Exposed (42 page)

The back of her neck tingled. She slid from the booth.

“Andie?”

“Just a sec.”

She strode across the restaurant, her gaze fixed on the double doors. Her heart thudded inexplicably while her mind catalogued info: six-one, one-fifty, blond, blue. She pictured his flushed cheeks and his lanky body in that big coat.

A waiter whisked past her and pushed through the doors to the kitchen. Andrea followed, stumbling into him when he halted in his tracks.

Three people stood motionless against a counter. Their eyes were round with shock and their mouths hung open.

The kid in the overcoat stood a short distance away, pointing a pistol at them.

His gaze jumped to Andrea and the waiter. “You! Over there!” He jerked his head at the petrified trio.

The waiter made a strangled sound and scuttled out the door they’d just come through.

Andrea didn’t move. Her chest tightened as she took in the scene: two waitresses and a cook, all cowering against a counter. Possibly more people in the back. The kid was brandishing a Glock 17. It was pointed straight at the woman in the center—Andrea’s waitress. She couldn’t have been older than eighteen, and the gunman looked almost as young. Andrea noted his skinny neck, his
freckles
. His cheeks were pink—not from the cold, as she’d first thought, but from emotion.

The look he sent the waitress was like a plea.

“You did this, Haley.”

The woman’s eyes widened. Her lips moved but no words came out.

“This is
your
fault.”

Andrea eased her hand beneath her blazer. The kid’s arm swung toward her. “You! Get with them!”

She went still.

“Dillon, what are you—”

“Shut up!” The gun swung back toward the waitress. Haley. The trio was just a few short yards away from that gun. Even with no skill whatsoever, anything he fired at that distance would likely be lethal. And who knew how many bullets he had loaded in that thing.

Andrea’s heart drummed inside her chest. The smoky smell of barbecue filled the air. The kitchen was warm and steamy and the walls seemed to be closing in on her as she focused on the gunman.

His back was to a wall lined with coat hooks. She counted four jackets and two ball caps—probably all belonging to the staff. Was anyone else hiding in the back? Had someone called for help?

“
You
did this!” the gunman shouted, and Haley flinched.

Andrea licked her lips. For only the second time in her career, she eased her gun from its holster and prepared to aim it at a person. The weight in her hand felt familiar, almost comforting. But her mouth went dry as her finger slid around the trigger.

Defuse
.

She thought of everything she’d ever learned about hostage negotiations. She thought of the waiter who’d fled. She thought of Nick. Help had to be on the way by now. But the closest SWAT team was twenty minutes out and she
knew
, with sickening certainty, that whatever happened here was going to be over in a matter of moments.

“I trusted you, Haley.” His voice broke on the last word, and Haley cringed. “I trusted you, but you’re a lying
bitch
!”

“Dillon, please—”

“Shut up! Just shut up, okay?”

Ambivalence. She heard it in his voice. She could get control of this.

Andrea lifted her weapon. “Dillon, look at me.”

To her relief, his gaze veered in her direction. He was crying now, tears streaming down his freckled cheeks, and again he reminded her of her brother. Andrea’s stomach clenched as she lined up her sights on his center body mass.

Establish a command presence
.

“Put the gun down, Dillon. Let’s talk this through.”

He swung his arm ninety degrees, and Andrea was now staring down the barrel of the Glock. All sound disappeared. Her entire world seemed to be sucked by gravity toward that little black hole.

She lifted her gaze to the gunman’s face.
Dillon
. His name was Dillon. And he was eighteen, tops.

Her heart beat crazily. Her throat tightened. Hundreds
of times she’d trained to confront an armed assailant. It should have been a no-brainer, pure muscle memory. But she felt paralyzed. Every instinct was screaming for her to
find another way
.

Dillon’s gaze slid back to Haley, who seemed to be melting into the Formica counter. The others had inched away from her—a survival instinct that was going to be of little help if this kid let loose with a hail of bullets.

Loud, repetitive commands
.

“Dillon, look at me.” She tried to make her voice firm, but even she could hear the desperation in it. “Put the gun down, Dillon. We’ll talk through this.”

His gaze met hers again. He rubbed his nose on the shoulder of his coat. Tears and snot glistened on his face.

“I’ll kill you, too,” he said softly. “Don’t think I won’t.”

“I believe you. But wouldn’t it be easier just to talk?” She paused. “Put the gun down, Dillon.”

She could see his arm shaking, and—to her dismay—hers began to shake, too. As if she didn’t know how to hold her own weapon. As if she didn’t work out three times a week to maintain her upper-body strength.

As if she didn’t have it in her to shoot a frightened kid.

He was disintegrating before her eyes. She could see it. His Adam’s apple moved up and down as he swallowed hard.

“You can’t stop me.” His voice was a thread now, almost a whisper. He shifted his stance back toward Haley, and the stark look on her face told Andrea she’d read his body language.

“I’ll do it.”

Andrea’s pulse roared in her ears. The edges of her vision blurred. All she saw was that white hand clutching that big black gun.

She took a breath.

And don’t miss the following excerpt from

SCORCHED

The previous book in the Tracers series
Available now from Pocket Books

Gage pulled his pickup truck into the parking lot of O’Malley’s Pub, way more than ready to put an end to his crap day.

It had started at 0430 with a training op on San Clemente Island and ended less than an hour ago with a brutal run through the obstacle course on base. Under normal circumstances, he liked training ops—especially ones that involved high-altitude jumps. And the O-course hadn’t been a problem for him since BUD/S training.

But these weren’t normal circumstances. Gage was coming off a shit week following a shit month at the end of a shit year. His shoulder hurt like hell despite endless rounds of physical therapy, and his head was in the wrong place. Gage couldn’t find his zone—hadn’t been able to in months.

O’Malley’s was quiet for a Friday, which suited him fine. He took a seat at the bar and ordered a beer. After knocking back the first swig, he stared at the bottle and forced himself to confront the nagging possibility that maybe, just maybe, he was losing his edge.

A young blonde approached the counter. As if to confirm Gage’s depressing hypothesis, she ignored the empty stools next to him and chose one three seats over. She tucked her purse at her feet and barely gave him a glance before flagging the bartender to order a drink.

Ouch. Not the response he usually got from women in bars—especially this one, which was popular with SEAL groupies.

On the other hand, Gage really couldn’t blame her. He’d come here straight from the base, not even bothering to shower after his sixteen-hour ass-kicking.

Gage glanced across the room at Mike Dietz and Derek Vaughn, who had managed to clean up before coming out. They’d left the base not long before Gage, so they must have set the world record for speed showering. Clearly they were looking to get laid tonight, whereas Gage was simply looking to get hammered. It had been that kind of week.

Derek caught his eye and walked over. “Hey, Brewski,” he drawled, “you want in on this game?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Come on, bro.” He glanced over his shoulder at the two brunettes who were hanging around the pool table. “Callie’s sister’s in town. You need to come meet her.”

“Really, I’m fine.”

“You’re killing me.”

“Let Dietz talk to her.”

“He has to cut out after this. Some family thing.” Derek
clamped a hand on his shoulder, and Gage made an effort not to wince. “Seriously, do
not
leave me hanging here, man. You can have Tara. She’s older, but probably no less talented than her baby sis.” He grinned and slapped Gage on the back. “Come on. It’ll snap you out of your shit mood.”

Gage glanced at the women and he knew Derek was wrong. Nothing would snap him out of his mood tonight.

“You’re not still hung up on Kelsey, are you?”

“Hell no.”

“Then what’s up?” His brow furrowed. “Having a bad day?”

It was common knowledge that Gage had taken Joe’s death two months ago harder than anyone. And it wasn’t just because he knew the man’s family and had once dated his niece. Even before all that, Gage had had a special bond with him. Joe Quinn had been a demo expert, same as Gage, and he’d taken Gage under his wing during his very first year in the teams.

“I’m fine,” Gage said, and his friend gave him a long, hard look.

“Not so sure about that. Those are two hot-looking women. But, hey, your loss. Lemme know if you change your mind.”

Derek returned to his game of pool, and Gage nursed his beer while watching the mirror behind the bar. The blonde was still there and she had a drink in front of her now. She stirred it with a slender red straw as she glanced over her shoulder again and again. Gage checked his watch. Ten after nine. Her date was probably ten minutes late. Suddenly she smiled and jumped up from her stool as a man in service khakis entered the bar. He crossed the room in a few strides. The woman threw her arms around his neck and kissed the hell out of him.

Gage felt a stab of envy and looked away. He remembered Kelsey kissing him like that—in this very bar, too—right before he’d drag her home with him to set his world on fire. That’s how they’d been together—weeks and months of no contact, then completely unable to keep their hands off each other when they finally got together.

Which wouldn’t be happening again anytime soon. Or ever.

Last time Gage had seen Kelsey was at her uncle’s funeral. She’d been seated at the front of the church with her boyfriend at her side—some FBI hotshot she’d dated back before she met Gage. Seeing the two of them together had been hard enough, but when they’d stood to leave the church and Gage glimpsed the ring on her finger, it was like a kick in the gut. He’d been blindsided by hurt and anger—which made the entire day of Joe’s funeral all the more torturous.

Good times. Gage tipped back his beer. He felt someone behind him and knew who it was when he got a nose full of cheap perfume.

“Hey, sailor.”

Callie’s sister had a friendly smile, and Gage did his best to return it. It wasn’t her fault he was in a foul mood.

“Hey there,” he said.

“I’m Tara.” She rested her hand on his forearm and eased close, giving him a perfect view down her low-cut shirt. “My sister says you know your way around a pool table. Wanna play with us?”

Gage looked down into her pretty blue eyes. She was young. Built. Eager to please. If he couldn’t have Kelsey, he should have someone else. He couldn’t wallow in celibate misery his whole life, could he?

Problem was, he’d been down this road and knew
where it went, and waking up tomorrow with some girl in his bed wasn’t going to solve his problems, just create a few more.

Gage glanced at the mirror behind the bar as a woman who looked remarkably like Kelsey stepped through the door. He blinked at the reflection.

No way.

But there was no mistaking her. Six feet tall. Long auburn hair. In a bar filled with hot and available women, she stood out in her jeans and no-nonsense T-shirt. She rested a hand on her hip and scanned the room.