Suzanne Brockmann - Forever Blue

“I ain’t going nowhere,” Andy proclaimed. “I got rights! I was protecting my property!”

“Maybe I’ll just finish you off first!” Leroy’s fleshy face was florid with anger as he shouted at Merle.

Lucy keyed the thumb switch on her radio. “Dispatch, this is Officer Tait. I need backup, corner of Willow and—”

Leroy Hurley pushed her aside with the sweep of one beefy arm, and Lucy went down, hard, on her rear in the street, dropping the radio and her ticket pad in the mud. Leroy moved up the walkway to Andy’s house with a speed surprising for such a large man, and as Lucy scrambled to her feet, he grabbed Andy’s shotgun and pointed it at Merle.

Merle ducked for cover behind Lucy, and Leroy swung the gun toward her.

“Leroy, put that down,” Lucy ordered, pushing her rain-soaked hair back from her face with her left hand as she unsnapped the safety buttons that held her sidearm in her belt holster with her right hand.

“Freeze! Keep your hands where I can see ’em,” Leroy ordered her.

Lucy lifted her hands. Shoot. How could this have gotten so utterly out of control? And where the hell was that backup?

Leroy was edging toward them; Merle was cowering behind her, using her as a shield; and for once Andy Hayes was silent.

“Step away from Merle,” Leroy growled at her.

“Leroy, put the gun down before this goes too far,” Lucy said again, trying to sound calm, to not let the desperation she was feeling show in her voice.

“If you don’t step away from him,” Leroy vowed, his eyes wild, “I’ll just blast a hole right through you.”

Dear God, he was serious. He raised the shotgun higher, closing one eye as he took aim directly at Lucy’s chest. Her life flashed briefly and oh, so meaninglessly through her eyes as she stared into the barrel of that gun. She could very well die at this man’s hands. Right here in the rain. And what would she have to show for her life? A six-month-old police badge. A liberal-arts degree from the state university. A computer business she no longer had any interest in. An empty house at the edge of town. No family, only a few friends…

“Don’t do this, Leroy,” Lucy said, inching her hand back down toward her own gun. She didn’t want to die. She hadn’t even begun to live. Dammit, if Leroy Hurley was going to shoot her, she was going to die trying for her gun.

“Freeze!” Leroy told her. “I said to freeze!”

“Leroy, I’m holding an Uzi nine-millimeter submachine gun,” a soft voice drawled from over Lucy’s shoulder. “It looks small and unassuming, but if I move my trigger finger a fraction of an inch, with a firing rate of sixteen bullets per second, I can cut even a man as big as you in two.”

It was Blue McCoy. Lucy would have recognized his velvet Southern drawl anywhere.

“You have exactly two seconds to drop that shotgun,” Blue continued, “or I start firing.”

Leroy dropped the gun.

Lucy sprang forward before the barrel had finished clattering on the cement walkway and scooped up the gun. She cradled it in her arms as she turned to look at Blue.

His blond hair was drenched and plastered to his head. His clothes were as soaked as her own, and they clung to his body, outlining and emphasizing his muscular build. He squinted slightly through the downpour, but otherwise stood there holding a very deadly looking little submachine gun as if the sky were clear and the sun were shining.

He was still watching Leroy, but his brilliant blue eyes flickered briefly in Lucy’s direction. “You okay?”

She nodded, unable to find her voice.

There was a crowd of people down the block, she realized suddenly. No doubt they had all been drawn out into the wet by the sound of Andy’s first gunshot. Great. She looked like a fool, unable to handle a few troublemakers, requiring a Navy SEAL to come to her rescue. Terrific.

“Leroy, Andy, Merle,” Lucy said. “You’re all gonna take a ride to the station.”

“Aw, I didn’t do a damned thing,” Merle complained as the long-awaited backup arrived, along with the police van for transporting the three men. “You got nothing on me.”

“Carrying a concealed weapon ought to do the trick,” Lucy said, deftly taking his hunting knife from him and handing it and the shotgun to Frank Redfield, one of the police officers who had finally made the scene.

“Talk about carrying a concealed weapon,” Merle snorted, gesturing with his head toward Blue McCoy as Frank led him toward the van. “What are you going to charge him with?”

Lucy pushed her wet hair back from her face again, stopping to pick up her sodden ticket pad and the fallen walkie-talkie from the mud before she approached Blue.

“Merle is right, you know, Lieutenant McCoy,” she said to him, hoping he would mistake the shakiness in her voice as a reaction to the excitement rather than as a result of his proximity. “I’m not sure I can let you walk around town with one of those things.”

He handed the gun to her, butt first. “You let Tommy Parker walk around town with it,” he said.

Tommy Parker? Tommy Parker was nine years old…. Lucy looked down at the gun she was holding. It was lightweight and… “My God,” she said. “It’s plastic. It’s a toy.” She looked back up into Blue’s eyes. “You were bluffing.”

“Of course I was bluffing,” he said. “I wouldn’t be caught dead with an Uzi. If I wanted an assault weapon, I’d only use a Heckler and Koch MP5-K.”

Lucy stared at him and he gazed back at her. And then he smiled. His teeth were white and even and contrasted nicely with his tanned face.

“I’m kidding,” he explained gently. “If I had to, I’d use an Uzi. It’s not my weapon of choice, though.”

Great, he must think she was some kind of imbecile, the way she was staring at him. Lucy closed her eyes briefly, but when she opened them he was still watching her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I really owe you one. You saved my neck back there, and…well, thanks.”

He nodded, gracefully acknowledging her clumsy thanks. “You’re welcome,” he said. “But haven’t we already had this conversation? I’m getting a real sense of déjà vu here.” His smile flashed again—pure sunshine in the pouring rain. “It seems every time I’m in Hatboro Creek, I end up saving little Lucy Tait’s…neck.”

Lucy was shocked. “You remember me?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she was embarrassed. Of course he remembered her. Standing here soaking wet, resembling a drowned rat, she no doubt looked not too different from the skinny fifteen-year-old girl Blue had saved from a serious thrashing out on the far side of the town baseball field all those years ago.

“I’m a little surprised to see you,” Blue drawled. “I’d have thought you would’ve packed up and left South Carolina years ago, Yankee.”

Yankee. It had been her nickname all through high school. Lucy Tait, the Yankee girl. Moved to town with her widowed mom from someplace way up north. She was still referred to all the time as “Yankee girl.” It had been twelve years. Twelve years. Her mother was no longer alive. And Lucy wasn’t a girl anymore. But some things never changed.

“No,” Lucy said evenly. “I’m still here in Hatboro Creek.”

“I can see that.”

Blue gazed at Lucy, taking in her long, brown—wet—hair, tied back in a utilitarian ponytail; her unforgettable dark brown eyes; the lovely, almost delicate shape of her face; and her tall, slender body. Little Lucy Tait wasn’t so little anymore. The rain had softened the stiff fabric of her police uniform, molding it against her female curves. Yes, Lucy Tait had definitely grown up. Blue felt an unmistakable surge of physical attraction and he had to smile. At age eighteen, he never would have believed that the sight of scrawny little Lucy Tait standing in the rain could possibly turn him on.