Page 52 of S.O.S. Billboard

“A woman you’ve already pissed off this week,” Billboard snarled. “So if I were you, I’d back off if you want to retain possession of your balls.”

O’Shea slowly turned her head and ignoring Murphy, batted her lashes at Billboard. “Are you going to emasculate him for me, sweet-cheeks?” she questioned saucily. “That’s so nice.”

“You!” Murphy almost choked on the single syllable as he caught sight of who it was on top of the perp.

“Yup. It’s little ole me,” she drawled, exaggerating her very mild accent. “Fancy meeting you here, Murphy.” Her voice dropped any niceties, and turned into a sing-song-y growl. “Now would you care to point that gun elsewhere, or would you like it lodged up your ass?”

“Stand down, officer.” Del walked up with an air of confident authority.

The gun lowered half an inch.

“Your boss has a few things he’d like to say to you.”

Del gestured, and Daire stepped forward, holding out his phone.

Murphy eyed it as if it were a venomous snake, but eventually holstered his gun and gingerly took the device. “Yes sir?”

“You’ve got this, right?” she asked Billboard and the team. Clearly, O’Shea wasn’t waiting around to hear what the officer had to say. She was already off her victim and moving through the interior door which led to the back of the van.

Seconds passed before…

“I have her. She’s okay,” O’Shea called out. “And the kitten’s fine, too.”

There was a cheer from the team-members who’d convened.

The words were music to their ears.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Ooh.Billboard was pissed.

He’d been pissed for two days, ever since she’d kicked ass, uh, chest, in that van.

O’Shea got it. Sort of. Billboard was the big bad protector guy, and she was a simple beat cop. But he had to know, from hanging around Brigid, that Louisiana’s female cops knew how to take care of themselves.

The cause for his bad mood today, however, wasn’t O’Shea. At least not overtly. The reason for Billboard’s frustrations were Lakisha and Rainie. They were not taking the lessons the guys were trying to impart, seriously.

O’Shea would have thought the girls would want to absorb everything offered, considering that before they’d been adopted into Prez and Maygan’s household, they’d had less than stellar lives. They’d even—before the SOS team had come to the rescue—been snatched by assholes from a terrorist cell who wanted to make them into human bombs.

And if their past wasn’t enough to motivate them, Lakisha should have been avidly paying attention to everything Billboard, Prez, and Sarge were trying to show her, because her best friend had just been kidnapped.Duh.

But the pair of teens were being…teens; much more interested in taking selfies in various spots around the Blue Hills, than in paying attention.

On the other hand, Ethan, and Mizzay’s niece Rory, were taking totheirlessons like horses to feedbags. They were devouring everything the men showed them, before champing at the bit for more.

O’Shea, too, was absorbing all the tips the experts had to impart. She’d never been any good at tracking, but after two hours of traipsing around in the woods with them, she had a much better idea of what to look for. Foot prints were the easiest tell, followed by broken twigs. But less apparent were bits of grass bent over, scratches or abrasions on tree trunks, and human leftovers like cigarette butts or gum wrappers.

Sarge was very pleased with her progress, as well as with Ethan and Rory’s, and although his patience wasn’t as thin as Billboard’s, he was beginning to look frustrated with the two older girls. The only one staying out of the potential showdown was Prez, because, yeah, they were his kids, and the last thing he needed was an ongoing battle in his house if the two copped an attitude.

Billboard wasn’t taking that into consideration.

“That’s it,” the big man finally exclaimed. He approached the pair and held out his hand. “Cell phones. Now,” he ordered.

Lakisha looked shocked, and blinked wide eyes up at him. “Why?”

To give the teens their due, they didn’t argue, but reluctantly placed their devices into Billboards’ large, demanding palm.

“Why?” Billboard repeated after pocketing the phones.

---