and leaned farther back on the bench seat next to Joe. “No matter what city we’re in, the women throw themselves at you.”
Joe could’ve pointed out that speeding their way to a hostage negotiation scene was probably not the time to discuss the press version of his love life. But he knew this sort of distraction helped keep the team loose and relaxed.
There would be plenty of time for tension and focus when they landed and assessed the scene.
Joe shrugged. “What can I say? I’m #blessed, man.” He made the hashtag symbol with his hands, tapping his fingers together.
Everyone groaned.
“Don’t make me shoot you. I’d catch flack for shooting an unarmed man.” Derek didn’t open his eyes as he said it.
Joe was the only unarmed person in the helicopter. Although he was trained in the use of a number of weapons, he almost always went into situations unarmed.
He was Omega Sector’s top hostage negotiator. And he was damn good at his job.
Joseph Gregory Terrance Matarazzo III didn’t need a career. At least, didn’t need one for a salary. He’d been born with money, had known its benefits his entire life. Had used those benefits for a carefree, fun-loving existence until about six years ago when he’d turned twenty-five and decided maybe he’d like to do something with his time besides sit around and look good.
The laid-back, playboy, slacker and media darling had decided to become a better man.
Joe had skills. Not the same skills Derek had in his ability to formulate the best tactical advantage in any given hostile situation. Or the ones Lillian had with the many ways she could kill someone not only through the use of weapons, but just her scary, tiny, bare hands. Or Hatton with whatever he did, which was pretty much overthink everything and come up with scenarios and means of handling crises.
Joe’s skills rested with people. He had a charming way with others. He knew it. Everybody knew it. Joe excelled at talking to people, listening to them, making them feel comfortable. He was likable, a cool kid. The type of person people wanted to be around.
It wasn’t an act. Joe honestly cared about people, even the hostage-takers he was sent to talk to. So he tried his damnedest to connect with the people in these situations, to listen to them and see what he could do so everyone could leave the situation alive. If Joe did his job right, nobody had to get hurt.
If he didn’t do his job right, the Dereks and Lillians with the guns came in with a different solution.
Most of the time Joe successfully completed his mission and nobody was harmed. Sometimes there was no other way and the bad guys got wounded or worse. Joe was trained—and wasn’t hesitant—to make the hard call when he knew he wasn’t going to be able to neutralize the situation and SWAT needed to step in and take the tangos out. That situation wasn’t Joe’s preference, but he didn’t lose sleep when it happened.
Every once in a while something went terribly wrong and innocent people got hurt. Joe touched a burn scar at the base of his neck, one that continued over his shoulder and partway down his back. Innocent people had been hurt that day a year ago. Innocent people had died.
Joe planned to use his skills today to make sure another situation like that didn’t happen again.
Derek and Jon began arguing over the name of the woman the press had spotted Joe with a few days before Natasha during an Omega case in Austin, Texas.
“Her name was Kerri. I’m telling you.” Jon’s voice came crisply through the headphones. “Kerri with an i. I remember it clear as day.”
“No,” Derek said. “That was the one before. Austin was Kelli. But also with an i.”
Joe wondered what Derek’s brilliant wife, Molly, the crime lab director at Omega, and Jon’s fiancée, Sherry Mitchell, a hugely talented forensic artist, would have to say about their men’s topic of conversation.
No doubt they would find it as ridiculous as Joe did.
Joe remembered both Kerri and Kelli. He’d had dinner with one, a drink at a bar with the other. Nothing more. Just like the night at the hotel with Natasha when Joe had walked her, admittedly arm in arm, to her room. And left her there.
Because, hell, nobody could be as much of a Casanova as the press wanted to label him. God knew he wasn’t a monk, but sometimes the women he was with were just pleasant company—clothes on—and nothing more.
But Joe hated to deny his colleagues their fun.
“Would you like me to settle this, boys?” he asked, sighing.
“For the love of all that is holy, please yes, Matarazzo, settle this.” Lillian’s higher voice cut through the baritone of the three men.
“You’re both wrong. It was Kerri and Kelli. Both of them in Austin. Together.” Joe smiled as he told the lie.
If they wanted Casanova he would give it to them. He knew he probably shouldn’t since it reinforced what his colleagues already thought to be the truth about him: that he was less part of the Omega team and more like a novelty. But Joe was great at figuring out what people needed and becoming that, at least for a little while. A distraction en route to a troublesome situation? No problem.
Hatton and Derek both groaned, neither knowing whether to believe him.
“I’m going to check some of the gossip sites when I get back to HQ,” Hatton threatened.
“You do that,” Joe responded. “Because you know everything they publish can be taken as gospel.”
Silence fell as they flew the last few miles and Lillian landed the helicopter on the roof helipad of a building that had been cleared two blocks from First National Bank of South Denver. Temporary home of two bad guys and a dozen or so hostages.
Lillian landed and switched off the rotors. “Time to go to work, boys.”
Joe slid the door open and he and Derek both ducked their heads and briskly made their way down the stairs, out of the building and over to the bank. Jon quickly joined them as they found the officer in charge. Lillian would be there after she took care of the helicopter. Jokes and talk about Joe’s exploits ceased. Omega now had a job to do.
The older man shook everyone’s hand. “I’m Sheriff Richardson. We appreciate you coming out so quickly.”
“We need the most up-to-date intel you have,” Derek told the sheriff. Joe was glad the locals had called Omega and egos hadn’t come into play. Situations like this tended to be delicate enough without law enforcement working against each other.
Richardson nodded. “We have two men in their midtwenties holding, as best as we can tell, sixteen people hostage inside the bank. Two of those hostages are children. They’ve been inside for two hours and we haven’t been able to speak with them, despite trying multiple times.”
Richardson turned from Derek to Joe. “You’re the negotiator, right? The city has a good one of our own, but she had a baby a couple of days ago. She was still going to come in but I put a stop to that immediately.”
Joe nodded. “That was the right decision. I won’t
