Boots on the Ground: Homefront, Book 1 by Rebecca Crowley Page A

glance over his shoulder found her pressed up against the wall next to the door, and then everything happened at once—the air hissed out of a tire as one corner of a truck thudded hard onto its hubcap, Chance tackled Ethan at the knees, seized the gun and ejected the clip, and the music pouring out of the bar came to an abrupt, ominous halt.
    Grady scrambled across the pavement to where Ethan lay crumpled on his side, all the fight gone out of him. He looked at Chance over their commanding officer’s limp form. He knew what he had to do.
    “Give me the gun.”
    “What?”
    “I did it. I shot the car.”
    Chance shook his head. “It’s property damage with an unlicensed firearm. You could do time.”
    “It’ll cost him his bars,” Grady hissed. “My military career’s over—I can ride out the charge. He doesn’t deserve to be punished for this.”
    Chance’s stare was flinty but he didn’t argue. Grady could hear hushed, curious voices beginning to build in volume as they approached the back door—there wasn’t much time.
    “We were all drunk, I snuck his weapon and shot the car.” He took the Beretta from Chance, gripped it to ensure his fingerprints were on the trigger, then handed it back. “You pushed me over and took it off me. You copy?”
    “Solid copy.” Chance’s jaw was so tight that every muscle stood out in stark relief. “I got your six, brother. We’ll find a way out of this.”
    “We always do.” He looked back at where Laurel still stood, her eyes round with panic as the wail of an approaching police siren grew louder and louder. In a minute the cops would arrive. They’d probably rough him up, press his face into the asphalt, wrench his arms a little—in his pretty extensive experience, small-town police officers liked to assert themselves when they came up against a man his size, especially a soldier. Then they’d load him into a patrol car and let him stew while they interviewed witnesses, assessed the scene, dropped random things they found on the floor into plastic bags as potential evidence. Finally they’d drive him off, telling him lurid stories about the characters he was about to spend a night alongside in a cell.
    And Laurel would see it all.
    He flashed her an encouraging smile as the first of the policemen burst through the door to her right. In less than a second they were on him like pit bulls, and as his forehead scraped against the hard, filthy ground, he thought, At least I’m not boring .

Chapter Six
    “Seriously, Blake, I owe you about ten million cupcakes.”
    Her older brother smiled, pushing back a strand of the blond hair that was as thick as ever as he approached forty. “Only if you’re buying them. I prefer my baked goods not to resemble hockey pucks.”
    Laurel squinted in the glare of the bright Monday morning sunshine reflecting off the courthouse steps. “I mean it. This guy doesn’t deserve to start civilian life in prison, and you’re going to keep him out of it. What can I do to thank you?”
    “From your account I’m only doing the right thing—which is exactly what he did. But if you’re insisting, why not bring him around so we can meet him? Our street’s having a big block party for Memorial Day. See if he’s available.”
    She shifted uneasily. “Why do you want to meet him?”
    “Because I like to know who’s courting my sister.”
    “What?” She attempted a dismissive laugh. “No, we’re not—”
    “Don’t even start. I can’t say I would’ve pegged him for your type, but as long as you’re happy.” He shrugged.
    “I’ll ask him about the block party. Now go on back to the office. I’ve taken up enough pro bono hours today.”
    “Family discount.” He grinned. “What’re your plans this morning?”
    “I’ll drive over to the jail and give Grady a lift home. I was supposed to be in surgery at eight but it was canceled.”
    “What happened?”
    “Patient died.”
    Blake laughed heartily, slapping her on