Free Vigilante Mine by Cera Daniels Page A

down her spine. "What's wrong?"
    "I think I heard something. Bad news." He dropped his hands and headed for the structure. "Wait here."
    She almost snarled. He was a civilian, and she could handle "bad news". Her adrenaline surged free on a heady rush of frustration.
    The last thing I need is someone else to keep me on the sidelines.
    Ryan held out a hand to block her forward motion when she rounded the building and she slid around him, taking point. He whooshed out an exasperated breath. Amanda hugged the wall. In the middle of the back alley was a man, arms splayed, feet cocked at awkward angles. A perp with a knife leaned over him.
    Amanda instinctively reached for a gun, her hips bare of equipment. She cut off a curse. Four months and she still wasn't used to being without a weapon. Well, she wasn't defenseless. Her eyes narrowed and she shifted onto her toes, a more mobile position as she sized up the suspect.
    Long-sleeved mesh shirt over a skin-tight tee, obscenely fitted leather pants — this scumbag wasn't hiding a gun. Her eyes flashed to all the points where an accomplice could have been tucked away, but he didn't appear to have friends.
    Ryan's fingers brushed her arm and her head jerked back, connecting with his shoulder on a light thud. Pine aftershave set her hormones to purring. She bit her lip.
    "Gun. Two o'clock," he whispered in her ear. "No shooter."
    Her eyes searched the ground around the body again. Sure enough, a discarded gun lay a couple of feet away, its muzzle sticking out from under a trash bin. A drug buy gone wrong?
    The knife loomed closer to the fallen man and Amanda stepped into the alley. "Police, put the weapon down."
    He straightened with a jolt. Both hands came up. "Lady, he was dead when I got here."
    Amanda stepped closer, keeping her voice firm. "Drop the knife."
    He didn't. Instead, the suspect broke into a gallop down the side street. Ryan growled somewhere behind her as she sprinted after the man, her boots blasting the cracked pavement with satisfying clicks. Thick flakes of snow wheeled around her, tumbling faster as she ran.
    "Stop! Police!" Damn, but her blood was happy he didn't listen.
    He jumped for a raised fire escape and she slammed into his side, plowing his shoulder against a once-neon orange scrawl of graffiti. His knife spun to the ground. She kicked it away and he wrenched free.
    The skinny bastard didn't make it far. Amanda nudged the back of his knee with her heel and he stumbled. She pinned him hard and yanked her scarf from around her neck, pulling the chenille taut before wrapping it around his wrists.
    "I said stop," she growled.
    "I know this looks bad, but I swear I didn't ex him!" His breath on the pavement melted a layer of freshly clinging snow.
    The scene would be compromised by the elements if they didn't get a CSU out there fast.
    She gave a savage yank on the makeshift restraints to get him on his feet. Dark marks peeked around the dull gray fabric. Ornate, flaming dragon skulls tattooed his wrists. This guy was syndicate.
    "You tryin' to take off my hands, lady?"
    "Detective," she corrected. "You're lucky it's my day off. Metal cuffs are far less comfy." Or warm. As her adrenaline tapered off, the chill in the air seeped under her collar and right to her bones.
    She hauled him back to the alley and Ryan grabbed his bicep. "I'll watch him."
    Amanda paused, studying the determined look in the businessman's eyes and ignoring another protest from her charge.
    "What?" Ryan stepped closer. The move flexed his arm in a way that drew attention to his jacket sleeve. Along with the generous muscle underneath. "It's not like I'll let him go."
    "If you really didn't do this," she said, forcing the young thug to look her in the eye. "You don't run again. Try it, and you might as well sign that confession now."
    She waited until he frowned, his stance loose with defeat, then she released her charge into Ryan's care. Amanda dropped her gaze to the victim, whose