Janie Crouch - Cease Fire

Grace shook her head. “I’ll admit it might be a little bit hyperdiligent. But I promise you, you are not the only person here with two weapons. And you are not the only person here searching the shadows every few minutes. Including the groom.”

Roman looked around the room. Grace was probably right. He’d been so caught up in his own need to be sedulous that he hadn’t realized there were a dozen others being just as watchful.

“Now, believe it or not, I actually have a date to get back to.” Grace smiled again, tilting her head toward a man in his early sixties sitting at a table nearby. Grace’s husband had died a few years before and Roman was glad she was seeing someone socially.

“Thank you, Grace. Sometimes it’s hard to stay centered.”

“That’s what I’m here for. That’s what we’re all here for. For each other. You’ve got to remember you’re not in this alone. I think that is what Damien Freihof most wants to do—isolate us and fracture us. It’s important that we don’t let that happen.”

Roman nodded. “You’re right. I’ll try to relax, at least a little bit tonight.”

“Aren’t your mother and stepfather here? Do you want to spend some time with them?”

Roman refrained from rolling his eyes. Barely. “No, I’d rather sit here and look for invisible bad guys than go hang with my mom and Maxwell, and listen to all the reasons why I should be rubbing elbows with the bigwigs in the room.”

Grace laughed. “Well, the state political VIPs are definitely here en masse. And I know you’ve said your mom would much rather you had gone into politics than be a member of the Omega SWAT team.”

“Whether I wanted to or not.”

Grace shrugged. “Regardless, they are family. Don’t cut them out.”

“Trust me, I couldn’t cut them out if I wanted to. If you see my mom, don’t tell her where I am.”

Grace grinned again. “Will do. And Roman, it’s a wedding. It’s okay to have fun, maybe talk to a girl—like that gorgeous one you’ve been checking out all night whenever you let your guard ease enough to think about something other than Freihof.”

Roman knew exactly who she meant. Keira Spencer. The raven-haired, curvy, petite bridesmaid. One of the bride’s friends from high school or something. His attention had been drawn to her tonight like it had at the last few social functions he’d seen her at, as friends of Brandon and Andrea. He would’ve asked her out long before now if his plans hadn’t been waylaid by the whole coma thing.

His eyes left the shadows and sought out the dark-haired beauty now. Like him, she was standing mostly away from the action of the wedding, although he doubted it was for the same reason.

“Exactly,” Grace said, touching Roman gently on his arm. “Freihof wants all our attention to be on him, not on living our lives. Let’s not give him that satisfaction.”

With that she gave him one more smile and made her way back to her date, who politely stood and held out her chair as she sat down, smiling brightly at her as he did so. Roman already liked this guy.

Grace was right. This was a wedding, and it was already midway through the reception. Armed guards stood outside every door. The entire site had been swept extensively for explosives. Trouble in the form of Damien Freihof wasn’t making its way in here tonight.

Plus, as Grace had pointed out, they weren’t here to focus on the criminal mastermind, they were here to celebrate Brandon and Andrea, two of their own.

Roman didn’t know either of them well, but what he did know he liked and respected.

Brandon Han was generally regarded as one of the most intelligent men in the entire country, and his family was an important part of the state government, so this wedding was a grand event. An interesting blend of watchful law enforcement, merry partygoers and political personages networking in a neutral, friendly setting.

The last, Roman knew, included his mother and stepfather. He had no doubt his mom was searching for him, to encourage him to network likewise.

She still hadn’t quite embraced the concept that Roman had chosen law enforcement as his means of contributing to society, rather than politics, like his late father.

Roman got a beer from the bar and headed back to the shadows, although this time to avoid trouble rather than search for it.

He wasn’t alone for long.

“You’ve got that ‘oh hell, it’s another wedding’ look on your face.”

Roman glanced at the man who had made his way to his side. Damn it, what was his name? Sam Poniard or something. The guy wanted to be SWAT, but for whatever reason hadn’t been accepted into the training program.

He shouldn’t take it personally. Most people who applied didn’t get accepted.

“No kidding.” Roman gave a smile to the other man. “Seems like agents around here are falling like flies. You’re Sam, right?”

“Saul.”

“Saul, that’s right. Saul Poniard. Sorry, man. I blame the coma.”

Roman could tell he’d offended Saul, but the other man still gave a slight smile. “I guess almost getting blown up is certain to affect your memory.”

Roman doubted he would’ve remembered the other guy’s name anyway, but didn’t say so. He would be sure to remember it now.

“How’s it going for you? Enjoying the party?”

Saul nodded. “Yeah. Not usually my thing, but I thought I would stop in and say hello. Thought it might get me some points.”

“Points for what?”

“I’m thinking about reapplying for SWAT.”

Roman grimaced. That’s why Saul was over here talking to him. He was campaigning. Of course, Roman had zero to do with who got initially accepted into the training program. The leaders might ask the team’s opinion before bringing someone on in the final stages, to make sure he or she was a good fit, but not at the beginning.

“Well, good luck with that.” Saul appeared fit and strong enough to be in the program. But for whatever reason, he was being overlooked. Roman trusted the people making those choices, Steve Drackett being one of them.

“Maybe we could work out sometime. Spar or something.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure, no problem.” At least Poniard wasn’t asking for a letter of reference or anything. “Hopefully, I’ll be cleared for active duty next week. But I’d be happy to do some lighter stuff with you until then.”

“That would be awesome. Thanks. Are you hanging back in the shadows looking for Freihof? I’ve been doing the same thing.”

Maybe Poniard would make a better SWAT member than leadership was giving him credit for.

“Yeah. I have to admit I am. Although Steve Drackett was over here a minute ago reminding me that it’s okay to relax. That there are other people on guard here.”

And Steve and Grace both were right. Roman needed to not let Freihof steal any more of his life. His eyes flew back to Keira, who’d made her way onto the dance floor with the bride and the groom’s sisters.

Keira was a much better place to center his attention, rather than searching for an enemy who wasn’t here, or avoiding family who wanted what he didn’t.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Saul said. “But I understand. SWAT has to be diligent.”

Roman clapped the other man on the shoulder and gave him a smile. “How about if you help us be diligent tonight? Just keep an eye out.”

Saul nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, will do.”

Roman excused himself. His mother was moving in his general direction and he had to make sure she didn’t catch him. He didn’t want a scene tonight.

Roman smiled and took another sip of his beer as he moved away. He loved his mother, even though Maureen Weber Donovan tended to be a little conceited. He knew she loved him and fiercely guarded the family name. She’d remarried after Roman’s father, a member of the Colorado General Assembly, had died fifteen years ago, and had never stopped encouraging her children to continue their father’s political legacy.