Crossfire. B.J. Daniels

incident was handled differently. Facts were gathered as quickly as possible, then a rational decision was made based on what approach would cost the least number of lives.

      There was always a risk. Flint had been in explosive domestic situations that turned violent. He’d confronted armed subjects holed up in alleys, barricaded suicidal subjects and hostage situations involving drunks, crazies, suicidal maniacs with sawed-off shotguns and crying little kids being held by doped-up, drugged-out parents.

      Every situation had the potential to blow up in your face at any moment. This one wouldn’t have been any different from all the others—if it hadn’t been for Anna being here.

      Flint looked up, as if sensing her presence. Anna entered the room and came toward them. Five years hadn’t dulled his awareness of her any more than it had his feelings.

      Their eyes met for a moment, then Anna pulled away. Flint swore under his breath and Max looked up. “Anna, good. I want you in on all of this so we know what we’re up against if you have to go in.”

      Unlike the other SWAT team members now securing the perimeter of city hall, she was dressed in fire department paramedic gear except for the Kevlar vest over her short-sleeved shirt. She carried a jump kit with the basic paramedic supplies and stood, waiting for orders. The hostage takers would think she was just another paramedic. Flint swore under his breath as he realized how vulnerable she would be. This was exactly what he’d feared five years ago.

      Max listened to dispatch on his headset, nodding. A frown furrowed his brows increasing Flint’s concern.

      “Sinke isn’t the only civilian in the building,” Max said when he got off. “The mayor’s out of town, but one of the councilmen home sick with the flu that’s going around said there was an early morning meeting to discuss an employee problem. The district attorney was in attendance, as well as the city attorney and three council persons.”