Chapter Three
ROUTINE
The front doors of the Lake County Sheriff’s Office slammed open against the rain, and Axel marched Bobby Montane inside, still cuffed and soaking wet.
Thick mud clung to Bobby’s boots while the guy twisted once like he thought about making a break for it before taking another look at him and thinking better of it.
Fucker.
“Move,” Axel growled, steering the guy forward with a hand clamped around his arm.
Warm air rolled over them the second they stepped inside, heating his cold face.
Phones rang somewhere deeper in the building while a dispatcher argued with somebody over the radio near the front desk. Deputies drifted through the cramped office.
Nobody looked surprised when they brought in Bobby.
“For Pete’s sake,” Dana muttered from behind the front desk. “What’d you boys do, drag him through the mud?”
“He was like this when we found him,” Whip replied easily, already moving toward the counter with paperwork in hand.
“Found him hiding in Mike’s dirty laundry pile,” Axel added.
Bobby twisted in his hold. “This is bullshit. It ain’t dirty.”
Axel tightened his grip hard enough to make the man stumble. “You still stink.”
“Screw you!”
“Keep talking,” Axel warned.
“Don’t mind him,” Whip murmured to Dana. “Bobby stomped on his foot.”
Dana snickered and leaned sideways to look around Whip. “Axel, did you get your foot stomped again?”
Whip’s mouth twitched.
Axel knew exactly where this was headed.
He shot them both a glare. “Zip it.”
Too late.
Whip was already chuckling.
The sound settled into Axel’s chest before he could ignore it.
Damn near impossible to stay irritated when Whip found something funny.
Deputy Stacy looked up from one of the computer monitors in the back corner. “You laughin’ during a takedown again, Tauber?”
“I can’t help it,” Whip answered.
“Assholes,” Axel muttered.
Bobby looked between them like he couldn’t decide if they were law enforcement or a traveling circus.
Axel marched him farther into the office toward holding while Whip stayed near the counter handling the transfer paperwork with quick, efficient movements.
Whip never stopped moving. He’d spent years watching him work and still couldn’t decide if the man moved more like a marshal or somebody already three steps ahead of the room.
One second talking to dispatch.
Next, signing paperwork.
Then already reaching for evidence bags before somebody asked.
Fast. Precise. Mentally three steps ahead of everybody else in the room.
Same as always.
Which was probably why Axel stopped worrying about the details once Whip got involved.
He shoved Bobby through the holding cell doorway just as movement near the front desk caught his attention.
Sheriff Tomas Mercer crossed the office toward Whip, wearing a grin wide enough to show teeth. Dark hair still damp from the rain. Broad shoulders filling out the tan sheriff’s jacket while deputies automatically moved around him.
Whip looked up from the paperwork and grinned right back. Easy. Natural.
That easy smile hit him strangely hard after the silence at the house all week.
This was better.
Felt like seeing something he’d been missing.
Axel’s grip tightened automatically.
Bobby chose that exact second to hesitate.
His forehead bounced off the cell door with a loud clang.
“Jesus Christ!” Bobby yelped.
“Oops,” Axel muttered without a shred of remorse, shoving him the rest of the way inside before slamming the cell door shut.
Then he headed straight back toward Whip.
“You bringin’ me gifts now, Tauber?” Sheriff Mercer asked, stopping beside Whip and holding out a large coffee cup. Steam curled into the air between them.
Whip laughed softly and took it. “You finally trying to romance me properly?”
“That depends. Is it working?”
Axel scowled so hard his face hurt. The irritation came fast enough to piss him off all over again. He looked around for something to break besides Mercer’s face.
The sheriff chuckled, eyes on Whip.
Apparently, neither one of them remembered he was standing right there.
Whip’s grin widened.
Sheriff Mercer leaned one elbow against the counter like he had nowhere else to be.
Funny. He could think of about fifty places the man ought to be.
“You free Saturday? Ducks game’s on?”
College football. Right. September.
Whip hated sitting through an entire game unless somebody bribed him with beer and food.
Hmm. Maybe a trip to the store was in order.
Whip lifted the coffee toward his mouth. “Maybe. Stop by the pool hall later.”
Before Whip could take a drink, Axel snatched the cup clean out of his hand and took several swallows himself.
Fuuuck.
The coffee was hot as hell.
Worth it.
Sheriff Mercer stared at him flatly. “You always steal drinks from people?”
“Only when they’re standing too close to my paperwork,” Axel replied.
Whip choked back a laugh.
Mercer’s eyes narrowed slightly before he looked back toward Whip. “Anyway, I was saying—”
“Don’t you got a job?” Axel cut in.
The sheriff opened his mouth, probably to tell him exactly where to shove that comment, when a deputy leaned out of one of the back offices.
“Sheriff! The DA’s on line one.”
Mercer sighed through his nose and pointed once toward Whip. “This conversation ain’t over.”
“Looking forward to it,” Whip answered easily.
Axel handed the coffee back.
Mostly empty now.
The walk to the Lakeview U.S. Marshals field office was quick. The small building sat between the sheriff’s department and county records.
His desk had been shoved up against Whip’s and hadn’t moved for the past year.
Worked for him.
Warrant sheets and county maps were pinned to the wall above a copier rattling on its last leg.
Next to the copier near the back wall sat Knox Granger, flipping through paperwork with quick, efficient movements. Blond hair fell across bright blue eyes sharp enough to miss absolutely nothing. Slender build. Young enough, most people underestimated him at first glance.
Usually right before he put them on their ass.
He knew that firsthand and rubbed his jaw at the memory.
Knox hadn’t come out of the military like most of the task force guys. Mid-twenties and fresh-faced compared to the older marshals around him, he’d still passed the Marshal Service written, psych, and field tests with honors. Then won last year’s regional karate championship on top of it.
People learned real fast that the size difference stopped mattering once Knox started moving.
“Did you dig him outta his cousin’s trailer or actually have to chase him?” Knox asked, shoving back from his desk with a cocky grin.
“No running involved,” Axel said smugly.
“Where’s the boss man?” Whip asked.
“On his way over to next door,” the man in question said, his deep voice growling from behind them.
Axel glanced over one shoulder, taking in their boss.
Supervisory Deputy U.S. Marshal Garrett Boone was a fucking force of nature.
Axel had spent most of his adult life thinking he was the biggest, meanest asshole in the room by default, but Boone carried a level of authority that made even seasoned deputies straighten automatically.
Tall. Broad. Cold arctic eyes that missed absolutely nothing.
That icy gaze settled directly on him.
“Bobby Montane filed a complaint,” Boone said. “Did you bounce his head off the cell door, Axel?”
“Didn’t mean to.”
Boone stared at him for another second before the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Next time, make it hurt.”
Knox snickered behind his hand.
“Something to add, Granger?” Boone growled softly.
“No sir,” Knox said, choking back his laughter, eyes wide.
Boone turned and stalked toward the exit. The office door slammed shut behind him.
“I really didn’t mean for him to hear me,” Knox said under his breath.
Silence lasted all of two seconds.
Whip finally gave up trying not to laugh. Knox chuckled.
Axel scowled at both of them as if at a loss for words.
As if he wasn’t to blame. Yet, somehow, the man had turned a routine warrant into entertainment.
Ordinary days never stayed ordinary around Axel.