Over the years, a few with their powers had left the area, intending to partake in a broader mission, but it hadn’t been the majority.
Until now. Skye’s generation was different. Many chose to leave so they could use their powers to reach out in secret and help people in other communities whose females did not share their powers.
Skye and her three closest friends had often talked about moving to where trauma was an everyday occurrence, to maximize the number of lives they saved and those whose ends they eased. Ron could not actively participate, but he’d made it clear he wanted to join them and help however he could.
Eventually, they’d settled on Angeles Beach. Near L.A. and growing almost as fast, it had more than its share of violence. And by the time they’d arrived, they each had decided on what path to take to achieve their goals.
Skye had already trained in law enforcement at home and was a K-9 cop. With a caring, nonhuman partner, she could achieve what she needed to with as much secrecy as possible.
She had already assisted quite a few people to the other side and had brought others back. But not fellow cops. And not anyone like Owens.
“You okay, Skye?” Hayley reached her slender hand over and patted Skye’s arm. “If you’re too tired to eat, we’ll get our dinners to go and I’ll drive you home.”
“No way!” Skye yanked her thoughts back to where they belonged. “I’m fine,” she said. “Hey, there’s our food.”
The waitress was back with their mostly seafood entrées, and Skye joined in with the good-natured banter and sharing of bites that followed.
But in the back of her mind, she wondered about the man whose life she had snatched from certain death.
What was it about SWAT Officer Trevor Owens that now intrigued her?
Trevor felt as if he’d been run over by one of the Robotic Offensive Bomb vehicles used by the ABPD’s bomb squad.
He lay still and exhausted in his hospital bed, knowing it was only the drugs being sucked into his bloodstream via the IV needle in his arm that kept him from hurting like hell.
The room was tiny, but it was all his. There was no one to fight him for control over the TV mounted overhead, but he didn’t even have enough strength to push a button on the remote. All he could do was wonder how—and why—he’d survived.
He’d thought he was dying. Dead. Killed in the line of duty, protecting the public from a suspect who’d taken down yet another civilian victim and now a cop, too. Danver, damn it! His team leader didn’t deserve that.
Trevor had always figured that would be how he’d go. On his own time, though. Up against a guilty suspect who’d gotten away with murder before Trevor was on him. A suspect about to be stopped from doing it again, even if Trevor had to die to take him down.
But Trevor hadn’t had a chance to do things his way. He’d had to play by the book this time, and what had it gotten him?
Shot in the neck. The kind of wound that’s usually fatal. But he hadn’t died. Instead, he’d heard someone telling him to get his ass in gear and get back to the world of the living.
Then he’d opened his eyes to find that hot blond female K-9 officer staring at him. It seemed as if she was the one hollering in his head to wake up.
Rydell was her name. She was relatively new to the force—not that his guys fraternized much with the rest of the department. He’d met her, seen her around, definitely noticed her. But had he ever talked to her?
Not that he remembered. But—
The phone rang. It was on a little table right beside him, and it took all his concentration to swivel and pick up the receiver. “Yeah?”
“Owens, that you?” It was Greg Blanding, a fellow SWAT officer and Trevor’s closest bud on the force.
“What do you want? You were here only a few minutes ago.”
“Try a few hours ago. And I’m just about to go into the captain’s debriefing about your big show yesterday.”
“Say hi to them all for me.”
“Yeah. Will do.” Blanding sounded as if he was getting misty-eyed. Hell.
“Any word on Marinaro?” Trevor asked gruffly.
“No, but I’ll let you know if I hear of anything at the meeting.”
“Good.” He paused. “We gotta get that SOB.”
“Yeah.” Blanding’s tone was icy now. “Gotta run. I’ll call again later. You okay?”
“Sure, if feeling like my neck’s been run over by an R.O.B. vehicle is okay.”
Blanding laughed. “Got it. Talk to you soon.”
“Hey, do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“That K-9 officer, Rydell? If she’s at the meeting, tell her I need to talk to her. Right away.”
“Why?”
Damned if he knew. But it felt urgent. Like his life depended on it.
He had to give Blanding some explanation. “She must be my lucky charm. I opened my eyes after I was shot, and what did I see? Her face.”
“Not a bad face, either,” Blanding said, sounding as if he was getting all worked up just thinking about Rydell.
“Go screw yourself, Blanding. And her, too.” Now, why the hell had he said that? It only made him wild to think his friend might even consider getting it on with that gorgeous, sexy woman whom he now had one hell of an urge to talk to.
“I’ll leave that to you, sir,” Blanding said with a laugh as he hung up.
Blanding’s remark peeved Trevor even more, but it gave him a sudden surge of strength, which made it possible for him to pick up the remote and push the button to turn on the TV news.
“Easy,” Skye whispered to Bella, whose head kept turning as more people entered the roll call room. Captain Boyd Franks had called a late-afternoon debriefing after yesterday’s warehouse situation. Everyone who’d been on duty yesterday was to attend, except for those patrolling beats right now.
Skye, still tired but functioning, sat uncomfortably on a chair at the end of a row. She had chosen a place in the middle of the room, which was now filled with the pulsing hum of dozens of conversations.
Ron slipped in beside her and lifted his hand in greeting to a couple of the guys.
It looked like her pal was fitting in well—maybe even better than she was even though she’d been in Angeles Beach for about eight months. Skye hadn’t spent a lot of time getting to know her fellow cops. Getting too chummy with them might make it harder to do what she had to, when she had to do it.
Bella whined, and Ron gave her a rough pat. “How you doin’, girl?”
Skye smiled. “Her or me?”
“Both.”
As the rush of people into the room slowed, Captain Franks took his place at the wooden dais at the front. Skye guessed he was nearing retirement age, with silver hair adorning a long face whose dourness and deep wrinkles suggested he’d experienced plenty of bad stuff in his time with the department. He wore a lot of stripes along the arm of his blue uniform, each signifying five years of service.
“Listen up,” he bellowed to get everyone’s attention. The buzzing stopped abruptly. “Thanks. We’re here to go over the events at that auto parts warehouse yesterday.”
“How’s Owens?” shouted someone near the front of the room.
Skye’s