Page 11 of Hard Rain

The front doors of the Lake County Sheriff’s Office slammed open against the rain, and Axel marched Bobby Montane inside, still cuffed and soaking wet.

Thick mud clung to Bobby’s boots while the guy twisted once like he thought about making a break for it before taking another look at him and thinking better of it.

Fucker.

“Move,” Axel growled, steering the guy forward with a hand clamped around his arm.

Warm air rolled over them the second they stepped inside, heating his cold face.

Phones rang somewhere deeper in the building while a dispatcher argued with somebody over the radio near the front desk. Deputies drifted through the cramped office.

Nobody looked surprised when they brought in Bobby.

“For Pete’s sake,” Dana muttered from behind the front desk. “What’d you boys do, drag him through the mud?”

“He was like this when we found him,” Whip replied easily, already moving toward the counter with paperwork in hand.

“Found him hiding in Mike’s dirty laundry pile,” Axel added.

Bobby twisted in his hold. “This is bullshit. It ain’t dirty.”

Axel tightened his grip hard enough to make the man stumble. “You still stink.”

“Screw you!”

“Keep talking,” Axel warned.

“Don’t mind him,” Whip murmured to Dana. “Bobby stomped on his foot.”

Dana snickered and leaned sideways to look around Whip. “Axel, did you get your foot stomped again?”

Whip’s mouth twitched.

Axel knew exactly where this was headed.

He shot them both a glare. “Zip it.”

Too late.

Whip was already chuckling.

The sound settled into Axel’s chest before he could ignore it.

Damn near impossible to stay irritated when Whip found something funny.

Deputy Stacy looked up from one of the computer monitors in the back corner. “You laughin’ during a takedown again, Tauber?”

“I can’t help it,” Whip answered.

“Assholes,” Axel muttered.

Bobby looked between them like he couldn’t decide if they were law enforcement or a traveling circus.

Axel marched him farther into the office toward holding while Whip stayed near the counter handling the transfer paperwork with quick, efficient movements.

Whip never stopped moving. He’d spent years watching him work and still couldn’t decide if the man moved more like a marshal or somebody already three steps ahead of the room.

One second talking to dispatch.