These Boots Were Made for Stomping by Julie Kenner

Just around the corner.
    She turned and raced in that direction, her heart stopping at the sight before her—a black-haired man dressed all in red,
     his hand tight around the throat of Lydia’s beloved Silver Streak—or Silver Streak look-a like—who looked like he was about
     to pass out.
    She didn’t stop to evaluate, but instead ran forward, her feet leading the way.
    “Let him go!” she screamed, then launched herself at the man in red. Her whole body hit his arm, and Silver was jostled free,
     falling back with the oddest expression on his face. Undoubtedly gratitude.
    She didn’t stop to chitchat, though. His attacker was turning to flee. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she said, running after him, even
     as Silver leaped to his feet.
    Lydia focused on her foe, attacking him with a solid kick to the face, but he surprised her by grabbing her heel and forcing
     her to flip backward in the air, resulting in a stomach-churning aerial somersault from which—miracle of miracles—she landed
     on both feet, knees bent to absorb the impact of the jump.
    Those few seconds in the air, however, were enough. As she gasped and trembled, Red fired off a little salute, then disappeared,
     his body glowing like a billion charged particles of Captain Kirk going through the transporter one too many times.
    “He’s gone,” she said, not quite able to believe her eyes.
    “He’s gone, all right,” Silver said, his voice cutting as sharp as a knife. “Do you have any idea who that was? Any idea at
     all how many man-hours I put into planning this?”
    She blinked at him, the world tilting a little as five Cosmopolitans sloshed around in her bloodstream. “I . . . What ?”
    “He’s gone, the mission’s blown, and I’d have to say it’s all your fault.”

CHAPTER FIVE
    “My fault?” Lydia repeated, her excitement at seeing Silver again starting to fizzle away. “ My fault ?” The world was spinning, but whether from his words or from her previous Cosmopolitans, she didn’t know. “How the heck is
     it my fault he got away? I saved you.”
    “You screwed me,” Silver said, his eyes flashing. “I had it under control.”
    “Look, Silver. I don’t know—”
    “Dammit,” he said. “I knew it. I knew that was what you thought.”
    She blinked, her entire defense crumbling around her. “Um, sorry?”
    “I am not the Silver Streak,” he said, with way more force than she thought the situation warranted. “Sorry to shatter your illusions,
     but—”
    “Whoa there, dude,” Lydia said, holding up her hands in defense before he could launch into a tirade. “I didn’t say you were.
     But you didn’t bother to throw an introduction in when you were screaming at me, now, did you?”
    She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head, then almost fell over sideways. Either the shoes, her surprising new gumption,
     or the alcohol was getting to her, because it certainly couldn’t be the guy. Gorgeous though he might be, she was beginning
     to think that maybe looks weren’t everything. She’d saved his butt, and he wasn’t even being nice to her! What was up with
     that?
    She drew in another breath, all set to lay into him all over again, but he beat her to the punch. His face relaxed, the tight
     jaw loosened, then actually curved up into a sexy smile—the kind that shows a dimple and a sense of humor.
    “Nikko,” he said, holding out his hand. “And you are? Other than trouble, I mean.”
    “Lydia,” she said. “Lydia Carmichael.”
    “Well, Lydia Carmichael, you want to tell me how long you’ve officially been a Protector? And why you didn’t tell me when
     we met earlier today? Because I think I can document about twenty-seven breaches of protocol here.”
    “Protector?” she echoed, even as he leaned in to sniff her breath.
    “Cosmopolitans,” he said, so close she could feel his hot breath on her face. “Don’t you know drinking on the job isn’t allowed?”
    “Try after the job,” she