Hotshot by Catherine Mann Page A

bruise purpling his jaw, blood trickling from his eyebrow.
    “Back down,” Vince barked, intimidating through his sheer size alone, “and listen to the cop, or you’re going to end up eating asphalt.”
    “Fuck you, old man.”
    “Stand in line, kid.”
    Officer Jaworski took command from the middle, no longer using his megaphone or baton, just the power of a deep bass with authority that added years to his youth. “I want to make it crystal clear. If anything goes down tonight, I took note of who’s here, so I’ll know exactly who to haul in first for questioning. You’ll end up sharing a cell with your ‘friends.’ ”
    An uneasy truce settled. Sure, there was mumbled BS and shuffling feet, but fists stayed down. Amber found her sister and gave Shay a wobbly smile. “Thanks, Miss Bassett.”
    “Call me if anything feels the least bit out of the ordinary with the baby. You have my cell phone number.”
    “Sure, whatever.” The girl bolted away and fell into her sister’s arms, sobbing.
    A sigh shuddered through Shay as her official role started to ease enough for her mind to slow and question . . .
    Vince had actually shown again .
    And he could have been hurt in a riot gone wrong. Like before. She swayed for a dizzying second before she regained control. She would not, absolutely would not bend over and hold her knees.
    After he passed Caden over to the cops, Vince powered toward Shay. “Are you okay?”
    She rubbed the back of her neck to try to get some blood flowing to her brain again. God, she needed to replace the mental image of Vince injured because of her, of what could have happened, of what could happen still if that bomb threat wasn’t a hoax. “I’m fine.”
    “Are you sure? You’re so pale, you look like you’re going to pass out.”
    He thumbed the corner of her mouth, his hand coming back with a smear of blood. She pressed her fingers to her face, fast, suddenly aware of her body again now that the threat had passed. Her cheek throbbed from the elbow jab, but nothing felt broken.
    Cool air brushed her stomach, and she glanced down. At some point, a big hole had ripped in the side of her T-shirt, a grubby shirt and jeans now after her trip around broken bathroom stalls, Dumpsters, and dirty cop cars. She smelled like weed, and her hair felt sticky with blood. How could a tiny split in her lip bleed so much?
    She pressed the tip of her tongue against the cut.
    Vince’s eye fell to her mouth. Held. Heated.
    She tucked her tongue back in her mouth and looked away. “Just shaken up but okay. You’ve learned some new moves since we were teenagers.”
    “Saw it in a James Bond movie.” He shrugged dismiss ively.
    He had done that before, made a joke of life when everyone else was on the verge of tears. Yet he couldn’t be unaffected by this now. Fights they’d seen and been in seventeen years ago were too horribly parallel to the present. She felt it often enough in her job on a day-to-day basis, but having Vince here . . .
    How could she not think of the worst night of all? Bullets had been flying, bodies falling. Vince throwing himself between her and the guns.
    Except this time, no one had died. Yet.
    Vince gripped her arm, his touch hot and solid. “At least sit down. You’re weaving on your feet.”
    She eased herself to the curb. “Bomb threats and fire alarms are actually fairly common around here. So far, it’s always turned out to be a prank. One time a girl flipped the alarm on her way to the bathroom. Her mother had brought her in for a physical, and the teen didn’t want her mom to know she was pregnant. She figured tripping the switch would get her out of the appointment.”
    That had been Amber.
    Why hadn’t she thought of it until now? Amber couldn’t have had anything to do with this threat, too, could she? She’d been lucky to get off with a slap on the wrist before. What would she have to gain from such a risky move now?
    Vince crouched down on one knee, his