Berggefahr

“Hold it,” I said, my voice loud and clear. I had my service weapon raised and pointed at them.

The first guy spun around as the second pushed up from the floor, picking up a cowboy hat that had been beside him and placing it on his head. They stood side by side, their hands automatically going up. Their eyes widened, and they froze in place. Clearly they hadn’t expected me. Or my gun.

Now that I could get a good look at them, they surprised me, too. My detective’s eye made out the one on the left as early thirties, six-one, two hundred pounds of lean muscle. Black hair, equally black eyes. No identifying marks or scars that I could see, and he wore a black coat and dark jeans. Black gloves were on his hands, meaning he didn’t want to leave fingerprints. The other I pegged as same age, six-four, two fifty. Pure muscle. Light brown hair, closely shaved beard. Green eyes. Flannel shirt and jeans. Cowboy hat.

My woman’s eye said, Holy shit. They were drop-dead gorgeous. Magazine models but rugged. I doubted they ever set foot in a gym, probably chopped down trees and wrestled moose for exercise.

When I realized I was ogling, I cleared my throat. “You, move two steps to your right.” I waved my gun at the dark-haired guy, indicating which way I wanted him to go. He smartly did as I told him.

“Both of you, turn around.”

“Whoa, now. I’m all for the right to bear arms, but do you know how to use that thing?”

He did not just ask me that. I refused to respond, only glared.

“Don’t piss her off,” the dark-haired one warned his friend.

“Yeah, don’t piss me off.”

“You’re not going to shoot us in the back, are you?” the bigger guy asked.

“Turn around,” I repeated.

They did and I stepped closer. It was hard to decide who to cuff first. I was fairly skilled at self-defense, but they each had eighty or more pounds on me. I assumed it was better to cuff the larger guy first, so I set a hand at the center of his back, his heat radiating into my palm through his flannel. I felt the play of his muscles as he moved, starting to face me. “There’s been a—”

I grabbed his right arm at the wrist, bent it at the elbow to bring it behind his back in an arm lock, preventing him from turning around. With his wrist at his spine, I pushed it up toward his head, which would have his shoulder coming out of joint if he didn’t bend over. Instinctively he did just that, and I slapped one handcuff on his wrist but kept the arm pinned behind his back.

“Wait a minute!” the other guy said. “There’s been a mistake.”

I raised my weapon in my free hand and pointed it at Mr. Black Hair, but kept a tight hold on the bigger guy. “Don’t move.”

Mr. Black Hair froze but smiled, revealing a damned dimple. I blinked, mesmerized by his gorgeousness.

“All right. I won’t move. Careful with the gun,” he said.

Once again I bristled.

“There’s no need for handcuffs,” Bigger Guy said, his voice calm as he tried to slowly turn once more. I raised his wrist higher, making him groan at the discomfort.

“On the ground,” I told him, my voice just shy of shouting.

At first he wouldn’t go, but a little torque on his arm and Bigger Guy dropped to one knee, then the other, his body hitting the hardwood floor like a tree falling in the forest. I sat on his back, straddled him as I grabbed his other wrist and got him cuffed. I spun about on Bigger Guy’s back so I faced his feet, aimed the gun at Mr. Black Hair. No way was I taking my eyes off him.

“Don’t even think about blinking,” I warned.

He lifted his hands a touch higher, slowly shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

The front door opened, and Poppy came in, tugging off her winter hat. She made it three steps before she saw us. Her eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped open. “Holy shit.”

No one moved for a few seconds; then Poppy burst out laughing. “Oh, this is awesome.”

“Pops, tell your gorgeous friend to put her gun away,” Mr. Black Hair said.

Poppy held up her hand and kept on laughing. Tears slid down her cheeks. “Oh no. I’ve got to get my camera.”

“Pops!” Mr. Black Hair shouted.

“Fine. Eve, meet my brother, Shane. The guy you’re sitting on is Finch.”

I glanced up at Mr. Black Hair—Shane. He winked at me. Winked!