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PROLOGUE
Christmas Night
No sooner than the words ‘the man’s a cocky asshole’ leave my mouth, there’s a deep, rumbly man-laugh behind me.
Wouldn’t it be just my luck if Dr. Jameson Scott, said cocky asshole, was standing behind me listening to my rant.
Agile Security and Rescue already has a medic, we don’t need to add a Navy trauma surgeon to the team. Especially him.
I grimace. Yep. That would be my luck.
Everything I said is the truth. I don’t want him mucking up something we’ve already got sorted out. Admittedly, it is biased truth.
I can’t stand doctors.
But as luck goes, it is none other than the brown-eyed, ridiculously tall, arrogant, bossy, stethoscope-wielding piece of work himself.
In a pressed blue dress shirt that hugs his gigantic square shoulders and a pair of well-worn jeans, the man nearly fills the farmhouse den’s doorway. Gah. Why does he have to look like that?
Good. Annoyingly good.
Confident.
And… like he belongs with our team.
With his heavy arms crossed, drawing the fine fabric of his shirt tight, he’s staring right at me. Humor lights his deep brown eyes and spikes my annoyance. “I’ve been called much worse, doll. Is that all you’ve got?”
Somewhere in the recess of my crackling brain, I hear Marshall, my boss, say, “Come on in, Scotch.”
Doctor Trouble, AKA Jameson Scott, fondly called ‘Scotch’ by the rest of our small town, drops onto the arm of the sofa. He tips his five o’clock heavy chin toward the other members of the hostage rescue team. “Sorry I was late. I was taking a shift down in the valley. One of the hospital’s E.R. docs is having a baby.”
Marshall passes him a drink. “No problem. I just thought, since we were all getting together today, we might share some holiday cheer and give you a chance to meet everyone.”
“I appreciate the drink after the day I’ve had. I swear I treated more cases of heartburn than an Emergency Room sees in a year. Anyway, who knows, maybe I won’t be such a cocky asshole after a drink.”
He actually has the nerve to wink at me!
I have the sudden urge to kick him off the couch with my combat boot, but Marshall gives me a flat look.
Scotch stops with his cup halfway to his mouth. “Still mad at me from that day at the clinic?”
Fury fills my veins with something very close to molten steel. “See? That’s what I mean. Isn’t that patient-doctor privilege or something like that?”
Scotch turns up his drink. When he sets it down on his thigh, his eyes are challenging, but his laugh is deep and genuine. “I’m sure you told everyone already that I wouldn’t let you walk out of the clinic without stitches, didn’t you? I can’t see you holding back when you’re mad.”
For a few tense beats, all I can do is stare at him as I plan my revenge. Marshall clears his throat.
Damn if I want to admit it, but finally, I say, “Okay, maybe I did tell them.”
He sips off his spiced rum again. Speaking around his grin, he says, “So, what’s up with Agile Security and Rescue these days?”
And just like that, the man slides right into the team. And my headache gets as big as that huge pick-up truck he drives.
I’m fuming inside when Scotch rubs his hands together and asks, “So, when do we go?”
Marshall laughs appreciatively. “As soon as we get the call.”
CHAPTER ONE
