Tymber Dalton - It’s a Sweet Life

As long as Jake and Allan didn’t screw things up, they should have some of Bianco’s men trapped in the storage complex, which only had one entrance. The SWAT team should have men positioned at the perimeter and on rooftops inside the complex to provide backup.

All he had to do was get Libbie inside the storage unit, pull the door down, and get her deep inside behind boxes until the all-clear was sounded.

That was the one variable he hadn’t counted on when he had created the plan weeks ago when they returned to Miami. They couldn’t very well bring in every single one of Bianco’s men piecemeal with no cause. It wasn’t against the law to safely drive a vehicle on the streets of Miami.

But more than one of them following him into a private facility would show cause. Cause that the Feds could leverage against the assholes to make them flip.

When it was just him and Allan, he felt confident the plan was a slam dunk.

All he had to do now was make sure Libbie stayed safe.

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Libbie fought the nausea rising in her gut as Ben calmly told her what was going to happen. She suspected he was leaving out details out of fear she’d be scared, but she didn’t want to get sick and ruin the plan.

She pulled the jacket on over the bulletproof vest and buckled her seat belt. “This sounds dangerous.”

“It’s okay, baby. We never thought we’d get a chance like this.

It’ll be fine. There will be SWAT all over the place.”

Florio beat on his steering wheel when the ones following the first Donohue lost him. “You fucktards! How the fuck did you lose him?”

He braked hard and hit the horn when a car cut him off, then swerved around the car to pick up the Toyota again. “Fucking get your asses up here, now.” He told them where they were. “Catch up with us.”

Five of them, including himself, were now following the Toyota.

When the Donohue driving slowed down to the speed limit upon hitting the Turnpike and heading north, Florio wasn’t sure if it was sleep deprivation or joy that something had finally gone right that made him smile.

“He thinks he’s clear. Stay close and switch positions often. Don’t lose him.”

One more of his guys had caught up with them before they turned off at West Palm and headed west.

“We’re getting close, I think,” Florio said. “Stay sharp.”

Ben made sure not to lose his pursuers as he made the turn into the storage unit complex. Only once he saw two of the cars pull in behind him did he floor it, whipping the wheel to the left as he braked 260 Tymber Dalton

hard and took the corner at the end of the main aisle. He jammed the accelerator to the floor, braking at the last possible second and sliding in behind Allan’s car with a squeal of tires and a jolt as the Toyota’s front bumper made contact with the rear of Allan’s car.

The airbags deployed, startling Ben. “Fuck! Libbie, get out, now!”

He clawed at the airbag deflating in front of him and unbuckled his seat belt.

Behind them, he heard tires screaming on the concrete and the sound of one of them making impact with a building somewhere.

She struggled with her belt when Allan yanked her door open and grabbed her arm. Ben reached over and got her seat belt unbuckled.

Allan swore as Ben overshot and hit his back bumper. Despite Jake warning him not to, he ducked through the door and yanked the passenger side door open. Libbie was still belted in, but Ben got her unbuckled as he heard the sound of approaching vehicles.

As he pulled her from the car, he handed her over to Jake, who bodily dragged her under the door and into the unit when she tried to resist.

“Go!” Allan screamed at her. He started to see if Ben needed help when the driver’s door opened. He turned back to the overhead door to duck under, into safety, when he realized the impact had pushed the front bumper of his car into the other side of the door.

No way it would go down.

Four cars had made their way into the aisle and were racing toward them. One slid to a stop sideways, catching the rear of Libbie’s car with the passenger door. The driver pointed his gun at Allan and fired.

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Libbie screamed, thrashing, still disoriented from the impact as the man dragged her under the door and into the unit.

“Lady, stop it! I’m a friend of Ben’s!”

She let him lead her through a narrow passageway of boxes in the unit when she turned at the sound of a crash, followed immediately by the sound of a shot.

She pulled her hand free, screaming for her men and racing back to the doorway even as the man tried to drag her away from the door.

Ben had made it around the driver’s door when the car swung around and into the back of Libbie’s.

We’re going to owe her a new car. The thought flitted through his brain in the space of time it took him to draw his weapon and come up, ready to fire. When he saw the driver point his weapon at Allan, he fired first, taking the guy’s head off and leaving a spray of blood and brain matter on the inside of the driver’s window.

He met Allan’s gaze and started to yell at him to take cover, when another car veered past, taking out the driver’s door and throwing him ten feet through the air, where he landed on his back by Allan’s front tire.

His gun flew from his hand as the wind was knocked out of him.

“Yeah!” Florio screamed as he saw the man go flying. He slammed the car into park and jumped out, ready to finish the fucker off when the guy’s twin launched himself at him over the hood of the wrecked Toyota, knocking him to the ground.

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Allan lost his gun when he tackled the man. He nearly had him when the fucker got a lucky punch in and broke free, aiming his gun at Ben. He’d started to kick at him when he heard Libbie scream from behind him.

“No!”

Instinctively, as the gunman turned toward Libbie, Allan dove for her, wrapping his arms around her and shielding her body with his.

He didn’t know if the impact he felt in the middle of his spine was from them hitting the pavement, or from the shot that he heard ring out. Either way it felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his ribs in an attempt to pound the air from his lungs.

Libbie felt the air crushed from her as she hit the ground underneath Allan. She was vaguely aware of people running up, cops in SWAT gear. One of them pulled her out from under Allan, but the world moved in slow motion. She turned back toward Allan as they forcibly dragged her away. She saw he wasn’t moving.

And that the back of his shirt looked like it had been blown open.

She fought, screaming, as she lost sight of him as two men bent over him. Ben was slowly sitting up with the assistance of someone else and she sobbed in relief at that, but still clawed at the two men now dragging her away to get free.

She had to get back to Allan.

Her ears still rang from the sounds of the blasts and she could barely hear what anyone was saying.

“…shot…”

“…officer down…”

“…ambulance…”

That was when her stomach lost the battle she’d fought against morning sickness all morning. Everything she’d eaten in their room a little after dawn came roaring back up as her world went black.

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“Take it easy, ma’am. You’re okay.”

Libbie tried to sit up, but realized she’d been strapped down and from the looks of it was in the back of an ambulance. The weight pressing against her chest from the bulletproof vest she wore didn’t help. She immediately began struggling with the EMT, thrashing and screaming at him to let her up. He tried to hold her down when she slipped an arm free and clawed at him.

“I need some damn help back here!” the man yelled. “She’s going crazy!”

The rear doors flew open. Libbie made out two dark figures backlit by the bright afternoon sun. As they scrambled inside, she sobbed with relief when two Donohue brothers pushed in, one on either side of the stretcher, to calm her. One was shirtless, the other had a streak of dried blood down his left temple.

She grabbed their hands and quit fighting. Her screams turned to relieved sobs as she squeezed their hands as hard as she could to reassure herself there were two and not just one of them in some crazy double-vision illusion.

“You’re okay,” Ben said, the dried blood apparently not indicating a serious wound. “Calm down.”

“You got shot,” she said to Allan, who winced as he moved as if he was in a lot of pain.

“Bulletproof vest.” He leaned in and kissed her, groaning as he did. “Fucker would have shot you if I hadn’t. What the hell were you thinking, baby?”

“Are you all right? Are both of you all right?”

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“Yeah, we’re okay,” Ben said, “but Jake is pretty damn upset.”

“Jake?”

Allan nodded. “Poor guy’s sitting on the ground with an icepack on his balls. Did you have to kick him in the nuts? He was trying to help keep you safe.”

She felt her face heat. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Someone leaned into the back of the ambulance. “Detective Donohue? The major needs to speak with you.”

“Be right there.” He kissed her before he unhooked the gurney straps. “You. Stay. Here. And quit fighting and kicking everyone.