Page 32 of Seizing Mack
“The Covendale PD is so lucky to have you,” Delilah said. “I read about what you did last year. You’re a bona fide hero!”
Nick grimaced, able to guess what she was referring to. That had been a shit show all around. A double-crossing informant had fed them some bad info, turning an eight-month sting operation into a deadly trap meant to obliterate their whole vice team. Thankfully, Nick had some (far more reliable) sources of his own who tipped him off, and he managed to get there just as they were about to storm the multi-million dollar, underground pharmaceutical lab. The guy in charge, an arrogant, self-important asshole named Carter, had refused to listen and just seconds after the first men entered the facility, the place blew. Nick managed to pull a couple guys to safety, but he was by no means the only one. The papers, however, credited him with saving not only the lives of those who he’d carried out, but also the dozens of others whowouldhave been inside had he not delayed the operation by arguing with Carter.
Two good men died in that explosion, several more had been injured, and Carter had been relieved of his command. There was nothing heroic about it.
“I read about what happened around here, too,” she added, lowering her voice, her predatory grin turning to one offering false comfort. “You must have been devastated. It must be really hard on you, coming back here. I’m a good listener, if you ever need to ... talk.”
Nick ground his molars, unwilling to hear any more of what Delilah had to say. “I’m looking for Mack. Is she around?”
Delilah’s eyes flashed. Just that quickly, her sympathetic smile morphed into a well-practiced pout. “I haven’t seen her.”
She was lying, Nick was certain of it. Another thing he was certain of? Delilah didn’t like being blown off.
He didn’t bother thanking her, resolving to find Mack on his own.
He swung by the teen center first, but Mack wasn’t there. He declined an offer of a pick-up game and asked the kids if they’d seen Mack. That’s how he discovered she was sparring down in one of the MMA rooms.
“Awesome, Fucker. Thanks,” Mack said, her voice laced with genuine affection as she tugged off her gloves. The towering blond Viking shot her a brilliant smile and offered her a casual salute. “Anytime, Mack.”
Nick, who had caught the last few minutes of the session, blinked in disbelief.
“You call himFucker?” he asked, following Mack away from the mats. The woman barely came up to the Thor lookalike’s chest, yet she’d managed to hold her own, using her small size and impressive knowledge of leverage to her advantage.
“He’s Norwegian,” she shrugged, as if that explained it all.
“So? You got something against Norwegians?”
She rolled her eyes. Again, he found that one small action arousing, just as he did the sheen of perspiration shimmering over her skin and the wisps of hair that clung to the base of her neck, showcasing that heart-shaped mark beneath her jaunty ponytail. In fact, he found nearly everything about Mack arousing. But his appreciation went deeper than that. He wanted to learn more about the intriguing woman inside the enticing package.
“His name is Lars Volker,” she told him. “Volker, with a “V”, but when he says it in his Scandinavian accent—the way it was meant to be said—it sounds more like ‘fucker’ in English.”
Well, he supposed that made sense. “He doesn’t mind?”
She tilted her head back and drank deeply from her water bottle. Nick had to force his eyes away from the way her throat, shiny and slick with moisture, moved up and down with the action. Not his best idea, since his gaze naturally dropped to her well-endowed chest, her sweaty ‘Seizethe Day’ tank plastered against all that perfectly smooth, lickable skin. The woman wasn’t even trying and she was making him hard. On the plus side, she didn’t seem to be openly avoiding him as he had suspected earlier that morning.
“No. I think he likes it. Makes him feel like a badass.” When Mack grinned, her whole face lit up, making him feel like smiling, too. “Besides, there are worse nicknames than that.”
“Yeah? Like what?” He liked this playful banter. He liked talking to her, anticipating what she would say next. “Well, this one guy was named Joel Lipschitz, and they called him—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “I’m sorry I asked.”
She grinned again, her eyes twinkling with a little bit of mischief and a whole lot of naughty. “And then there was this Asian guy. One hell of a demolitions expert, best I’ve ever seen. We called him Nads.”
“Jesus, do I even want to know?”
“Probably not. His actual name was Hung Lo.”
It took a moment for him to make the connection, but when he did, he nearly doubled over in laughter. God, he liked this woman! Just five minutes with her and he felt lighter, more alive than he had in weeks.
“What about you?” he teased when he could speak again. “Did you have a nickname, too?”
The laughter faded from her eyes and she turned her attention to something else. “Just Mack.”
“Liar.” He pointed at himself. “Detective, remember? I’m trained to tell when someone is trying to hand me a load of bullshit.” He playfully bumped her shoulder.
He tried to ignore the shock of heat that radiated out from that slight, completely innocent contact. Judging by the way her eyes had widened, she had felt it, too. She didn’t look happy about it, though.
“What are the chances of you dropping this?”
