else because of me.” The manager rubbed his hands down his pant legs. “But I can’t give them what they want. I don’t have what they need.”
Joe’s smile suggested a calm he didn’t really feel. “We’ll work it out.”
Joe finally felt like he could breathe again when Bobby had released Laura and she had sat back down against the wall. She didn’t seem to be hurt in any way or even too scared.
As a matter of fact her hazel eyes were all but spitting daggers at Joe. She looked like she might grab Bobby’s gun and shoot Joe herself.
Joe winced. Guess she hadn’t forgiven him for what he’d said to her six years ago.
He didn’t blame her. And he had to admit, as much as he wanted Laura safely out of harm’s way, his heart had actually leaped in his chest—seriously, he’d felt the adrenaline rush through him—when he realized those children belonged to another woman. Not Laura.
It was time to get this situation resolved so he could move on to more important things. Like talking Laura into dinner with him.
He had a feeling that might take more negotiation skills than even he possessed.
Joe Matarazzo working in law enforcement. Who would’ve ever figured that would happen? Certainly not Laura.
But she had to admit, he had quite deftly handled the situation in the bank with Ricky and Bobby. They had come there to steal the last remaining copy of their father’s will.
Evidently dear old dad had realized what jerks his sons had become and had decided to leave his “fortune” as Ricky and Bobby called it, a sum of just over twelve thousand dollars, to the local 4-H club.
Two grown men had broken into a bank, held sixteen people—including children—hostage, and had threatened to kill them all to get a will. A will that ultimately would only get them twelve thousand dollars if they were successful.
The perfect storm of idiocy.
The bank manger hadn’t had the other key. Every safe-deposit box needed two keys and the manager only had one. That’s when the problem had escalated. Ricky and Bobby thought they could just come in, show some ID and have the box opened. But not without the second key.
Demanding the manager open it by pointing a gun at his head hadn’t changed the situation. He still couldn’t open it with only his one key.
Somehow Bobby and Ricky just hadn’t understood that. They got loud. Someone called the cops and next thing they knew they had a hostage situation on their hands.
Laura had no idea what would’ve happened if Joe hadn’t shown up and defused the situation.
He’d sat down with the two men and the bank manager. The manager swore he would open the safe-deposit box if he could, but that the bank had put security measures in place long ago that required two keys. It’s what kept managers from being able to walk in at any time and take anything they wanted from the boxes.
Finally Joe was able to make Ricky and Bobby understand that. He’d then helped them figure out where their dead father’s key might be. Explained they needed to surrender so they could come back to the bank another time.
That time was going to be after years in prison, and by then the 4-H club was going to have some pretty nice 4-Hing equipment, or whatever a 4-H club used money for, but Joe had left that part out.
Both men had exited with Joe and had been immediately taken into custody. Everyone inside could hear Ricky and Bobby screaming at Joe, claiming he’d lied about being arrested. Joe hadn’t lied, he just hadn’t announced all the particulars of the truth. As a lawyer, Laura could appreciate the difference.
Cops and medical workers then rushed into the bank to see who needed help. As they tended to people, Laura watched with a sort of amazed detachment as one of the large air-conditioning grates on a wall about ten feet off the ground moved and a small woman, in full combat gear and rifle, eased her way out, hung as far as her arms would allow her, then dropped to the ground.
She’d been there, probably since not long after Joe arrived, silently ready to move in if things had gotten desperate.
But they hadn’t, thanks to Joe.
The woman had just made a quiet sweep of the area with her eyes then walked out the front door. Most of the people inside didn’t even notice her.
A uniformed police officer entered and made an announcement. “People, I’m Sheriff Richardson. Right now we’re just trying to ascertain who is injured. If you have any wounds at all, or feel like you’re having any chest pains or anything like that, please let us know so we can get a medic to attend to you immediately.”
Laura’s chest hurt a little bit, but she was pretty sure that was indigestion caused from seeing Joe again.
“Otherwise we ask that you stay in the immediate area of the bank so we can take your statement. Certainly you are free to go outside and get some fresh air. Also to call anyone you need to let them know you’re okay. This event will make the supper-time news, for sure, and you won’t want any family worrying about you.”
Laura doubted her parents or brother would hear about this back in Huntsville, Alabama, but she would text them anyway and let them know she was okay. She would not mention the fact that Joe Matarazzo had gotten her out of the situation safely. Her dad and brother might catch the first flight to Denver and take Joe out themselves.
They’d have to get in line behind her.
The image of Joe stripped down to his boxers and smiling charmingly at the two hostage-taking morons popped into her head unbidden.
Damn, he still looked good. Nothing about that had changed, not that she would’ve expected it to. His tall, lithe body was absolutely drool-worthy: broad shoulders, hard abs that all but begged you to run your fingers over them, trim hips that eased down into long, strong legs.
And that face. Crystal blue eyes and strong, sharp cheekbones and a chin that gave strength to a face that would’ve otherwise been too pretty. Brown hair with natural sandy highlights, straight, a little long with a half curl that always fell over his forehead.
And his smile. Joe Matarazzo had a quick, easy smile for everyone. The man loved to smile, and had gorgeous sensuous lips and perfect teeth to back up his propensity.
His cheeks were clean-shaven now, but Laura knew firsthand how quickly the stubble would grow and exactly how the roughness of his cheeks would feel as he kissed her all over her body.
She stopped the thought immediately. For six years she’d been stopping those types of thoughts immediately. Instead she fast-forwarded to the last memory she’d had of Joe. Him standing outside her apartment and telling her their relationship wasn’t going to work anymore.
That he’d liked her and all, and the last couple of months had been great, but that, let’s face it, she just wasn’t the caliber of woman someone like Joe—with his money and connections and good looks and charm—would be in a long-term relationship with.
Mic drop. Matarazzo out.
Laura
