No Quick Fix (Torus Intercession 1)

“I appreciate that, thank you.”

“We have a pool as well.”

“And tennis courts,” Emery chimed in absently, reaching for the leather jacket I was wearing over my gray hoodie, and tugging. “Look how fast she is.”

Olivia was tearing down the sideline, the ball in front of her, going where she was driving it, and headed toward the goal. At the last second, though, another girl plowed into her side, knocking her off her feet and down into the soggy wet ground.

There was whistle blowing and yelling, and Emery bolted onto the field at the same time a man from the other side of the field rushed out as well.

“April, what did your father say about drawing those kinds of pictures?”

Both Lydia and I turned to find a woman standing over April, who had closed her sketchbook quickly.

“I think she likes getting grounded,” Lydia said to the woman, smiling at her before she moved over beside April’s chair. “Let me see,” she said, and her tone was forceful but not sharp.

April stared up at her, eyes flat but not moving. When Lydia reached for the sketchbook, April stood up and put it behind her.

“Sweetie,” Lydia began gently, switching gears. “I just—”

“You’re not my mother,” April said icily. “You’ll never be my mother, so no. You don’t get to make fun of my drawings.”

Lydia’s lips pressed together tightly. “I wasn’t going to––”

“You don’t get to see them,” she finished flatly.

“That’s fine. We’ll see what your father says.”

“No!” someone yelled.

Glancing back at the field, I was surprised when a man shoved the referee, who had a red card in his hand.

Emery put a hand up to stop the guy from pushing the referee again, and when he did, the man grabbed his arm, twisted, and put him on his knees.

“Call 911,” I snapped at Lydia, who started digging into her high-end bag for her phone as I darted out onto the field.

I ran right up to the stranger and swept his legs out from under him, which immediately broke his grip on Emery. He was dumped ass-first into the dirt; it wasn’t quite mud yet but would be soon. We were probably on the driest patch on the field.

“You son of a—”

“Kids,” I snarled at the stranger as I helped Emery to his feet. “Watch your mouth, or you’re gonna get hurt on top of talking to the police.”

“The fu—”

“Kids,” I almost yelled that time, turning to Emery. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, fine,” he breathed out, hand on my forearm, shivering a bit.

I checked on the referee then, and he too was shaken but unhurt, and we all heard the siren at the same time.

I was impressed with how fast the response time was but then realized that it was doubtful Lydia had gotten through to the dispatcher that fast.

I glanced over at Emery.

“I’m sure someone just ran over there,” he said, answering the question I hadn’t voiced. “The sheriff’s station is right across the street on the left.”

“You had someone get Thomas?” The guy on the ground was fuming, but when he tried to get up, I put my foot on his wrist, not pressing down but exerting enough pressure so he couldn’t move it. “The hell are you doing?”

“Stay down,” I ordered as Emery picked up his daughter and hugged her.

“Are you okay, sweetie?”

“I have dirt in my hair,” she lamented, “and my uniform is gross again.”

“It’s always gross after soccer,” Emery said, chuckling.

Olivia nodded, like yeah, maybe, before she buried her face in the side of his neck as he rubbed her back.

Moments later the deputy, David Reed—whose name I knew from the file—not the sheriff, walked out onto the field, and the referee began immediately yelling that he’d been attacked without provocation.

“How dare you attack this man in front of all these kids,” the deputy accused Emery, jaw clenched as he pulled his handcuffs from his belt. “Put down your daughter and—”

“Hey,” I snapped at him, grabbing his bicep and yanking him around to face me. And yes, I knew that touching an officer of the law was a no-no, but what the fuck was he doing? Plus, this was a small town in Montana and not Chicago, and truly, if things went sideways, I could drop the deputy just as I had the man who attacked Emery. “Do you see me right here with my foot on this piece of crap or not?”

Reed was furious, and it was there in his flushed face, his narrowed eyes, and his right hand that was on his gun. And no, he hadn’t unsnapped it from its holster, and he couldn’t pull it on me without doing so, but still, he was showing me he was ready.

What the hell? Anger issues much? That was exactly what I wanted in my law enforcement—hair-trigger tempers.

“Are you hearing me, Deputy?” I asked flatly, not backing down, my voice rising, ready to put him on the ground as well if he even thought about pulling his gun on me.