Chapter 1
Blaze knewsomething was wrong the instant he walked into the gas station.
It was too quiet.
A woman he didn’t recognize stood frozen against the wall that housed the soda machine and coffee pots, eyes wide as they darted between Blaze and a tall, thin man in a hoodie and face mask. He was leaning across the counter where patrons bought snacks and paid for gas when the pumps weren’t taking credit cards.
Well, fuck.
Blaze had been in Alabama for the past month and a half, working with his team to create One Shot Tactical in warehouses on an old farm, and he stopped at this gas station at least four times a week for a pulled pork sandwich. One of the amazing things about Alabama was that some of the best ’cue in the state was found in Mom Pop gas stations.
Clarence had a stick burner out back and kept it fed with hickory. He smoked pork, ribs, and the occasional brisket, and sold them with the sides his wife made fresh every day.
Blaze had really been hankering for some mac and cheese with his sandwich today. Looked like he wasn’t getting it. Not without some effort.
He didn’t see Clarence, but June made her sides at home and Clarence went to pick things up a couple times a day if she was still busy cooking and couldn’t leave the kitchen. It was only a ten-minute trip, and the station was never so slammed that whoever was there couldn’t handle the load.
The man pointed a weapon at Blaze. Black. Nine mil. Looked like a Taurus, maybe a G2C. A decent gun, but not the best on the market. Cheap as guns went, which might explain why this waste of skin had one.
“Hands up, asshole!”
Blaze lifted his hands slowly. “Hey, man. Just wanted a sandwich. Not looking for trouble.”
The man jerked the gun in the woman’s direction. “Get over there with her.”
Behind the counter, the teenage clerk had a look of numb shock on her face as she took money from the register with shaking hands. Blaze recognized her as the daughter of one of their regulars at the range. Poor kid was terrified. A quiet current of rage reared inside his gut.
He fucking hated criminals. Hated anyone who terrorized innocent people. It’d been his job to take those kinds of people down for years. Still was, even if the setting was different.
“I’m going.” He edged toward the woman. “You haven’t committed a serious crime yet. You can fix this. Put the gun down, don’t take the money. This can be over with nobody getting hurt.”
“Shut the fuck up, old man.”
“Aw, dude, that hurts. I’m thirty-eight. Not that old. How about you?”
“Shut up or I’ll kill you.” He glanced at the cashier. “Keep filling the bag and hand it over.”
Blaze eased into place beside the woman. She had brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, and pretty features beneath her glasses. Her eyes were blue, which was probably why she’d chosen blue-tinted frames. Those eyes were currently wide as she stared at the gunman.
Blaze did the math. He could make it to the guy’s side in three strides. Disarm him. Put the fucker on the ground.
The whole thing would take two seconds, tops. It was as simple as breathing.
He could do it with his eyes closed because it was so routine. His muscles tightened as he prepared to strike. But something banged in the back room, and Clarence called out, “Britney, can you come help me with these trays?”
The man swung the gun toward the stockroom as Clarence emerged.
Everything happened at once. The pistol boomed, Britney screamed, and Clarence dropped to the floor, food exploding all over the place. Blaze was already in motion as the man tried to turn the gun on him.
He knocked the assailant’s arm up, the gun boomed again, and then Blaze was holding the weapon, pointing it at the wide-eyed man on the floor. The man wheezed as he tried to catch his breath. Blaze didn’t give a fuck. He’d swept the guy’s legs from beneath him and dropped him to the concrete like the sack of shit he was.
Blaze reached down to rip off the mask and toss it aside. Hell, he wasn’t much more than a kid, maybe twenty years old. He had the shadowed look of a drug addict.
A look Blaze understood all too well.
“You motherfucker,” he growled. “Bad day to piss me off. If you’ve hurt Clarence, I swear to God you’re going to meet your maker in the next few seconds.”
The dark-haired woman sprinted past them and around the counter to where Clarence lay on the floor. Blaze couldn’t see what was going on, but he was surprised she went to help instead of sinking to the floor in relief or falling apart the way Britney was currently doing. That’s what most people did.
Blaze ejected the magazine from the pistol, cleared the chamber, and dropped it on the counter. Then he flipped the kid over and zip-tied his wrists behind his back with the ties he still had in his jacket from the training course they’d given at One Shot earlier in the day. He pulled out another pair and tied the kid’s legs.
“What’s going on over there?” He left the kid on the floor and went over to the counter, his heart hammering in his chest. Not from dealing with the gunman, but from fear for Clarence.
The woman knelt on the floor beside the old man, feeling along his chest and arms. Clarence blinked up at her in shock. Macaroni and cheese coated the floor in yellow globs. It’d also sprayed the walls and half of Clarence’s body. Blaze didn’t see any blood, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.
“Let me check him.” Blaze said as he dropped to the floor beside her. “I’m a trained medic.”
All special operators were trained in field medicine, which meant he could patch people up long enough to get them to a real doctor if he had to.
“He’s fine,” she said coolly. “The bullet missed him entirely. But he hit his head when he fell, and he’ll need some tests. I’ll call 911.”
“I’ll check anyway.”
“Suit yourself.” She gave Clarence a pat on the arm before she took her jacket off and pushed it beneath his head. “It’s going to be fine, Clarence. Promise.”
She stood to grab the phone on the counter. “Yes, hello. This is Doctor Emma Sutton. I need an ambulance at the Gas-n-Go over on Highway 127. There’s been an attempted robbery, and two gunshots were fired. No one was hit, but there’s a seventy-year-old male with a possible head injury. The attacker is subdued. If you could please send the police… Yes, thank you. I’ll be here.”
Blaze finished his examination. “You could have said you were a doctor.”
She put the phone on the counter and hugged her arms around herself. He could see her fighting the shock of everything that had happened. She might be a doctor, but she probably didn’t find herself on the business end of a robbery every day.
“Yes, well, you seemed determined. You okay, honey?” she asked the teenager.
Britney sniffed. “Yes. My ears are ringing though.”
“I think we’re all experiencing that, sweetie. Those shots were very loud. It’ll be better in a few minutes.”
Blaze stood and examined the area. The bullet had gone clean through the wall near the door jamb. Thank God the guy wasn’t any good at hitting what he targeted, or Clarence wouldn’t be alive.
Emma glanced at the gun on the counter. “How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“You disarmed him so fast I didn’t see what you did.”
“I spent a few years in the Army. Learned a thing or two.”
He’d been a Delta Force operator before he’d joined the Hostile Operations Team. He’d more than learned a thing or two, but it wasn’t the kind of thing he talked about with most people. Even before he’d been ordered not to.
“That’s where you trained as a medic?”
“Yes.” He didn’t say more because that would likely open up a whole new spate of questions.
“Well, thank you for your service and for what you just did. I think he would have shot us all before he was through.” She still hugged herself, and he knew she was thinking about what could have happened.
“You’re welcome. Emma Sutton… You related to Doc Sutton?” He hoped to pull her attention from the grim possibilities, get her thinking about something else.
She nodded. “He’s my dad.”
“Blaze Connolly.” He held out a hand. “I’m renting one of the apartments over your dad’s office.”
She seemed to hesitate a second, then slipped her hand into his. Her skin was warm, soft, and a current of interest percolated inside him. Surprised him. She wasn’t what he usually went for. He liked a girly girl with painted nails, long silky hair, and hips he could grab onto while he rocked deep inside her body.
Emma Sutton was pretty in a nerdy way, not a sexy way.
“Nice to meet you.” She dropped his hand like it stung, then tucked hers against her side again.
Not the reaction he’d expected after the one he’d felt in response to her. Then again, maybe he didn’t know shit anymore. Maybe his instincts were fucked up beyond repair. If they were better, he’d have stopped the gunman before the first shot was fired. Before Clarence walked into the middle of an ambush.
Blaze swallowed, clenching and unclenching his left fist at his side. Grounding himself.
Clarence hadn’t walked into an ambush. This wasn’t Afghanistan. He wasn’t operating in the high desert with his team.
What happened here had nothing to do with there. The kid had been startled when Clarence walked in, and he’d fired. Wildly, thank heavens. Then Blaze did what he was trained to do and stopped the bad guy.
Nobody was bleeding out on the desert floor while he frantically called for air support. He wasn’t going to lose anybody today.
“Are you okay?” Emma asked. “Did you strain yourself disarming him?”
It took him a full three seconds before indignation roared to life and drowned out the memories. Maybe thirty-eight felt like forty-eight some mornings, but damn, did he look like he was ready for the grave?
“I’m in peak physical condition. I didn’t strain anything.”
She dropped her gaze to his fist. “I was just wondering.”
“Nothing to wonder.”
Sirens shattered the air as emergency crews hurtled toward the gas station. Blaze dug into his pocket for his pistol permit and took his weapon from the holster at his back. He ejected the magazine and placed everything on the counter, added the knife from his boot, then stepped away so the cops would know he was carrying and licensed.
A line had formed on Emma’s forehead as she stared at him. Before he could ask her what the problem was, cars skidded into the parking lot, sirens cut off mid-scream, and cops boiled through the door.