Diego snorted. “Good try, Hobbs. Not going to happen. Once more for the cheap seats, I have no comment on any active investigation, which includes this morning’s events at the diner, or any other incidents of this so-called crime wave.”
“So, you’re confirming there’s a crime wave?”
When Diego merely glared at him, Hobbs looked at her and Brandon, giving them what he probably thought was a charming smile. “Ernest Hobbs, Dallas Daily Star. I can only imagine the trauma you and your son experienced this morning. Care to talk about what happened in the diner?”
“Give it a rest, Hobbs,” Diego practically snarled as he stepped between Bree and the man. “They’ve been through enough. Like I said, if you want a statement, you’ll need to get it from public relations. Until then, get back behind the tape.”
Hobbs looked like he was about to argue, but when Diego motioned toward a patrol officer near the diner, the reporter held up his hands in acquiescence.
“I’m going.” Turning, he walked a few steps, then looked back at Diego. “The DPD can try to keep a lid on this, but that’s not going to work much longer. There are frigging doctors and lawyers knocking off banks and jewelry stores. When this whole mess blows up in your faces, I’ll be right there waiting to print every word of it, laughing my ass off the whole damn time.”
Diego made a sound that was suspiciously close to a growl as he watched Hobbs head for the crime-scene tape at the end of the block.
“Is all that stuff he said about a drug out there making people do violent things true?” Brandon asked, eyes fixed on Diego. “Is that why the guy in the diner took all of us hostage, then shot himself?”
“We don’t know,” a deep voice said from behind them.
Bree turned to see three cops in heavy tactical gear approaching. Two of them must have come through the windows of the diner with the officer she’d seen earlier because their uniforms were torn in several places.
“But Hobbs is right about people doing stuff you wouldn’t expect,” the man continued. “If we’re being totally honest, he might be right about the drugs. Something is causing them to act strangely, and drugs are about the only good explanation we can come up with.”
It was obvious Brandon had a lot more questions about what happened in the diner, but he also seemed aware that now wasn’t the right time for them.
“Bree, Brandon,” Diego said, “these are three of my teammates—Trey Duncan, Hale Delaney, and Connor Malone.”
All three of the men were built like Diego with muscles piled on top of muscles and attractive beyond all possible reason. Well, none of them were nearly as good looking as Diego, but pretty darn close. Were they all so well built because they were SWAT or because they were all werewolves?
Good heavens, she really had lost her mind. Now she was seeing werewolves everywhere.
Trey was the one with the deep voice. He had intense blue eyes to go with those tones, and Bree wondered why he was a cop instead of a movie star. Hale had dark-blond hair, blue eyes, and a nose that looked like it had been broken at some point. Connor had hair that couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to be blond or brown and a distinctly California surfer look that totally worked.
She was so busy gazing at all the hunky men around her that she hadn’t realized Brandon was staring, too. Not until he asked the same thing she’d been wondering earlier.
“Are all of you like Diego?”
Connor looked at him in confusion. “You mean short?”
“Ugly?” Trey suggested helpfully.
“Misshapen?” offered Hale, arching a brow at the look Bree gave him. “What? He’s practically as broad as he is tall.”
Bree almost laughed at the exaggeration. Diego had broad shoulders, but he certainly wasn’t short and misshapen, and definitely not ugly. Like she’d said, while these other three guys were attractive, they couldn’t hold a candle to Diego. Chocolate-brown eyes she could get lost in. Silky dark hair she wanted to run her fingers through. And biceps she was sure she couldn’t get her hand around. She had a real thing for well-muscled arms.
When Brandon still looked baffled, Diego apparently decided to take pity on him because he nodded. “Yeah, they’re like me. Like us, actually. Though we both have a better sense of humor. It’s not their fault. They’re clueless when it comes to knowing what’s funny and what isn’t.”
His friends all chuckled at that as Trey held out Bree’s cell phone. “I think this is yours.”
“It is! Thank you.” She slid it in her purse with a smile. “I forgot all about it.”
Which was crazy, considering she always had it with her. Then again, a lot had happened today.
“Could you tell Mike I’m bringing Bree and Brandon to the compound so we can talk to Gage?” Diego asked. “I’ll probably need you to cover for me when Internal Affairs shows up, too.”
Trey nodded. “Will do. I’ll talk to Mike as soon as he’s done with the chief. IA, too. But after listening to some of the statements from the people in the diner, I can’t imagine Internal Affairs trying to jack you up over this. You did everything you could to talk that guy down.”
From the expression on Diego’s face, it didn’t seem like he was buying that last part. He didn’t say anything, though. Instead, he turned to her and Brandon. “You two ready to get out of here?”
Bree nodded. “Is it okay if we take my car? It’s parked in the garage two blocks over.”
“That’s fine,” Diego said, falling into step beside her and Brandon. “Better than trying to get through the crowds with one of the SWAT SUVs for sure.”
A few people took Diego’s picture as they moved through the crowd behind the crime-scene tape, and Bree knew she and Brandon would be in more than a few of them. Hopefully, they wouldn’t show up on someone’s Facebook or Instagram page. Or worse, one of the media outlets.
Bree was still imagining what her boss at the insurance company would say about one of his investigators being involved in a hostage situation, when she heard a voice that stopped her cold. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Brandon stiffen.
“Bree! Brandon! I’m so relieved you’re okay!”
She turned to see her ex-husband pushing his way through the crowd to get to them. For a moment, Bree thought he was going to hug her, but the look on her face must have changed his mind because he stopped in front of them instead. Thank God. She really wasn’t in a mood to deal with him and his games today.
“Dave, Officer Diego Martinez, Dallas SWAT,” she said. “This is my ex-husband, Dave Cowell.”
Dave’s hazel eyes narrowed as he sized up Diego, and Bree braced herself. Saying he was possessive was an understatement. He’d always hated when other men looked her way, much less talked to her, and he didn’t mind letting them know it. That’s what had put him in prison.