The Family You Make (Sunrise Cove #1)

She wasn’t even going to try and attempt to decipher that comment. Or the look in those eyes of his, which were a startling, almost hypnotic green.

She took another look around. There were no other customers in the store. Riggs was looking at Tae, or at least pretending to while actually eyeballing the mirror over the end of the aisle, which was giving him a bird’s-eye view of the checkout counter. They both watched the kid reach into his coat, but faster than a blink of an eye, Ms. Riley had her shotgun out and pointed at the kid’s nose.

“Go ahead, make my day, punk,” she said, not missing Clint Eastwood’s tone by all that much.

Here was the thing. Tae knew that the gun was all for show, that Ms. Riley, annoying as hell and mean as a snake, was not a murderer. She wasn’t going to shoot at the kid.

But obviously, the kid didn’t know that. He tried to make a run for it, making Riggs swear and head him off, with Tae right on his heels.

A shotgun blast sounded and ceiling-tile dust rained down on all of them. “There’s more where that came from!” Ms. Riley yelled, moving the gun so that it was always aimed at one of the three of them.

Tae couldn’t hear past the ringing in her ear from the close proximity to the shotgun blast. She’d instinctively jumped in front of the kid—while at the very same second, Riggs had slid his big body in front of hers.

“What kind of idiot jumps in front of a gun?” he growled at her.

“What kind of an idiot jumps in front of a woman who’s jumped in front of a gun?” she growled right back.

Riggs looked incredulous. “I was trained by Uncle Sam.”

“Yeah, and I got my education from the school of hard knocks. I’ve got this under control!” She looked at Ms. Riley. Not easy, since she had to peek around the stone wall that was Riggs, which meant the diminutive Ms. Riley now had her gun, Dirty Harry, pointed directly at his chest. “Okay, whoa,” Tae said as calmly as she could with her blood thundering in her ears. “Let’s all just calm down here and—”

“No.” Ms. Riley had her gun up to her cheek, one eye closed, the other clearly holding the three of them in her sights. “Hands up. All of you.”

The kid was frozen in place, visibly shaking as he raised his hands.

Ms. Riley narrowed her eyes at Tae. “I knew you were trouble. You’re with this little punk-ass thief, aren’t you.”

Tae had faced a lot of questionable circumstances in her life, several that she probably shouldn’t have lived through. She’d long ago decided she was like a cat and had nine lives. She sure as hell hoped she had at least one left. “Ms. Riley, please lower your gun.”

“Dirty Harry stays until you all empty out your pockets on the counter right now. The big guy first.”

Tae could feel the tension in Riggs’s body, but he didn’t move.

“I don’t care who I shoot!” Ms. Riley said. “Now!”

Tae started to take a step toward the counter, but Riggs gave her a hard look and she stilled. Then he slowly reached into his pockets and set the contents on the counter. Wallet. Keys. Phone.

“Turn around,” Ms. Riley told him. “Slowly. Are you armed? You seem the sort to be armed.”

“I’m not armed.” Riggs raised his hands and turned in a slow circle.

Ms. Riley nodded her satisfaction and looked at Tae. “You next.”

“Look at me. I had to shoehorn myself into this ridiculous dress. Do I look like I’m hiding anything?”

“Bullshit. I know you. You’re carrying something.”

Tae reached into her bra, pulling out the debit card she’d already revealed, along with two twenties and a small lip gloss.

The kid looked agog.

Riggs was showing nothing.

Ms. Riley gestured with the gun for the rest. “I know there’s more.”

“Fine.” It wasn’t often that Tae felt thankful for her D’s, but she was in that moment as she reached back in for a small can of mace and then under her dress for the pocketknife she had sheathed to a thigh.

“You still carry that thing?” Riggs asked.

“Of course.”

The very corners of his mouth quirked slightly. “What else is in there?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Tae looked at Ms. Riley. “We good?”

“Everything, Tae Holmes.”

Tae sighed and pulled out a just-in-case tampon. “There. Happy?”

“Not until the kid empties his pockets.”

The kid shook his head.

Tae eyed him. She’d been right. He looked to be barely fourteen, and he was definitely still a flight risk. “Listen,” she told him. “She’s not kidding, okay? Whatever you’ve got in there is way less dangerous than Ms. Riley with a gun, trust me.”

He shifted on his feet and yep, it was in the whites of his wide eyes. He was going to bolt. “No!” she cried. “Don’t—”

The little idiot darted for the door.

Ms. Riley swung her gun his way.

Riggs dove for Ms. Riley—and the gun.

And suddenly life became a slow-motion movie montage. Riggs literally flying through the air toward the locked and loaded gun. The kid running faster than the speed of light. Ms. Riley taking aim . . .

On Tae’s left was a bank of coolers holding last-minute items like eggs, milk, soda. On her right was a display of beer, the cans stacked like a castle turret against the endcap. She snatched a can and flung it, beaning the kid right between the shoulder blades. He went down just as Ms. Riley’s gun went off with an earsplitting BOOM.

Immediately on its heels came a shattering sound, and more ceiling tile rained down on them, and glass from the lights. Everyone but Ms. Riley hit the floor. Tae felt a piece of something, either part of the ceiling or a shard of glass, smack her in the face. Raising her head, her eyes locked on Riggs as he got to his feet. No big hole in him anywhere, thankfully. She crawled through the ceiling debris, insulation, and broken glass on the floor to the kid, who hadn’t moved. “Hey, are you okay?”