Harlequin Intrigue April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 by Carol Ericson (bill gates best books TXT) 📕

For a moment it seemed like it might work.

Then the big guy in front swayed a little and yelled back, “You can’t get us all, bi—”

“People died today!” Jax cut him off as Keara took a slow step backward, closer to him.

They froze, their attention redirecting his way. “We’re searching for a bomber right now! You really want to end up in jail for threatening a police chief?”

Two of the men shook their heads, set down their bottles and stepped away from the group, holding up their hands.

Two of the others hesitated, their bottles lowering slightly.

But the big guy in front flushed an even deeper, patchy red and announced, “You’re not FBI! You’re not even armed!”

A flash of movement below Jax caught his attention. Too fast for Jax to move out of the way, the loner who’d been watching with glee grabbed hold of his leg and yanked hard.

Jax flung out his arms, trying to brace himself, hoping his head wouldn’t smack the top of the bar as he crashed downward, sliding awkwardly, painfully, off it. Broken glass sliced through his arms, and his back scraped the edge of the bar as his legs slammed into the bar stools, knocking them over.

Then he was on the ground, trying to catch his breath and focus through the pain in his head, and a bottle was crashing toward his face.

Knowing it wouldn’t be fast enough, he tried to roll away.

The guy over him suddenly stiffened, his eyes going unnaturally wide. Then he toppled over, the bottle crashing down inches from Jax’s face and luckily not shattering.

Behind him, Keara had her gun trained on the group who’d frozen again, and her other arm directed his way, wires extending from the Taser in her hand to the guy on the ground beside him, still stiff and moaning.

Then the door burst open and Ben and Anderson were there, weapons out, yelling, “FBI!”

As they rushed into the room, giving Keara an approving nod, Ben glanced down at him with a mix of concern and amusement.

“You’ve got to stop playing agent, Jax.”

SHE’D GOTTEN LUCKY.

Although no officer was immune to the danger of being caught alone and outnumbered, at least in Houston, backup tended to be relatively close. You might get caught in a dangerous situation—and it wasn’t uncommon—but you’d probably be in the thick of it with other officers. In Alaska, the danger was far less persistent. But you were way more likely to be caught alone. The distance it could take the closest officer to come to your aid could be deadly even if you held off the threat for a long time.

Keara had been reaching the end of that time when Jax had walked into the bar.

She glanced at him now, sitting across from her on a couch in the lobby of the hotel down the street from the bar. He was grimacing in a T-shirt, his bloodied sweater in a bundle next to him along with his coat, as one of the agents—a tall, lean blond guy who’d introduced himself as Anderson—wrapped his arms with gauze.

“There’s no glass left behind,” Anderson said. “I was SWAT for a while in DC, so I had to get some basic medical training, but you still might want to go back to the hospital. Most of these cuts will close up, but this one—” he pointed at the last, deepest cut he’d bandaged “—might scar unless you get it stitched.”

“I’m fine,” Jax said tightly.

“Yeah, I get it. I wouldn’t want to go back there, either,” Anderson said. “That was a rough evening, talking to all those victims. Especially the one who lost her leg, whose fiancé died in the blast. I don’t know how—”

“You should have stayed outside,” Ben cut his partner off. “You keep forgetting—you’re not an agent.” He glanced at Keara, eyes narrowing as he studied her. “Was this all drunken, overemotional idiocy or did you hear anything we might want to know for our investigation?”

She didn’t have to glance at Jax to feel his embarrassment, but the truth was, she’d needed him tonight. Law enforcement or not, his presence—and presence of mind—had definitely saved her from getting hurt. Maybe even from getting killed.

“Idiocy,” she confirmed, trying not to cringe as she subtly probed her lower back with her fingers. Between the time she’d maced the group and Jax had arrived, she’d been shoved into the wall, right where some kind of decoration hung. The bruise ached with every quick movement.

“And grief,” she added, remembering the man who’d burst into tears when Luna police arrived and cuffed the whole lot to escort them to cells. His younger sister had died in the explosion.

Her hand shook as she stopped pushing on the bruise and it wasn’t all from pain. The bruise was nasty, but she didn’t need medical care, just time to heal. It was also adrenaline, still pumping as if she hadn’t left that bar. As if she hadn’t gotten away from the crowd of men towering over her with bottles and fists and anger they were willing to redirect at the nearest available target. Especially one who’d just sprayed them all with mace.

With six years on the police force in a big city like Houston—five of them on patrol—Keara had faced plenty of dicey situations. Most of them with a partner at her back, but a few alone. Back then she’d lived with a different level of awareness at all times.

In Alaska, she’d gotten used to needing to be wary of the elements more often than the people. She should have positioned herself near the door. Should have ignored her emotional desire to avoid the grief-stricken man there and picked a spot near the exit. She still might have been overrun, but she probably could have gotten to a safe distance to pull her weapon sooner. Maybe stopped the brawl faster, without anyone getting hurt.

“So, Keara,” Ben said as Anderson finished