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“Drop your weapons,” commanded Brooke, her gun trained on Jesse. “Now!” But no one complied, the room filling with tension as the standoff wore on. Sawyer could hear his blood rushing through his ears. His stomach lurched sickly.
“Don’t you fucking point your gun at him, bitch,” said Maria, who’d snuck up behind Brooke and grabbed her. She held her gun to Brooke’s temple. “Gun on the floor. Now.” Brooke inhaled a shaky breath and dropped her weapon. Maria smiled, an eerie, perverse smile, as she looked at Sawyer. “You too.” He hesitated and she jerked Brooke. “Do it!”
Very slowly, with his gun extended in front of him, he lowered it to the floor, wondering how the fuck they were going to make it out of this alive.
The door exploded inward and the SWAT team poured in. Using the distraction to her advantage, Brooke grabbed Maria and threw her over her shoulder, wrestling her gun away from her. Jesse fired at Brooke, missing, but that one shot set everyone else off. Gunfire erupted in the suite, bullets flying from every direction.
Sawyer grabbed Brooke and they dove behind the couch. It wouldn’t offer much protection from the bullets, but at least it would keep them out of sight. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Sherriff run by and—miracle of miracles—he accidentally kicked Sawyer’s gun back toward him. He picked it up, lying low on the floor with his back to the sofa. Bullets hit the couch, sending stuffing and feathers from pillows flying.
Brooke rose to a crouch, peering over the top of the sofa and returning fire. She got a few shots off before ducking back down. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he did the same, covering the other side of the room. Bodies lay on the floor, SWAT members and Desperados alike. Sawyer prayed that the SWAT guys had enough armor on to prevent any life-threatening injuries.
More bullets hit the couch, and they both crouched above the edge to return fire again. Just as Brooke came back down, another bullet shot right through the couch, missing her by an inch, maybe less. Her eyes met his and he pulled her toward him.
“If we don’t make it out of here, I want you to know that I love you.” The lamp on the coffee table to his left exploded in shards, gun fire still echoing through the room.
She leaned forward and kissed him, hard and fierce. “I—I know.”
“Go on three?” he asked.
She nodded.
“One, two, three!” he counted, and they sprang up from behind the couch in unison, firing at the remaining cartel members and Desperados. There was no sign of Hernandez or the Sheriff.
He’d just fired his last bullet when a dozen more SWAT guys swarmed into the room.
The fight was over, but Hernandez was gone, leaving the investigation in tatters.
Chapter Twenty-One
The following morning, Brooke and Sawyer sat in the captain’s office, in the same chairs they’d sat in the last time they’d been called on the carpet for screwing up. Except this time, the situation was much, much worse. Everything had gone sideways, and they weren’t blameless in it. She glanced over at Sawyer, whose hands were folded between his legs, his jaw tight as he stared at a spot on the floor.
The captain came in, the door snapping shut behind him, and sat down at his desk, meeting first Sawyer’s eyes and then hers. She felt sick at the anger and disappointment she saw there. It didn’t matter that they’d managed to arrest Jesse, Maria Hernandez and a few other cartel members. The main focus of their investigation had fled, they’d blown their cover, and everyone on the comms had heard Sawyer tell her he loved her.
She hadn’t said it back, and even though it probably made her a grade-A bitch, she was glad. She didn’t know how she felt about him right now—it was impossible to untangle it from the stress of everything else that had happened over the past week. The stress of being undercover, of sneaking around, of losing Nan, of nearly getting killed in a shootout with a drug cartel.
The captain waited a moment before speaking. “I could sit here and yell at you. I could scream myself hoarse. I could slam doors and throw things. But I’m not going to do that because I’m too damn angry to let myself go down that road. If I start, I won’t stop, and I need to be at Headquarters in less than an hour to explain how and why my detectives—my allegedly elite detectives—fucked up so monumentally.” He blew out a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring, and shook his head. Brooke’s entire body felt heavy, weighed down with nervous apprehension. She clenched her teeth together against the wave of nausea working its way through her stomach. “So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to talk. You’re going to listen. And then you’re going to get the hell out of my office.”
She and Sawyer both nodded. Brooke inhaled a shaky breath, wiping her sweaty palms on her pants.
“There’s a reason we don’t allow partners to date. It’s distracting. You don’t think clearly. You make compromised choices. You risk lives—both your own and those around you.”
“Sir, if I may—” said Sawyer, but the captain cut him off with a stern glare.
“You may not.” He folded his hands in front of him on the desk. “Not only were you openly insubordinate, becoming romantically involved behind my back, but your relationship caused you to blow your cover and sent four SWAT members to the hospital. You should’ve left Simmons behind and we would’ve found a way to extract her. But you didn’t do that. You got in Hernandez’s face and now you’re forever burned when it comes to the cartel. If that was Ward in there with you, things would’ve gone down very, very differently.” His eyes bored into Sawyer. “Agree or disagree?”
Sawyer sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “Agree,” he ground out.
The captain nodded in a you’re damn right you agree way. “There is no excuse for your unprofessional, dangerous behavior. You risked not only your own lives but the lives of others because you weren’t thinking clearly. You broke the rules, and you knew you were breaking the rules. Your selfish recklessness is unbecoming of a member of HEAT and an Atlanta Police officer,” he finished, his voice much louder than when he’d started.
Brooke thought she might be sick. She had no defense. No excuses. Everything the captain was saying was 100 percent true, no questions asked.
“You are both hereby suspended until further notice and subject to additional disciplinary measures should the police board see fit. Guns and badges on my desk, and then I want you out of my sight.”
Oh, God. Oh God oh God oh God. Everything she’d worked for, everything she’d ever wanted was slipping through her fingers. Her hands shook as she stood and placed her gun and badge on the captain’s desk. Sawyer did the same. Black teased at the edges of her vision as she fought back what felt a hell of a lot like a panic attack.
“Dismissed.”
She turned and wrenched the door open, grabbing her purse from her desk and then making a beeline for the parking garage. Needing to get the hell out of here. Humiliation burned across her skin as she jabbed at the elevator button, everyone’s eyes on her. They all knew. They all knew what she’d done, the lives she’d risked, the mistakes she’d made. They all knew that she’d been stripped of her badge and her service weapon. That she’d decided sex with her partner was more important than her career.
“Brooke, wait,” said Sawyer from behind her, but she turned and pushed open the door to the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. She heard the door hit the concrete wall as he followed her into the stairwell.
But she didn’t want to talk to him. Didn’t even want to look at him, not right now when she felt naked. Stripped raw.
A surge of anger burned through her. He’d tried to get her kicked off the team, and when that hadn’t worked, he’d come on to her. And now she desperately wanted to believe that it was his fault she’d been suspended. His fault the mission had gone sideways. His fault her world had been turned upside down.
But as much as she wanted to blame him, she’d known better. Known better and gotten involved with him anyway and now look where she was. Professional reputation ruined, suspended from the job she’d worked so hard for. The job that meant everything to her. She’d foolishly let her guard down. It was a mistake she wouldn’t make again. If she had any chance—even a remotely small one—to get her career back on track, she needed to get straight with herself and start cleaning up her mistakes.
“Brooke, just talk to me,” said Sawyer from several feet behind her, his voice echoing off the concrete walls of the parking garage. “I’m sorry. I fucked up.”
Steeling herself, she turned to face him. “Yeah. You did. We both did.” She jammed her hands on her hips, shaking her head. She couldn’t seem to string two coherent thoughts together, and when she tried, she thought she might scream from the pressure building inside her.
He took a step toward her and reached for her, but she twisted away from him. Pain flashed across his face, but he didn’t reach for her again. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I know what this job meant to you.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “Do you? Do you really? Is that why you tried to get me kicked off your team? Or pursued me when you knew what the consequences could be? You’ve always put yourself first, Sawyer. Always.” Even to her own ears, the words sounded unfair, but she needed someone to blame besides herself, and it felt good to cling to that anger. To convince herself that she didn’t need him.
He frowned. “I sure as fuck didn’t put myself first yesterday. Do you have any idea what Hernandez would’ve done to you if I’d left you there?”
She scoffed. “I would’ve been able to handle it. I’m a big girl.”
He shook his head. “No, I—”
“You don’t get it, Sawyer. This job was everything to me. I’m alone in the world, and it’s all I have. It’s who I am. And now it’s gone. Because I was stupid, and got caught up in something I shouldn’t have.”
He took another step toward her. “So being with me is stupid? Why? Because you’re scared to let me in? Because you’re afraid to get hurt?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah, well, too late for that, because having my professional reputation in tatters does hurt.” He scowled at her and she blew out a long breath. “That’s not what this is about. This is about my career and the fact that if I have a hope in hell of getting it back on track, I need to start playing by the rules.”
His features tightened in pain. “What does that mean?”
She bit her lip and then ripped the metaphorical Band-Aid off, leaning into the fear swirling through her. Embracing it. Feeling justified in it. “I can’t do this with you, Sawyer.”
“Can’t do this?” Then his eyes widened as though something had just dawned on him. “You didn’t say it back,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
“Because I can’t.” She hadn’t been able to say it back, and now she wondered if she’d been protecting herself from the fallout the entire time. If deep down, she’d known exactly where they’d been headed. Because that’s what loving someone was: pain and hurt and loss.
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
She shook her head, not answering his question. “There can’t be an us. Not if I want to save my job.”
His brows drew together, his face a chiseled, masculine mask of hurt and frustration. “For what it’s worth, Brooke, I do love you. I don’t think I can be any clearer than that. I regret what happened, and I’m sorry, but I don’t regret us. You can pretend I’m wrong for you too, just like all the other losers you date, but what we have is different. And I know you know that. I can’t . . .” He held his hands out at his sides. “I can’t give you more than I have.”
“This isn’t about you being right or wrong for me. This is about me protecting my career and figuring my shit out and I can’t do that with you!”
He pointed at her. “You’re running scared, just like she warned me you would.”
“Who warned you?”
“Your grandmother. She told me you’d run, that you get scared when it comes to letting people in. That’s what you’re doing right now. Everything that happened—the investigation coming off the rails, the suspension—it’s a convenient excuse for you to push me away.”
Anger charged through her like lightning. “Don’t you dare try to manipulate me with her!” Her voice shook as she jabbed a finger in his direction. She narrowed her eyes at him, calling on reserves of strength she hadn’t even realized she had. “Let me clear something up for you, Sawyer. You didn’t know her. You don’t know me. And I don’t love you. We’re done.”
Hurt flashed across his face, quickly replaced with anger. His jaw clenched as he shook his head. “You’re being fucking ridiculous. Don’t put your shit on me.”
“I’ve lost everything because of you. Everything. I don’t think I’m being ridiculous.”
He opened and closed his mouth, once, twice. “Then I guess there’s nothing left to say.” He turned and headed back toward the stairwell. She watched him disappear through the doorway, flinching as the metal door slammed behind him.
“Fine. That’s fine,” she whispered, her fists clenching and unclenching.
She got in her car and drove home, needing to have a good, long cry.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sawyer opened the door of The Speakeasy, stepping aside and holding it for a young couple on their way out. The man slipped his arm around the woman’s waist, pulling her close as they headed toward the parking lot. She looked up at him and said something, making him laugh.
He’d never gotten to do any of that with Brooke. Never been able to do something as normal and natural as taking her out for a drink after going to the movies. Never got to put his arm around her in public and let the world know she was his.
And now she wasn’t his anymore. Maybe she never had been. He’d offered her the best of himself and it hadn’t been enough. He’d chosen her over the job, risked what mattered most to him for a shot at something real with her, and she’d still run. Facing possible death, he’d needed her to know that he loved her, no matter the consequences, and he didn’t regret the choice he’d made. But she’d pushed him away anyway. Maybe he couldn’t win. He’d finally chosen someone over the job, and he’d still wound up alone. Maybe there was something fundamentally wrong with him, and he’d never be able to have both the career and the personal life he wanted. He couldn’t help but wonder if the badge was more of a shield—against happiness, against a full life. And he hated that he wondered that at all.
He rubbed a hand over his chest as he watched the couple round the corner.
“Hey, you in or out, man?” asked a guy heading into the bar.
“Sorry,” he bit out, gesturing the man in ahead of him with a wave of his hand.
He hadn’t felt like coming out tonight and being around people. Being around people meant talking. It meant showering and putting on clean clothes. It meant having to pretend he wasn’t walking around with a gaping hole in his chest. He’d planned on spending tonight as he had the previous two nights: eating pizza, drinking too much beer, and watching ESPN until he fell asleep on the couch. But no, Jack and Amelia just couldn’t leave well enough alone and had made him promise he’d come for a drink tonight.
Bastard friends.
He spotted them at their usual table, a plate of nachos and a pitcher of beer already waiting. He wove his way through the crowd and then dropped down into his seat.
“Jesus, you look like shit,” said Jack as he poured Sawyer a glass of beer.
“And hello to you too, sunshine.”
“Hey, lay off,” said Amelia, punching Jack in the arm. “How would you feel if you’d been suspended?”
“I wouldn’t look like I was panhandling on a street corner, that’s for sure.” He slid a full glass across the table to Sawyer.
He picked it up and took a long drink, then set it down with a loud clack. “What about if you’d been suspended and dumped?” He shot Jack a look.
Jack scratched the back of his head. “Shit, man. Sorry.”
Amelia squinted at him. “So you guys really were together? I heard what you said on the comms, but I thought—”
“I don’t want to talk about it, and if you try to make me, I’ll leave.”
Amelia held her hands up in front of her. “Okay, jeez. You’re the one that brought it up, is all.” She shrugged and crunched down on a nacho.
Jack leaned back in his chair. “You know that once this all blows over, you’ll get reinstated, right? Shit rolls downhill. The captain had to answer to Headquarters. Once they’re happy you’ve been punished, you’ll be back at work. Just give it time to settle.”
Sawyer blew out a breath. “Yeah, but I’m burned with Baracoa, and Hernandez is still out there.” His jaw tightened and he clenched his fist, wanting to slam it against the table. “I needed to do this for Ryan, and I fucking blew it.” He drained the rest of his beer. “Fuck.” He said it loudly enough that several heads swiveled in his direction. He forced several deep breaths into his lungs, trying to calm down.
This was who he was now, an empty shell whose only two emotions were seething anger and mopey despair. It was disgusting.
“So . . . I’m guessing you haven’t heard from Brooke.” Amelia took the discarded black olives from Jack’s plate and added them to her nachos.
“Ames,” said Sawyer, turning her name into a low warning.
“Hey, she’s a member of the team. None of us have heard from her. I hope she’s doing okay.” She shrugged. “I mean, since you love her and all.”
He pointed a finger at her. “Don’t even start,” he bit out, his skin feeling tight and itchy. “If you’re just gonna tell me all the ways I fucked up, I don’t need you for that, okay? It’s on a constant loop up here.” He pointed at his temple.
Jack and Amelia both just looked at him. Sawyer shook his head and started to stand, but then Jack grabbed his arm and tugged him back down. “Sit.” He refilled Sawyer’s glass and pushed it back toward him. “Drink, and let’s figure shit out.”
