Watch your six, boys. Always watch your six. ~ First Sergeant Michael “Mako” Tyne”

Gabe finished the never-ending police paperwork and glanced at the clock. Outside, the sun was still up—of course—but it was well past time to leave. At least Baumer wasn’t around. Since Audrey had heard the asshole scaremongering two weeks ago, the officer hadn’t done anything out of line, at least nothing Gabe had caught on camera.

Hell, Baumer wasn’t doing much of anything, in fact. He was a lazy bastard. He rarely did foot patrols, preferring to sit in comfort in the office or cruise the roads. During his shifts, he exerted only enough effort to keep from getting chewed out.

Made for an uncomfortable working environment. Politics or not, Gabe would give Baumer the boot before the man’s probation period ended.

Rising, Gabe stretched.

The library was closed on Thursdays, so Audrey was already at home. Last night, they’d picked the first strawberries from the Hermitage garden, and she wanted to try making strawberry shortcake from scratch.

His mouth watered. They had fresh asparagus and snap peas. Caz had fished yesterday and caught a salmon. But…strawberry shortcake to top it all off?

Over the past week, the city girl had dived into catching and growing her own food. She was an excellent cook, insisting that cooking was a simple matter of finding a good recipe and proper adherence to the details.

He smiled. Her personality was a fascinating mixture of brilliance and logic and enthusiasm and compassion.

Since last week when he’d made clear that they were together, she’d relaxed into their fling. She was pretty much living in his house.

And he wanted to get home to her.

Regina had left a couple of hours before and locked the building’s front door. Gabe latched the station’s inner door and secured the gun-safe.

At the back, he opened the door and glanced outside. Two cars remained in the parking lot. No people.

Taking a step out the door, he heard an indrawn breath. A scrape.

Instinct took over. He dove forward…and the blow aimed at his head struck his shoulder.

He front-rolled to his feet, spun, and drew his Glock. A baseball bat hit his hand and knocked the weapon to the ground. Someone kicked it across the lot.

Knuckles burning, Gabe assessed the situation.

Five men. They must’ve been hidden against the side of the building. All wore ski masks. All carried weapons. One baseball bat, one club, brass knuckles, two had knives.

All five charged.

Jesus. He dodged a club, gripped the guy’s wrist, and punched. As the elbow joint fractured, the man screamed. Gabe grabbed the club for his own, whirled—and caught a fist in the forehead. Ignoring the blast of pain, he ducked the swinging baseball bat and slammed the club into a knife-wielder’s knee.

Bellowing, that bastard went down.