Free Running Blind by Cindy Gerard Page B

went up for Peter, the team’s operations manager, when he rolled into the room in his wheelchair.
    â€œTreats?” Davis’s close-cropped hair was peppered with gray, though he was only in his mid-thirties.
    â€œHelp yourself.” Rhonda walked to the coffeepot and filled her Betty Boop cup. “Oh, God.” She gasped after taking her first sip. “I don’t know how you guys drink this poison.”
    She walked out of the room, no doubt to dump the coffee and refill the mug from her personal coffee­maker.
    â€œShe’s not too predictable.” Davis laughed as he rolled over to the table and looked over the doughnuts.
    Coop agreed with her: the coffee here sucked. He also kept a pot and his own fresh-ground beans—100 percent Blue Mountain Jamaican and well worth the splurge—in his office.
    Davis filled a mug, then returned to the table and found the doughnut he wanted. When he’d first arrived more than a year ago, he’d looked like a man on death row. But they took care of their own, and Taggart even had him pumping iron for the last six months. He had an impressive set of guns on him now, and Coop could see how his self-confidence had grown.
    Rhonda walked back into the room, met his eyes across the table, and bam . Coop flashed back to last night and that kiss and felt a full jolt of sexual electricity sear through him.
    â€œOkay, people,” he said abruptly, jerking himself back to business. “I know we’re all in a celebratory mood, but we’ve got work to do if we want to find that shooter.”
    â€œWork that DCIS would knock our heads together for doing,” Carlyle mumbled around a mouthful of doughnut.
    Totally true. But they were used to calling their own shots, and screw any other dog that tried to take away their bones.
    Coop razzed him. “Do you think you can eat and think at the same time?”
    â€œIs that what they call multitasking?” Carlyle’s grin split his face.
    â€œFor you? Probably.”
    The door opened on their laughter, and Nate Black walked in.
    The room grew quiet as everyone stood to attention.
    â€œFor God’s sake, you’re not in the military now, boys. At fuckin’ ease.”
    Nervous laughs skittered around the room as Black joined Coop at the whiteboard and slowly looked it over.
    They might thumb their noses at DCIS’s “stand down” orders, but Nathan Black had teeth, authority, and, most important, their respect
    A former captain in the U.S. Marine Corps, he’d been the commanding officer of all the men now serving on his Black Ops Inc. team. Tall, probably six foot three, he was big in all ways that counted. A veteran of any recent conflict you could name, as decorated as a May Pole on May Day, and a leader who led from the front, he was trusted, loved, and no one to mess around with.
    So Coop held his breath as Black took his time reading the notes that made it clear what they were up to. If Black—the unofficial top dog on the Black Ops table of organization—told them to back off, there might well be resignations. And though it would be painful, Coop would be the first one to hand in his. He’d cover Mike and Eva’s back no matter what it cost him.
    â€œYou know that DCIS and the FBI are all over this.” Black looked Coop square in the eye. “They don’t want you messing with their investigation.”
    â€œI know that, sir, yes.”
    Black considered him a few moments longer, then faced the rest of the team. Coop felt a sense of pride as they all showed no sign of backing down.
    â€œCarry on, then,” Black said, and a collective breath of relief moved through the room. “Just keep it on the down low.”
    â€œYes, sir.” Coop worked hard to contain his relief.
    â€œOne condition,” Black added with a hard look. “Your other duties don’t suffer. That goes for all of you.”
    â€œCount on