Page 6 of Swerve (Boosted Hearts 1)

He banged on the window again, but I ignored him. Finally, after growling, “Do not move from this car,” he walked away and, I noted happily, shoved the earpiece in as he did.

My eyes slid over his back. The man was exquisite when he was walking away. He was also knee-meltingly hot from the front. In fact, he didn’t have a bad side. They were all good. The jeans he had on cupped his ass as he strode purposely across the street, showing off his solid thighs and long legs. His long-sleeved T-shirt was dark green and snug across his broad shoulders, looser around his middle, and those bulging biceps stretched the fabric to its limit, showing off every ripped inch.

He was beautiful.

There was no other word for him.

I forced myself to stop eye-fucking him and turned on the small mic clutched in my hand. Though I should have kept my mouth shut, I offered up a parting shot. “I thank you for your cooperation.”

His head swiveled on his thick neck and he fired a death glare at me.

I bit back a nervous giggle and watched him bound over a fence like the superhero I’d always believed him to be, and disappear into someone’s backyard.

I had no idea how long this kind of thing took. Hunter had given me instructions to observe and report only. If it looked like someone else was going into that house, I needed to tell Neco, make sure I saw him get out, or wait until he communicated that he was okay. Otherwise, I was to call it in quickly. I could do that. I could do a hell of a lot more than that, actually.

I sat there for what felt like forever. Okay, it was more like fifteen minutes, but knowing he was in there alone . . . I didn’t like it. Hunter hadn’t told me much about the perp, other than he was a mean son of a bitch. What if he was armed? Or if he hadn’t been alone in that house, like Neco’s informant had told him. A sick feeling started to grow in my belly.

I glanced around the interior of the car, trying to think what Van or Jude or Zeke would do? That’s when I spotted a pair of cuffs in the center compartment. Did Neco have cuffs with him? I hadn’t seen any. His jeans were pretty damn tight. I would have seen cuffs if he had them, right?

I grabbed them and gripped them tight in my hand. What if he was in trouble? What if cuffs were the thing that tipped the odds in his favor and he didn’t have any? I sat there for another five minutes. I hated this, this not knowing. “Neco, you good?” I said into mic. “Do you need back up?”

Nothing.

“Neco? Answer me dammit.”

I got a big fat nada in return.

Shit.

I opened the glove compartment where I’d put my Taser, just in case. I knew how to use it, had learned as part of my weapons training. I also had my gun, but I’d prefer to not shoot anyone if at all possible.

Grabbing the cuffs, I shoved them in my pocket then, opening the door, headed across the street, Taser clutched in my hand so tight my fingers were getting a cramp.

Let’s do this.

CHAPTER THREE

Ruby

There was no way I could bound over that fence like Neco had, so I went to the house next door and kind of crashed thought their hedge. It was sparse anyway. I doubted they’d notice the small woman-sized hole I’d made. Probably. The lights were on inside, shades down, so I ran tip-toed across the yard and climbed over the much smaller fence, and across to the house Neco had gone into. I edged around the side, trying to decide which was the best way to go in, front, back, or through a window, when I heard a grunt followed by a whole lot of cursing.

Fear tried to creep in, but I swallowed it down. Neco needed my help, and if I let my fear take over, I’d be no good to him. I moved around to the front door and tested the handle. Unlocked, thank goodness. Shoving it open, I walked into the living room, Taser in hand and ready for anything.

Neco was on the other side of the room, on the floor, his back to me. The other guy had hold of his shirt.

Then Neco shoved him to the side and stood, taking the skip with him by the front of his jacket and, slapping the guy’s meaty hands away like they were nothing, slammed him against the wall by his throat. “Give it up. I’m taking you in, you sick fuck,” he growled in the other guy’s face.

The sick fuck tried one last time to fight Neco off, but Nec flipped him around like a rag doll, shoving him face first into the wall, dragged a set of cuffs from his front pocket, and snapped them on.

Well, damn.

Then he turned . . . to me.

I momentarily contemplated diving behind the curtains, but it was too late.

Neco stilled, eyes burning into me. I’d learned over the years that Neco had several different levels of pissed off. This, the expression he was aiming at me, combined with the scary statue routine, was what I’m aptly dubbed The Volcano. I’d only been the recipient of The Volcano once before, but once was more than enough, hence my giving it a name.

This wasn’t good.