turned and reached his arm down, along with Roman. Derek was already running toward the wall, using his huge size to propel himself up and catch their arms. Ashton and Roman pulled Derek, then reached back down so they could do the same with Lillian.
She was much lighter and faster and soon the whole team was over the wall, the final obstacle on the course. Everyone sat, catching their breath.
“I don’t know that he’s in the friend zone,” Liam Goetz, hostage rescue specialist, said. “She did make him muffins.”
Ashton shook his head. “You guys give it a rest, will you?”
“Uh, she made muffins for the janitor who came over to fix her sink,” Roman argued, blatantly ignoring Ashton.
Lillian reached over and high-fived him. “That just means Fitzy is parked in the VIP section of the friend zone. Still the friend zone.”
Ashton closed his eyes, wishing that would make them all go away. Even the new kid was grinning, although he still hadn’t said anything about it.
Not that anything anyone had said was untrue. How he’d let this situation with Summer, the only woman he’d had real feelings for in years, get so out of hand he didn’t know.
“She doesn’t think I’m the janitor. She thinks I’m the building’s maintenance man. There’s a difference,” he muttered.
Mistake.
Everyone burst out laughing, now arguing the difference between maintenance man and janitor. They all jumped down from the wall and walked back toward the building, except for Ashton and Derek.
“Hey, we’re hitting the new gas and airborne substances simulator in an hour,” Derek yelled out after them. “But not you this time, Tyrone. Sorry. Everyone else, be ready.”
They all nodded and responded, slapping Tyrone on the back. He’d make a good team member after another few months of training.
Ashton just leaned back against the wall, enjoying the quiet.
“You need to tell Summer who you really are,” Derek finally said. “Not telling her is going to bite you in the ass eventually.”
Derek wasn’t one to run his mouth like the rest of the team. He didn’t share his opinion for no reason or generally participate in the teasing. So when Derek spoke, people listened.
Ashton opened his eyes. “I know.” He grimaced. “Although I’m so concerned about saying the wrong thing around her, I can barely get a sentence out. She must think I’m a moron.”
Derek chuckled. “I doubt it. Maybe a little shy or something.”
Ashton rolled his eyes. “If my mother could hear someone calling me shy. The one of her three kids who never shut up. She would have a field day.”
“Everybody likes Summer. And you have too many mutual friends for her not to find out who you are eventually. It’ll be better coming from you.”
Ashton hit the back of his head against the wooden wall. “If it was just about her thinking I was the maintenance guy, I would tell her.”
“But you’re worried about the situation on the day her husband died.”
As always, the bile pooled in his stomach at the thought. “I had the shot, Derek. I could’ve taken that hostage-taker out. Tyler Worrall and those others would still be alive. Summer would still have a husband and Chloe would still have a father.”
“We’ve all been over the footage, Ash. Us as a team. Steve Drackett and the review board. Taking the shot that early would’ve been a mistake. Joe thought he could talk the guy down. We all thought he could talk the guy down.”
But there had been a second, right before the man pulled out the hand grenade that killed nearly everyone in the room, that Ashton could’ve done something. He’d been on the building across the street with his sniper rifle.
He should’ve taken the shot. His gut had told him to take the shot. But he’d ignored it.
And people had died.
Ashton shrugged. “Well, I don’t think Summer is going to be interested in dating the guy who could’ve saved her husband’s life.”
“You know, Joe Matarazzo already tried to claim blame for Tyler Worrall’s death. Summer wouldn’t let him. What makes you think she’s going to hold you at fault?”
Because she didn’t know—nobody knew—about that second shot Ashton could’ve taken as the man was pulling out the hand grenade from his pocket. Ashton’s hesitation had lost the shot, then cost everyone in the room their lives.
Ashton shrugged. “Gut feeling.”
Derek slapped him on his shoulder. “Well, sometimes our gut feelings about women leave a little to be desired.”
Ashton stood up. “Let’s go battle with tear gas. That should be more fun.”
* * *
A GOOD MAJORITY of the SWAT team’s time was spent in training. Running different scenarios so they would be more prepared once they were out in the field.
A lot of exercises—like the obstacle course they did this morning—were for physical fitness and general team building. They knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses. The team often had to go into situations with multiple unknown or rapidly changing variables. Their training exercises ensured team cohesiveness.
Most of the training was routine: do it once, do it again, until there were no mistakes. They spent hours at the firing range together. In simulators together. Rappelling down walls. Studying hostage rescue, shields, vehicle assaults, even tactical medicine.
Despite the jokes this morning, most of the SWAT team’s training was taken seriously by everyone. It required focus, tenacity and teamwork. Often pushing themselves to the brink of mental and physical exhaustion.
It was hard. But that’s why not everyone did it. Only the ones who made the cut.
You could damn near see the excitement in the room now as everyone on the team gathered around the training techs to hear about the new challenge they were about to undergo.
Facing something new as a team had them all itching with enthusiasm. You never got a second first chance.
“Alright, boys and girls.” Steve Drackett, director of the entire Critical Response Division, was present for this inaugural training session. “Sadly, responding to tear gas and airborne elements is almost becoming routine in this day and age. We need a place where all SWAT teams can train. It won’t be just us using this facility, but departments from around the country.”
Drackett turned to the half dozen people standing around—some in lab coats, some in suits, a few from other SWAT teams besides Omega Sector’s.
“The designers—made up of analysts, computer experts, airborne terrorism experts, chemists and some of the best video game developers in the country—have pulled exactly zero punches with this new training facility. This is about as real as it gets outside of an actual combat zone, including
