Too Sexy for his Stetson Read Online Free Page B

you’ve arrived? Look for warning signs that might indicate trouble. Watch for possible problems. Are the subjects under the influence of alcohol or on drugs? Is there any sign of mental illness? Are your subjects in an attack posture? Are they carrying a weapon? Then work around the adrenaline and handle the situation. You don’t want to shoot an innocent subject, but you sure as hell don’t want you or your partner injured. Or worse.”
    One of the guys dimmed the lights.
    Deputies Greenwald and Gillespie took their positions, assuming the roles of the suspected troublemakers.
    Every muscle in Brandy’s body tensed. Damn, the simulation pumped almost as much adrenaline through her system as the real thing. She rested her right hand near her hip against her holster and gripped the Taser with her other hand, keeping it pointed at the floor. She and Christiansen approached the two agitated men.
    “Sheriff’s department,” she called out. “Someone phoned in a complaint. May we come in?”
    The man who opened the imaginary door backed away, his expression digressing to a thousand yard stare. The two men were unarmed. As soon as she and Christiansen entered, a huge black silhouette of a third man popped out from nowhere. Blade, AKA Badass Wielding a Gun.
    Within two seconds, Blade had fired, and Christiansen had bought the bullet while Brandy hesitated before whipping out her pistol, which allowed Blade to rush her and disable her in a hammerlock while she watched her partner bleed out soap pellets.
    “Round two goes to the bad guys,” Blade said.
    Shit. Brandy puffed out a breath and avoided eye contact with her FTO.
    “Come on, Brandy, we’ll get the next one.” Christiansen patted her shoulder and holstered his pistol.
    “Okay, here’s the setup,” Blade said. “Wilcox, Christiansen, you’re answering an attempted burglary in progress. The minute you jump out of the squad car, start your assessment.”
    “Got it.” The temperature in the gym crept toward roasting. Brandy ignored the fact that her T–shirt stuck to her back like swamp slime.
    “You’re at a small ma and pa grocery store near the lake. Assess.” Blade clipped off the particulars. “How many suspects? How old are they? Are they agitated? Professional thugs? Or punks with fake weapons? Are your subjects in fight or flight mode?”
    She nodded.
    “Work the adrenaline, people. Make sure you and your partner walk out of there alive this time.
    The lights dimmed.
    Camera. Action.
    For the third time, Brandy’s right hand hovered over her holster, the left clutched the Taser, and she was determined to work with the epinephrine galloping through her veins. No more screw ups.
    She and Christiansen split up. He took the rear exit while Brandy crept in the front door. A dark silhouette stood by the cash register. He jerked his head, spotted her, and shouted, “Cops! Let’s get the hell out of here.”
    He obviously had an accomplice. And he wore a bandana, the symbol they used in training to indicate a person was a minor. He appeared to be weaponless. He swiveled. Was he charging her? No, he was headed for the exit. Brandy tasered him.
    Simultaneously, someone rushed in from the back. Should have been her partner. It wasn’t. The accomplice, as in Beringer, sprinted toward her and body–tackled her, knocking her to the floor. She hung onto her Glock like it was riveted to her hand. Little good it did. He pinned her wrist to the floor with one hand and reached for a weapon in his waistband with the other.
    She kneed him. He groaned. When his grip loosened, she rolled away and aimed her pistol at his chest. “One wrong move and your dead.” She didn’t have to fire.
    ***
    Blade kept his grimace and his smile to himself.
    Damn good idea, the protective under–gear they wore during training sessions. She’d gotten in a good one with that knee. “Okay, that was better.” He glanced at his watch. “Take five, everyone, then we’ll hit the