I’m about to lock the door before I cuff him and the man he knocked out, when it blasts open. My heart rate spikes and I quickly move to my power position, stepping behind the man now on his knee and pointing my weapon over his head at the door as yet another man, this one thankfully familiar, walks into the store. Tall, broad, muscled up with a salt and pepper goatee, my stepfather, Kurt, is holding a handgun with the ease of a practiced man who is, in fact, a legend with the military. Literally. Most people don’t know if he’s real or not.
“You’re clear in the front,” he announces, “and I called for backup.”
Of course, he did. Kurt not only owns a sprawling property called “The Ranch” not far from here, he acts as if he owns the entire neighborhood. Not to mention the fact that everyone in law enforcement also knows him and for good reason. They all want to train with him, and few will ever earn that opportunity.
He glances at the man on his knees. “Lucifer,” he says casually. “I didn’t know you were back.”
“It was past due,” the man I now know to be called “Lucifer” replies. He’s not the devil by name, but close enough. And it’s a nickname that combined with his familiarity with my stepfather tells a story about who, and what kind of man, I have on his knees.
“He was walking around waving a gun,” I say. “Who he is to you?”
“I was not waving a gun,” Lucifer rebuts coolly. “I was aiming it at the guy who tried to kill the nice lady behind the counter.”
“That’s true!” the woman calls out, motioning to the guy on the floor. “This fool was pointing the gun at me, and Lucifer walked right up to him, and the next thing I knew, he just knocked him out.”
Kurt’s lips curve in amusement, and he casts me sideways look. “He’s good, baby girl. One of my best, much like you. Let him up.” He moves on as if his word is law, and not without history. Most people, me included, listen when he talks. Kurt trains government-employed killers. Obviously, Lucifer is one of the elite who have been privy to that training. In other words, Lucifer is not “good,” not in a literal sense, but he’s also clearly not guilty of robbing the store.
“Have you cleared the rear of the store?” Kurt asks.
“No, not yet,” I say. “I was dealing with your man who refused to drop his weapon.”
“When have I ever taught you to drop your weapon, sweetie?” He winks. “Give him a break. I’ll handle the rear.” He steps around me and heads down an aisle.
Sirens shrill, growing closer.
I grimace at Lucifer, who’s now shifted his position to look up at me with those damn bright blue eyes I notice yet again, and there’s a quirk to his lips. He’s amused. I am definitely not. He’s also a little too good-looking for the safety of all of womankind. He arches a brow. “Can I retrieve my weapon and stand up?” he asks.
“We both know Kurt didn’t teach you to ask.”
“I usually don’t.”
“Then why are you now?”
“Respect.”
“For Kurt, not me.” I don’t give him time to answer. “Get up. Wait outside and don’t go anywhere. Law enforcement will want to interview you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, retrieving his weapon as he stands and slides it into a holster under his leather jacket.
“All clear!” Kurt calls out. “We have a scared young man here in the freezer area. Rear door is locked.”
“That’s Jonathan!” the woman behind the counter shouts. “Poor Jonathan.” The woman rounds the counter and rushes toward Kurt and the other man.
Lucifer steps closer, towering over me, and while some might think this move would intimidate me, Lucifer knows Kurt trained me, therefore, he already knows that won’t work on me.
As if confirming that truth, he says, “I heard Kurt had a badass daughter. I had no idea she would one day be the woman who brought me to my knees quite literally.”
He may, or may not, be flirting with me. “Kurt teaches us to resist. I’m surprised you even got on your knees.”
“Sometimes, a man doesn’t want to resist.”
He is flirting.
And I’m not nearly immune as I should be, either.
A police officer steps inside the store and we both glance that direction. The officer stomps a path toward us. Lucifer’s eyes return to me, potent in their impact. “I’ll see you outside, Ana,” he says, making it clear that he knows my name, through my association with Kurt. “And just for the record,” he adds. “My name is Luke Remington though I was born Lucas, and became Luke, per my mother, when I insisted on that change at age five. I also answer to Lucifer, my code name when I was flying jets. It has nothing to do with any work I did for, or with, Kurt. I’m not one of Kurt’s men, nor have I ever been one of his men.” He walks toward the officer, and I’m officially intrigued by this stranger who has an association I avoid: that being Kurt. No one who knows Kurt denies his influence and catches my attention. And yet, Lucifer, Luke, Lucas, whatever you want to call him, just did.