Hardy charged into the room. Charity was backpedaling toward him. He caught her from falling and spun her to the side. “Stay out of this.” He headed for Dahlia, who, judging from the red welt on the DI’s cheek had already landed at least one punch.
Dahlia spun around and lifted her leg, preparing to deliver a roundhouse kick to the DI’s midsection. Before she could thrust her foot forward, an arm curled around her waist and she felt her body floating backward.
Hardy pushed her against the wall and laid a forearm over her chest. His free hand covered his groin, in case she retaliated in the heat of the moment. He whipped his head left; Charity was advancing. “Back it up, Cherry.” He looked over his right shoulder. Cruz was examining the DI’s red and swollen cheek. He felt resistance and came back to Dahlia.
She grabbed his wrist, cupped his elbow, “Let go of me,” and twisted free. “I’m fine.” She glanced down after Hardy stepped back. “You can let go of your package too.” She smoothed her shirt, removed the stocking hat and ruffled her hair. “I’m not going to send your eight ball into the corner pocket.”
Hardy stared at the thirty-two-year-old, five-feet, eight-inch former assassin turned covert agent. Long and straight bleached blonde hair fell to the middle of her back; the bangs stopped less than an inch above her well-manicured dark eyebrows, which curved slightly toward the bridge of her petite nose and the outer corner of her eye. She had a round face with hazel green eyes, narrowly spaced. No matter her mood, her full lips seemed permanently pursed. He marveled at how such an attractive woman could be such a deadly and efficient killer.
While he had not witnessed the aftermath of her handiwork personally, he had read the reports. Bodies and more bodies; some filled with bullet holes, some with broken necks. Others too disfigured to be identified without employing modern technology. And, despite her penchant for taking lives, she possessed a fierce loyalty to her friends and a soft spot for kids. She also had quick wit and a lively sense of humor.
Hardy looked down at his hand, still covering his private parts, and whirled around before his lips could turn upward and reward her bad behavior. He stuck out his chin toward the DI. “You all right, Darling?” Everyone, but Hardy, addressed the man by his first name, John. Whenever Hardy spoke to Darling in public, other people bristled and waited for the punch that never came. The two men had known each other since their early days in the Marine Corps. They could get away with saying almost anything to one another.
Darling held a handkerchief to his bleeding cheek and nodded. He stared at Charity, “Congratulations, ladies,” before glimpsing Cruz. “You have just taken a big step toward becoming a real team…coming to the aid of one of your own, no matter the consequences,” he removed the white cloth and examined his blood, “or the casualties.” The big man shook the cobwebs from his brain and regarded Dahlia. “Ms. St. James,” the training complete, the man’s tone was dripping with deference, “don’t ever let anyone tell you, you hit like a girl.”
“Not since fifth grade when Tommy—” Dahlia rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, “whatever his last name was…said it to me, and I decided not to hold back on the second punch.”
The DI suppressed his amusement. “It’s been a pleasure, ma’am.” He eyed Cruz, who had retrieved Hardy’s handkerchief and was dabbing the cut on Darling’s face. “Special Agent DelaCruz,” he faced Charity, “Agent Sinclair…the same goes for both of you.” He took both pieces of fabric, smacked Hardy on the shoulder and left. “They’re all yours, Hardy.” The man who was in the observation room with Hardy followed Darling out the door, shaking his head.
Dahlia took a couple steps, stood next to Hardy and stared at the empty doorway. “And, all this time I thought the big lug just didn’t like us.”
Rotating his arm, Hardy arched his back and squinted at her.
Eyeing his contorted face and nodding at the shoulder Darling had hit, she grinned. “That hurt, didn’t it?”
Hardy ignored her and studied his watch. “Everyone go home and get cleaned up. We’re going out for dinner tonight to celebrate…my treat.”