Home > Imperfect (Triple Canopy #3)(3)

Imperfect (Triple Canopy #3)(3)
Author: Riley Edwards

Now that light-hearted, teasing Luke was back, I wished I had time to stick around and flirt. But alas, I did not.

 

 

Sweat trickled down under my helmet, rolled down my temple, down the side of my face, dripped off my chin. Some might think the physical training on the road to becoming a Special Weapons and Tactical Operator was hard. And it was—totally. But you want to know what the hardest freaking part was? Not wiping the sweat off your face. No joke. When you’re in full kit with the hot sun beating down, humidity so thick you actually debate the necessity of your body armor and contemplate tearing off your vest, and the annoying dripping starts, it takes some serious self-control not to wipe the bead of sweat off the tip of your nose.

“Sir. Think about your family. We have you surrounded!” Chip, our loud hailer, yelled. “Come out the front door with your hands up.”

Chip had been at this for an hour. The dude was not going to come out with his hands up. If he were, he would’ve done it already.

“I have movement,” Mereno radioed. “Window A three.”

My gaze snapped to the third window from the left side of the house and I saw the blinds pulled apart and someone peering out. I brought my M4 up and went to glass.

I see you, asshole.

With the blaring sun at my back through the magnification of my scope, I could see a pair of brown eyes peeking out the blinds shifting right to left. Probably weighing his odds of escape.

There were none. The dude was surrounded. Entry Team Charlie was at the rear of the house. Alpha Team had the front covered. He wasn’t getting out of the house without being apprehended.

“Pump gas,” Lieutenant Ocala radioed from the command patrol vehicle parked three houses down.

“About fucking time,” Gordy muttered from beside me.

It would seem I wasn’t the only one impatient.

“Six-thirty on the move,” Mereno returned.

Two seconds later the thunk of the less-than-lethal munitions weapon deploying the CS ferret went off and glass shattered.

“Damn good shot,” Gordy continued his commentary.

He wasn’t lying. Mereno’s aim was true.

“The only move you can make is to come out with your hands up,” Chip said into the bullhorn. “The gas is only going to get worse.”

White powder from the gas canister barely wafted out the broken window before Ocala ordered, “Entry teams go.”

Go time.

Gordy shuffled from our position and like the well-trained machine we were Gordy and I met Riddle and Watson near the front door. Riddle swung the battering ram and the front door splintered. Riddle tossed the ram to the side like it weighed nothing when in actuality the bitch weighed a ton. Behind a riot shield, Watson took point and made entry. Riddle followed, I was in next, and Gordy had my six.

I could hear Charlie Team coming, shattering a window, when the suspect ran straight at me and dipped his shoulder.

No weapon.

Thank God.

Thank you, God.

I side-stepped and swung the butt of my M4, catching the guy in his jaw.

Then the dude was no longer standing. Mereno had him belly to the ground with his arms twisted behind his back.

“And that’s how it’s done,” Riddle whooped. “Suspect in custody.”

The room filled with men and now the slow, meticulous processes of clearing the structure began.

Six hours later I was finally on my way home.

 

 

3

 

 

“I heard you took Sunny out the other day,” Jason Walker said and stopped next to the weight bench I was using.

“What?”

“Sunny Kent. You took her out to the range.”

Shiloh.

Yes, I indeed had taken the beautiful police officer to the range. And in an act of award-winning self-control, I’d left it at that. Shiloh Kent was the total package—the type of woman who crawled under a man’s skin and felt so good there he worked his ass off to make sure he never lost the feel of her there.

I wasn’t sure what I was attracted to more, her glossy blonde hair, light baby-blues, pretty face, legs that, even encased in denim, couldn’t hide their length and shape, or the fact that on her feet were a pair of combat boots and her sense of humor was wicked sharp. It would be a crying shame for a woman who looked like Shiloh to wind up dull and boring, but two minutes in, the pretty cop’s presence told me she was anything but.

And since she wasn’t dull or boring and had a face that fueled fantasies—and I’d know because I’d dreamed about her last night—it had taken an ungodly amount of effort to let her walk away.

“I did,” I confirmed.

“You know who she is, right?”

I knew I wanted her in my bed, but beyond knowing she was a police officer on a SWAT team I knew nothing else.

“No. Who is she?”

“Her dad’s Lester Kent. He’s doing life for killing a cop.”

“No shit?”

I ducked my head under the bench press bar and sat up, not believing the carefree, teasing woman I met a few days ago had a father serving life. Not that I knew how a woman whose father killed a cop would act, but Shiloh’s sunny disposition wouldn’t have been my guess.

My friends call me Sunny.

The nickname fit. She was like a ray of sunshine on a cool day.

Okay. Full stop. Now I was poeticizing about the woman and that shit needed to stop. One, because I was a man whose testicles were in good working order therefore I didn’t spout off poetic anything, ever. Two, I wasn’t on the market for a morning-after-type girl. And Shiloh was the very definition of a woman you woke up next to. Not only would a man be inclined to cook her breakfast, he’d do what he could to keep doing it. The addiction would happen so fast you’d never see it coming. It was best to steer clear from the start, which was what I was planning on doing.

“The whole situation is jacked. Sunny’s got three older brothers. All cops. The eldest, Echo, is with the drug task force. He worked some cases with me when I was with the DEA.”

“Echo?”

“Yeah. And advice—you meet the guy, do not give him stick about his name. He’s a six-foot-five wall of muscle and is sensitive about his name.”

Seeing as I had no plans to meet the guy I wouldn’t have to worry about busting his chops about his name.

Jason’s phone chimed with a text that made him wince.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I forgot I had a meeting with Carter, Nick, and Quinn. You know, when we took over Triple Canopy I didn’t think anything of it. My dad and The Uncles made it look easy. Now, I’m rethinking my commitment.”

“Seriously?”

Jason Walker had left his job at the DEA to take over for his father, Jasper, and uncles. Nick Clark had also made the move from the FBI to Triple Canopy. His father, Nolan Clark was one of The Uncles Jason was referring to. Quinn Walker was Jason’s sister. And Carter Lenox the son of Jason’s other uncle, also named Carter, though thankfully everyone called the older Carter by his last name, Lenox. Being as TC kept employment mostly in the family there were a lot of Walkers, Lenoxes, and Clarks around. Brady Walker who was not a Walker by blood but by marriage had married Hadley Walker. When they tied the knot Brady had taken her last name, wanting his family’s legacy to die. Something I didn’t blame the guy for wanting. Brady’s dad was a dick. The fourth uncle, Levi McCoy, only had a daughter but her man Drake worked at TC, and hopefully, when Liberty’s Army contract was up she’d be joining our team, as well. Though by the time that happened Liberty would be a Hayes, seeing as her and Drake’s wedding was imminent.

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