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and ensure it wasn't one of the gunmen coming back, pretending to be a policeman. Which was a much more realistic scenario than that a lone police officer suddenly dropped by to make an arrest in a ghost town.
    The redheaded man jerked his attention to the tall, blond-haired man standing in front of the hideaway door. His dark brown eyes narrowed, the self-professed policeman was dressed in jeans and a black muscle shirt, and had his .357 magnum trained on the perp.
    The redhead swung around to shoot the police officer, confirming the new man wasn't with these men.
    She fired three times at the gunman's hand, wounding him, and he jerked his hand to the side, forcing his shot to go wild. He dropped his gun as his round struck the wall near the secret entrance. With his uninjured hand, he went for a knife strapped at his leg and whirled around to face her.
    Crap! Did the bastard have a death wish? Maybe he thought he could take her hostage. Fat chance he'd have at doing that.
    "Hands in the air!" She didn't want to kill the bastard. They needed him for questioning.
    The police officer fired a shot, hitting the man in the side of his kneecap.
    Crying out in pain, the gunman collapsed, writhing on the floor. His cold blue eyes turned to her, and she knew before he even moved, he was going for his damn gun.
    The police officer raced across the creaking floor.
    "You've got backup, right?" she asked, praying to God the police officer did, even though he appeared to be off-duty or maybe he was undercover. She rushed to kick the wounded man's gun out of his reach and bumped into the officer, aiming for the same thing.
    She immediately smelled the police officer's sexy cougar scent. Her gaze shot up to his, and she took another deep breath, her lips parting in surprise. And then she recognized him. The man in the coffee shop, who had smelled of horses and leather…and cougar.
    In the type of business she was in, she had made a lot of friends among the various law enforcement agencies because she had to work with the different agencies to get the job done. But running into a police officer who was a shifter? A cowboy? And hot?
    This was a totally new experience. He gave her a slight smile, his dark eyes matching the expression. Then he frowned. "What the hell's going on here, Special Agent Tracey Whittington?"
    ***
    As soon as all hell had broken loose in the ghost town, Hal swore he'd never run so fast in his life as he did trying to come to the agents' aid. Now, he secured the wounded man with a plastic wrist tie, ensured the other gunman was dead, then turned to look down into the prettiest green eyes he'd ever seen—tendrils of dark blond hair caressing the woman's shoulders, the rest of her silky hair still bound, her black T-shirt fitting around a nice package, cargo pants showing off some more curves, and boots, indicating she was a member of a law enforcement agency. She certainly had the weapon to back up her business, and she knew how to handle it. What he didn't know was what the hell was going on with her as far as her being in two shootouts in the same vicinity.
    "What took you so long?" she asked.
    That made his serious expression vanish and his mouth curved up. He couldn't help himself. The woman was a firecracker, but most importantly, she was a hot cougar. In this line of work, he had never met one, female-type, in either a military or civilian police capacity. He was more than intrigued. And he was damn glad Stryker had wanted him to take care of the business with Mrs. Blasdell's call.
    She turned her attention from Hal and kept her gun trained on the wounded man writhing on the floor, and the other man, just in case. "How do you know me? And how do I know you're who you say you are?"
    Hal pulled out his badge and showed it to her. With one hand, she tugged on the long gold chain at her neck and pulled out a badge from inside her shirt that had to have been resting against her breasts.
    "I'm Deputy Sheriff Hal