Page 78 of Brazen Criminals

Bryce pushes his lawyer out of the way before lunging at Clara. My heart stops beating as I leap over the chairs between the two of us, grabbing the back of the monster’s shirt as he clasps onto Clara’s good wrist with our lawyer sandwiched between the former couple.

I wrap myself around the monster’s middle, not wanting to pull him back until he lets go of Clara, but keeping him from getting any closer. The court cop is yelling something, the other cop from the back of the room has sprinted over, and he’s also yelling.

I don’t hear them, though. The ex is shouting at Clara, telling her we’re dangerous, that she’s made the wrong choice, that he loves her and wants her back. Jansen is trying to peel the bastard’s hand from Clara, but Bryce is locked onto her, not willing to let go.

For once, Trips is one step back from the violence, with Walker and Emma blocking him from joining the melee, but his jaw and fists are clenched.

The cop from the back of the room shoulders me out of the way, forcing my hands off the asshole and kicking out at the back of the monster’s knees. The bastard goes down, but he’s still clutching Clara’s arm, and she yelps as she’s pulled down with him. Jansen half catches her, still trying to pry her loose.

I duck under flailing arms, stepping around to help Jansen. Somehow, we get Clara free.

The second we do, the cop from the back yells at the other cop, and they get the monster in cuffs.

I ignore the rest of the room, instead helping Jansen set Clara back on her feet. Red finger marks are already stark on her good forearm, another fault to lay at the feet of the bastard. A few tears trail down her cheeks, but she’s furious instead of scared, which lets the fire in my blood cool.

Her rage I can deal with—her fear breaks my heart.

I pull her in for a hug, and Jansen places a hand on both of us.

“When will this end?” she murmurs.

The judge gains control of the court once again, Bryce is removed, the chaos forgotten, order restored.

“Thank you for jumping in,” our lawyer says, her eyes bitter glass as she straightens her blazer.

I bob my chin, not knowing what to say. I wasn’t doing it for her.

The other lawyer looks relieved to be done with the monster ex as he and our lawyer chat on their way out of the courtroom. They’re obviously old friends.

The cop from the back of the courtroom stares at our little crew. I can see him ticking off boxes in his head, matching our faces to the sketches and descriptions from that long-ago night. Big guy with red hair—check. Smaller blond guy with a ponytail—check. Asian dude always a half a step back—check. Medium-sized Black man able to fight if needed—check.

Not good.

I cling to Clara, holding her close as my mind whirs. Another problem. What would I give for a real solution?

The rest of the guys fold around her, needing touch to make sure she’s okay, even Trips clasping her shoulder.

I watch the cop watching us. He gives me a grim nod, then leaves the courtroom.

I stand surrounded by the people I trust most in the world—a family built on honesty in a world of lies. I need a way to keep them safe.

We’re running out of time.

Chapter 39

Clara

Ikeepacopyof the restraining order in my backpack and in my purse. My boss at the coffee shop has a copy, as do each of the guys and Emma. I only wish the paper came with a bulletproof vest.

Three times this week my phone buzzed with the proximity alert—my heart speeding up as I looked for Bryce. I only saw him once, watching me leave my criminal psych course, heading home. He didn’t follow me, but my skin crawled the rest of the day.

By Friday, my arm’s feeling well enough for a long run, and I can’t tell if my jitters are from excitement or fear. I only have this weekend and next to finish my training. Then it’s time to taper, to do nothing yet again, so I’m buzzed and ready to go for the race. I have no illusions about winning—I’m not that fast. I only need to be fast enough to look like an excellent candidate for the FBI. My time will be a marker of my physical prowess and work ethic.

I’m raking my hair back into a ponytail when RJ meets me at the front door, his workout shirt stretched over his muscled core and a headband holding his hair off his forehead and neck.

“Hey. I’m going for a long run today,” I say, tucking my water bottle into my belt next to a copy of the restraining order, folded so it fits into the zippered money pouch.

“How long?” RJ asks.

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