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  Dex, my partner and best friend, slid the bill of his black cap to the back of his head, signaling the rest of us to be ready. Dex had both the balls and heart of steel needed for the job of DEA agent, but sometimes they got in the way of his decision making. His black boots kicked up dust as he lumbered toward the front door with the battering ram. As he swung it back, gunshots shattered the silence and exploded through the front door. The battering ram rocketed out of Dex’s hand as he flew back and landed with a solid thump in the front yard. I jumped in front of Dex’s motionless body and fired toward what was left of the front door. It splintered in every direction. A deadly quiet fell over the yard again.

  Detective Carson radioed for back-up and an ambulance as he and the other two officers moved in on the house. A groan of pain rolled from Dex’s mouth, and I released the breath I’d been holding.

  He lifted a shaky arm and touched the singed hole in his vest. “Fuck that hurt.”

  “Yeah? I think it might have hurt more without the vest.”

  Dex held up his hand. His pinky was tweaked at a right angle. “That damn battering ram nearly took off my finger.”

  “I’ll cover you. Go bitch and moan somewhere else, Dex. You’re still in the line of fire.” With some effort and more grunts of pain, he pushed to his feet, stumbled over to the side of the yard and dropped to his knees.

  The gaping hole in the door revealed a dark, empty entryway and then a woman’s pale face appeared through the shards of wood. There was a large forearm wrapped around her neck. The coward attached to the forearm was using the woman as a shield. Sunlight glinted off the barrel of a pistol, and I jumped toward the brick retaining wall alongside the house.

  “Female hostage,” Carson’s voice came through the walkie-talkie. “Hold your fire.”

  Dex had propped himself up against the back of the wall. His jaw was clenched tightly in pain.

  “Dex, you all right?”

  “Yeah,” he sucked in a breath, “think I broke a rib. Fucking hate broken ribs.”

  Sirens sounded in the distance. For a fleeting second, the only other sound was the woman’s strangled cries of terror and then bullets sprayed from a side window. Carson and the others returned fire on the house, and the hurricane of ammo stopped. I could no longer see the woman or any other signs of life. Carson motioned us to move closer.

  With my weapon raised, I took several steps toward the house, hoping to get a sense of where the woman was being held. Bullets flew from the side window again with no real target. It seemed they were just firing blindly to keep us back. The men inside were probably scared shitless at this point, which usually meant something stupid was going to happen next. The woman’s scream ripped through the air, and my feet moved instinctually toward the house.

  “Stay where you are, Barringer.” Carson’s command sliced through the speaker. “I don’t need two men down.”

  The woman screamed again. Then another sound followed that was tiny at first but then grew in intensity . . . and impact. Not much shocked us. We’d been on enough raids to expect anything, but a collective gasp rolled around the yard when a baby, not more than two years old, waddled through the splintered doorway. Dazed and confused as if he’d just woken from a nap, the toddler wandered aimlessly toward the yard, clutching a bottle and wearing only a loose-fitting diaper.

  “Hold your fire,” Carson commanded unnecessarily.

  Unfortunately, the assholes inside were not under Carson’s command. Shots rang out again. The baby startled and fell forward. The woman’s terrified screams were loud enough to be heard over the gunfire. Four squad cars came to a screeching stop along the street, and the red light of an ambulance loomed in the distance.

  Increased manpower was going to push the suspects even further past the point of reason. Every muscle in my body tensed as I watched the baby push to his feet again, his wails now mingling with his mother’s screams.

  “God dammit, Luke, stand down,” Carson always switched to my first name when he was pissed. And ignoring his orders was going to piss him off plenty. I slid my submachine gun across to Dex and hopped over the short wall. Bullets whizzed past my head. The heavy vest slowed my motion, and the distance between the baby and me seemed to stretch as I scrambled across the brittle front lawn. The baby’s eyes opened wide, and he fell back on his bottom just as my arms reached out and grabbed hold of him. With the toddler tucked securely inside my arms, I continued on the same trajectory across the grass. The men inside followed my path across the yard with their guns. I ducked behind the wall on the opposite side.

  An officer squatted down and ran toward me. She grabbed hold of the infant and scurried back toward the squad car. Another round of bullets showered the front yard. I peered over the wall and across the lawn. My UMP40 was still in Dex’s care.

  I pulled my Glock from my holster. Carson cast an angry scowl over his shoulder as I moved into position next to him. The woman’s screams had subsided. There was no telling what was happening inside the bullet riddled walls of the house. For a brief moment, the normal sounds of the neighborhood returned. Birds twittered on the electrical lines stretching overhead, and from behind fences and gates, dogs barked angrily at the uniformed strangers now filling the street.

  Just as Carson signaled us to move in on the house, a large, unarmed male stumbled out onto the small front stoop. His steps were as wobbly as the baby’s, and he scratched himself as if parasites were swarming beneath his skin. Coke bugs, the delusional nightmare that critters were crawling under your skin was one of the scarier side effects of crack. His red face twisted, and his eyes rolled back in his head. He dropped to the ground, convulsing and writhing in pain. Carson lifted his hand for us to stay put and then a second figure burst from the house. It was the woman. She cried out and dropped to her knees next to the man. His seizure had stopped. In fact, he had stopped moving altogether. His skin began to take on the clammy glow of death.

  As the woman lifted her face, it became clear that she was more a girl than a woman, not more than sixteen. A hard life and a lot of hits on a crack pipe could blur the lines of age. “Where’s my baby?” she asked weakly.

  Carson moved toward her, his gun still aimed at the suspect on the ground. “Put your hands behind your head.” The rest of us kept our weapons aimed at the house.

  She lifted her shaky arms and pressed her hands behind her head. Tears left clean streaks of pink on her cheeks as she stared up at Carson with round eyes. A large bruise stained one side of her face. “Where’s my baby?”

  “Your baby is safe. Who else is inside?”

  “Just one other guy.” She pointed to the body on the ground. “His brother. He’s been shot.”

  Carson motioned down at the body. “Who is this?”

  She sobbed once. “My boyfriend. He took a lot of hits of crack and then he just started acting crazy, started attacking his brother. I think the stuff was bad.”

  The man’s contorted expression had smoothed and his color was draining away. “Good call, I’d say,” Carson said.

  The medics had reached Dex, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him being led down the sidewalk to the ambulance. He always complained about wearing the unwieldy vest, but today it had saved his life, and I was fucking thankful.

  Three of us moved cautiously toward the shredded front door. The girl had no reason to lie at this point. She was in trouble either way, and she’d most likely lose her baby for awhile as well. There was a stained futon and table in the front room. The table was littered with pipes, lighters and several rocks of crack.

  A deep groan came from around the corner. I lifted my gun and stepped around the doorway. The suspect was propped up against the bed. His face was black and blue, and his nose was broken. Blood streamed over the back of his hand as he pressed it against the wound on his side. He struggled to talk. “Where’s my brother?”

  I shook my head, and he understood my silence.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “T
hat goddamned dealer, he’s peddling some deadly fucking base.” He squeezed the words out as if each syllable was stealing his last breath.

  “Who was it?”

  He hesitated.

  “Look, you’ll be off the streets for awhile,” I stared down at the hole in his side. “Or maybe for good. And that base just took your brother’s life.”

  The prospect of death prodded the name out of him. “It was Pulse. He’s been pushing some really tainted shit lately.” He laughed weakly and pressed his hand harder against his wound. “That mother fucker better find himself a good hiding place.”

  ***

  “Hey, Stevens, you’re back,” I heard someone call across the noisy office.

  I peered up from my paperwork. Dex walked across the floor with a greasy bag clutched in his hand.

  “You’d better have a breakfast burrito for me in that bag. Otherwise don’t even bother to stop by my desk.”

  Dex stood over my desk and fished inside the bag. He pulled out an orange paper wrapped burrito and dropped it in the center of my paperwork. The smell of grilled onions made up for the grease stain spreading across the documents.

  “Hey man, thanks for having my back out there.” I could barely hear him over the rattle of the burrito wrapper.

  “I didn’t have your back, Dex. You got shot. Wasn’t ready for it, and I’m sorry about that.”

  “You jumped out there to cover me without thinking twice about it, Luke. You had my back.”

  I nodded but I still wasn’t convinced. I’d gone over the whole thing in my head more than once, and I’d come to the conclusion that I should have covered him better.

  Dex dragged a chair across the floor and sat at my desk. “Hey, remember that little brunette we went to junior high and high school with?”

  I blinked at him. “Care to elaborate or am I going to have to go through every brunette in my memory?”

  “Well, you banged most of them, I’m sure there’s a catalogue of them up there in your skull. Her name was Jasmine, and she always wore those tight sweaters.”

  I stared at him still.

  “Big tits and big brown eyes?” he added with an edge of irritation.

  “Oh yeah, her. She did look fine in those sweaters.”

  “She was my nurse at the hospital, and she’s as hot as ever.” He leaned back. “I was thinking of asking her out. After my little brush with death—”

  “You walked to the ambulance,” I mumbled over a mouthful of food.

  “Only because of my vest.”

  “Do you mean the vest you always have a bitch fit about when we’re about to go on a raid?”

  He waved his hand. “Yeah, yeah. Anyhow, I was thinking it is time to settle down.”

  I sucked in a piece of egg and covered my mouth to cough. “Sorry, Bro, it’s just that you make plans to settle down every time you meet a cute girl.”

  “Fuck you, Luke. Not everyone can be a Barringer brother. Some of us have to work to get a lady’s attention.”

  “Hey, I work at it.”

  He lifted an irritated brow at me. “Smiling in the direction of a girl is not work, so shut the hell up about your work.”

  “Stevens, glad to see you back,” Detective Carson walked up behind him. “You’re just in time.”

  We both looked up at Carson questioningly. The man always insisted on wearing a tie, but it was always askew, giving him a permanently frazzled look. “You’ll never guess who’s in the interrogation room right now.”

  “Is she blonde?” Dex shot back.

  Carson rolled his eyes.

  “Hey, if we’re going to play twenty questions then I decided to start with last month’s centerfold.”

  “Thought you might have been a little humbled by your experience out there, Stevens, but obviously not.” A faint grin broke on his face. “You know that little weasel who’s been pushing the deadly junk?”

  “Pulse?” I sat forward. “He came to us?”

  Carson nodded. “Scared shitless and looking for some protection. Seems every junkie on the street is out looking for him. He’s willing to talk if we keep his skinny ass from getting torn to shreds.” He motioned down to my half eaten burrito. “So finish that artery clogger, and come down to interrogation.”

  His real name was Francis Higgins, a name completely incongruent with the character. On the streets he went by the name Pulse, mostly because he constantly twitched like a nervous Chihuahua. He was one of those thin, watery, pathetic guys who looked as if he could be washed away with one good rain storm. His eyes were too big for his gaunt face, and they darted back and forth in the small interrogation room as if man-eating zombies might peel out of the cement walls at any moment. The metal cuffs clinkered against the table as his hands shook uncontrollably. From the terrified, exhausted expression on his face, it seemed he’d been on the run for awhile.

  Carson and I sat in the chairs across from him. Dex leaned against the wall in a manner that was just threatening enough to keep the little creep nervous. Although he hardly needed help with that. He looked as if he might crap his pants with one sudden move from any of us.

  Carson leaned forward, and Pulse’s eyes popped wider. “Francis, we’re—”

  “Ple— please don’t call me Francis,” he stuttered. “Only my dear mother, God rest her soul, called me Francis. Call me Pulse.”

  Carson looked irritated. “Higgins,” he said firmly, assuring him that his nickname stayed in the streets. “We’re prepared to offer you the protection you need, and from rumblings in the neighborhood, you need it now or you’ll be dead soon.”

  Higgins flinched at his words.

  “You’re going to have to give us some information on who’s handing out the tainted crack. It’s been packed with levamisole and some other shit too. The lab is analyzing the stuff now. That’s why your customers are getting sick . . . and dying.”

  Higgins dropped his face. Giving up sources was a quick way to an ugly execution on the street, but it seemed he was screwed regardless.

  I leaned back and stared coldly at the guy. “Looks like either way you end up in a box then. We already know you’ve been dealing for Griffin. His club, Bent for Hell, is known for cutting their supplies with all kinds of shit, everything under the sun, because for them it’s all about the money. And if a few junkies,” I motioned toward him, “or dealers, die because of it, they could care less because there are always more to take your places.” I leaned forward and his eyes bugged out as if I was going to reach across and wrap my hand around his throat. “You’re replaceable. As long as it doesn’t affect their profit, you can end up face down in the gutter and they won’t blink an eye. Without us, you’re dead in a week.”

  Dex pushed his giant frame off the wall and walked up next to the guy. Higgins was too scared to look up at him. “I don’t know, Detective Carson, this worm doesn’t look reliable. I say we just dump him back out on the sidewalk—”

  “No!” Higgins blurted. “I’ve got everything you need to know. Just don’t put me out there.” He looked pleadingly at Carson, and I actually felt sort of sorry for the little weasel. He was not more than twenty-five, but he looked as if he’d lived on the streets for a hundred years. His mom had been a whore and a junkie. The guy had never had a chance at a real life. “Please don’t send me back out there. I know when the next shipment comes in for Griffin. He’s getting stuff that comes from one of those narco-submarines, from Columbia or some place like that. I know when the trucks are moving.”

  Carson pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. “All right, Higgins, let’s have all of it.”

  Chapter 3

  Angel

  Present

  I glanced out the window. Luke stared down at the ground as he walked purposefully toward my cabin. His mood didn’t look great but then he’d just spent time with my grandfather. Grandpa tended to sour everyone’s mood, especially lately.

  He lifted his face. There were times when he didn’t know I was
watching him and I’d catch a profound sadness in his expression. This was one of those times. I quickly devised a plan to snap him out of his funk.

  He crossed the swath of hard-packed dirt that bordered the cabins. I yanked off my t-shirt and bra. My shorts and panties dropped to the floor as his foot hit the first step. He knocked. I stayed hidden behind the door as I opened it. Some of his anguish disappeared as I peered around the edge.

  He stepped into the room. His pale gray eyes rounded as he looked at me. I shoved the door shut and held my arms up in the air.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, Reno.” I jumped into his arms, and his hands went beneath my naked bottom as I wrapped my legs around his waist. “What took you so damn long?” I asked between kisses on his face and neck.

  “Shit, I want to be greeted just like this every time I walk into a room. Only it has to be you doing the greeting.”

  I lowered my feet to the ground and pressed up against him. His cock was hard behind the fly of his jeans. “Thought you’d never get here.” I kissed his neck again. “I almost started without you.”

  He took hold of my waist, pushed me back and gazed down at me. “Promise you’ll never start without me unless I’m here to watch it.”

  I laughed. “There’s something a little twisted about the logistics of that. But you’d like that, huh?”

  “Oh, fuck yeah,” he said deeply.

  “Hmm,” I tapped my chin teasingly. “Well, I’m all about the fuck yeah stuff.” I strolled slowly over to my dresser and reached inside for a condom package. I laid it on the top of the dresser. Then I peered seductively back at him over my shoulder. He stood in the center of the room looking as breathtaking as always. The glimmer of sadness in his expression had morphed into the hunger of desire. A look I much preferred to see.