Page 3 of Mike

Looking at the stained, drop-ceiling and cringing, Joe was at a loss. She really didn’t know what to do. The easiest thing would be to call this Mike guy, anonymously, and let him know of the threat against him. But having seen firsthand how law enforcement individuals operated, the man most likely wouldn’t take the warning seriously, if he gave it any credence at all. Officers were pranked and threatened all the time as a rule, and Mike would drop Joelle’s shout-out straight into his mental circular-file as soon as she gave it.

On the other hand, if she confronted this Mike fellow as a waitress by the name of Elle Picket who’d overheard the possibility of his ex coming after him, he might be inclined to listen. But more than likely he’d also run a background check on Elle Picket. Joe sure as shmuck would if the tables were turned, and… Heck’s bells, what would his search show? That there was no such person as the one he’d be IDing.

He'd go ballistic, wonder at her game, then hold her in the local pokey with trumped up charges until she caved and told him who she really was. Which she never would. If she wanted to keep her job.

Finding herself on the wrong side of the local law, her bosses would step back and let her deal with that cluster-flock of her own making so as not to put their drug-finding operation in jeopardy. They’d simply leave her to hang while sending someone else out to take her place, not caring how long she was out of commission if, in the end, it didn’t reflect on the agency.

Her third option was to swear the officer to secrecy, reveal who she was, and hope he didn’t raise the roof and derail many months’ worth of painstaking investigation that the DEA had undertaken. Joe had her doubts on that one. Most cops would want all the deets on a drug ring operating within their jurisdiction, and she had to assume Mike would be the same; needing to be in the know.

There was one other possibility, and this one seemed more…doable.

Since Joe only worked four nights at the bar, she could spend a portion of her off hours surveilling both Cameron and Melanie, making sure they didn’t do anything stupid.

Joelle glanced down at the picture on her computer and grinned.

Screw the idiot couple. Maybe she’d follow Mike.

CHAPTER TWO

Mike barely refrained from rolling his eyes. The two recruits he was testing at the gym today were going to wash out. There was no doubt in his mind. For one thing, they weren’t anywhere near peak, physical form. But more to the point, they weren’t taking their sparring sessions seriously.

Mike sighed. It was time to show them how things were done, and why. If they wanted to join any SWAT team in the future, they’d have to make some major attitude adjustments. He stepped onto the mat. The gym was busier than usual, it being Saturday, and people began gathering around to see if there would be something entertaining to watch. Mike wasn’t above putting on a show, but he feared the crowd would be disappointed with this one.

Mike beckoned to the first draftee. “Okay. It’s time to give me everything you’ve got,” he barked.

This shouldn’t take long, even if the guy could come up with a few moves. Then, once Mike was finished with the pair, his schedule would be cleared, and he could meet up for lunch with Doug, Kyle, and Cisco—his new “posse” as the kids would say—improbable as it would have seemed a few months ago that these three had become his best buds.

The rookie-pair in front of him arrogantly high-fived before one walked off the mat and took a stance on the sidelines while the other readied himself. Mike didn’t waste another moment talking. He’d already instructed the duo for over an hour, although it felt like three because they clearly weren’t taking his directives to heart. Mike got into his ready position, circled his opponent once, and…

Game over. The pencil-thin, unmotivated recruit went down under a simple, frontal attack; Mike’s much larger bulk felling him like a sapling with no roots. Mike followed him to the mat, and when the guy squawked at being pinned, Mike leapt to his feet and gazed down at failed candidate number one, shaking his head. “You should have been ready for me.”

“You didn’t let me know you were about to attack,” the guy whined.

“Oh. You mean like an asshole on the street would?” Mike scoffed. He was so tired of these two crybabies, he couldn’t scrape them off soon enough. “There are no queen’s rules in hand-to-hand when you’re fighting for survival. You’ll live longer if you remember that.”

Failure number one didn’t acknowledge Mike’s advice, but heaved himself off the floor and walked away with a sour look on his face.

Mike turned away from that pathetic guy and gestured to his friend. “Okay. You’re up.”

This guy was bulkier than his buddy, and clearly wary now that he’d seen what Mike had done to his partner-in-apathy. Good. Maybe he’d get some fight out of this idiot. They circled each other for two turns and…

Wrong.

It took eight seconds this time for Mike to fake the man out with a pulled neck strike, before he initiated a swift ankle sweep, dropping the guy and throwing his body down on top of his cherry-assed adversary.

Mike grumbled, then got up, disgusted. “Okay. Hit the showers. You’ll receive an email notification letting you know how you’ve done.”

Fail.

They bitched loudly as they walked away, so they had to know they hadn’t made the cut. How the hell the pair had made it onto the small-town police force south of Bangor where they worked, was a puzzle. They must have relatives in high places. But that didn’t make a difference to Mike. A rookie was either good or not, despite their connections. Hell, Mike’s friend Kyle was their SWAT Chief’s brother, and Doug was the nephew of Frank Ildavorg who was the chief of the Orono Police Department. But both of them had made the cut for the team, having worked hard to sharpen and hone their prowess.

These two? Duds.

Mike picked up a towel and…hell. He sent a hand over the back of his neck. He didn’t even have any sweat to mop up. The pair had been so lame-ass, Mike hadn’t expended a bit of energy. Shaking his head, he dropped the towel onto his bag, and for the first time, looked around at the audience that was slowly disbursing. He saw a lot of familiar faces; people who—with knowing smiles on their faces—threw him some thumbs up and some chin lifts, responding to how quickly Mike had dispatched the two tenderfeet.

But there were a few strangers in the crowd, too. One in particular who caught his eye. And why not? She stood out; tall, blonde, and stunning. Before he could decide whether to approach her or not, she hot-footed it away from the crowd and sped out the door.

Damn. It figured. The first female to catch his eye after a year of disappointment and drought, and she’d taken off. Maybe someone here would know who she was. He saw the familiar face of one of the gym owners milling about.

---