beach, and he was so shy, so sincere, so nervous he seemed like a different guy.

“You saved my life,” he said.

Right. “It wasn’t quite that dramatic.”

“You’re wrong.” He settled those dark eyes on her. “It was for me. It was the luckiest day of my life.”

That day at the ballpark he’d been wearing the T-shirt she’d carried around with her for the last five years. His lucky shirt, he used to call it. Lucky because he’d been wearing it the day he met her.

She normally didn’t date his type. Jocks. Stars of one sport or another. The kind of guys her sister Emily always dated. And ended up marrying.

Anna had only given him her number that day at the hospital to shut him up. She’d never expected him to call. If he had called, she would have turned him down. And saved them both a lot of grief. Instead he’d shown up at the beach, looking sweet and shy and anxious as he asked her to dinner.

And fool that she’d been, she’d said yes. Look where that had gotten them, she thought now, dragging herself out of the memory as Flint halted at the door to the briefing room.

He opened the door and stood back to let her enter.

“After you,” she said. “Just one of the team.”

He made a face. “Right.” He turned and entered the room ahead of her.

She braced herself. There were always a few men on a SWAT team who had trouble accepting a woman among them. Fortunately most of the men were younger, more in tune with the times. Flint, she hoped, would prove to be the exception rather than the rule, since the Courage Bay SWAT team was all men.

As she stepped into the briefing room, she heard a male voice ask, “You are aware that the last time a paramedic went in with us, she was injured?”

There was some grumbling agreement.

“That’s why I’ve gone with a paramedic with SWAT training and experience,” Max answered. “Anna can handle herself under pressure. She knows the danger. She’s going to surprise you all.”

Anna flushed. “Thank you, Chief Zirinsky,” she said, moving out from behind Flint to meet a lot of very male faces.

To her surprise, Flint stepped to her side. “Gentlemen, this is Anna Carson, our new SWAT team paramedic. Anna, if you will,” he said, giving her the floor.

She looked at the men, then laid it out for them in a flat, no-nonsense account. “I am SWAT trained, second in my class. I spent three years on a Washington, D.C., SWAT team. I received several medals for bravery and dedication to duty. I have been involved in tactical situations from bank robberies and terrorist attacks to domestic disputes and hostage-suicides.” She stopped before adding, “I’m honored to be part of your SWAT team, and I look forward to working with all of you.”

Silence. Then, “This isn’t Washington, D.C. We don’t have the same kind of manpower.” It was one of the older men. His name tag read T.C. Waters. “I, for one, don’t like the idea of a woman on the team. Call me old-fashioned—”

“Old-fashioned and a true chauvinist,” Flint said, and laughed. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, T.C. They’re even letting women vote nowadays.”

“Aw, T.C. even gripes about women reporters on the field during a football game,” a younger SWAT member called from the back.

“Yeah, he says he doesn’t like the sound of their voices,” said another one. More laughter.

“The bottom line here is that Anna’s on the team,” Flint said, looking over at her. “We treat her like we would any other team member. Forget she’s a woman.”

There were some chuckles. “Yeah, right,” one of the guys retorted. “At least you could have hired an ugly one, Chief.”

Even Max laughed this time. The desk sergeant stuck his head in the doorway. “Chief.”

Max went to the door and immediately called Flint over.