Free Striking Distance by Pamela Clare Page A

James, a pretty Navajo woman, her husband Gabe Rossiter, and two little ones under the age of two. Then Nate’s brother-in-law, Marc Hunter, Denver’s SWAT captain, and his wife, Sophie, arrived with their two kids.
    Between the adults talking and children running and squealing, it was chaos. It might have bothered some guys, but Javier felt right at home. He came from a big family with two brothers, three sisters, six nephews, and nine nieces, not to mention aunts, uncles, and a few dozen cousins, most of whom had kids. When they got the whole family together—which they did whenever Javier was on leave—the laughter, music, and conversation were loud and lasted late into the night.
    He found himself outside on the deck shooting the shit with Hunter and Rossiter, while everyone got ready for an afternoon of skiing, snowshoeing, and sleigh rides.
    Rossiter, who was a climber and former park ranger, was talking about his grand plan for the afternoon. “You can ski some incredible places with a paragliding sail strapped to your back. It’s like flying, BASE jumping, and skiing combined.”
    Ski paragliding wasn’t a sport that interested Javier, in part because he couldn’t see the point. He shook his head. “I don’t know—strapping some kind of ’chute to your back and letting the wind pull you down the mountain? Either ski or jump.”
    Hunter chuckled, pointing to Rossiter. “You wouldn’t believe the sick shit I’ve seen this guy do. If a sport involves gravity, snow in any form, and a high likelihood of death, he’s in.”
    A flash of short platinum-blond hair—and a body that could kill.
    It wasn’t Laura Nilsson, but . . .
    Javier gave a low whistle.
    Hunter and Rossiter looked over their shoulders, then back at Javier.
    Hunter shook his head. “Oh, no. No, no. Don’t even think about it.”
    “He’s human. He’s male. He’s going to think about it.” Rossiter grinned. “That’s Holly Bradshaw. She’s one of the paper’s entertainment writers. She’ll chew you up and spit you out.”
    That didn’t sound so bad.
    Hunter looked over at her. “What she needs is to fall for a man who refuses to sleep with her.”
    Javier was about to say a guy would have to be gay as a daisy to turn down a woman like Holly, when suddenly
she
was there.
    His heart skipped again—and gave a thud.
    Wearing jeans and a white blouse beneath a blue angora cardigan, Laura shook hands with Nate and McBride, then Natalie, her pale blond hair catching the light, the smile on her face hitting Javier in the gut. She shook Megan’s hand, then knelt down to talk to Emily, giving the little girl her full attention.
    ¡Ea Diablo!
She was beautiful!
    Hunter and Rossiter saw her, too.
    “Oh, hey, she came.” Hunter sounded surprised to see her. He lowered his voice. “Sophie said she didn’t think Laura was going to make it. Derek Tower—the asshole who owns the security company that was supposed to have kept her safe in Pakistan—accosted her in the parking lot outside the paper last night. He forced his way into her car. She drew on him—a double deuce—but he tore the weapon out of her hands, even left bruises. She filed a report with DPD last night. Uniforms went looking for him but haven’t found him.”
    Javier had heard of Derek Tower, hadn’t known what to think of him. Now he hated the bastard. His gaze snapped back to Hunter. “Doesn’t she have protection—a bodyguard?”
    Hunter shook his head. “Sophie says the FBI doesn’t believe she’s in any real danger, and she can’t afford to pay for protection herself. Sophie wants me to talk to Old Man Irving—Denver’s chief of police—and have our local boys fill in.”
    “Not a bad idea.” Javier had never understood how the federal agencies worked. It all seemed like red tape and bullshit to him.
    “Let’s go say hello.” Hunter opened the sliding patio door and walked inside, Rossiter behind him.
    Javier followed the two men indoors but