I looked up at him instantly comparing. Shorter than both Hawk and Lawson but he could seriously work facial hair. And I wasn’t having a flight of fancy the day before. On the hot-o-meter he rang the top bell and he rang it loud.

“Hey,” I said but it came out kind of breathy.

“Hey peaches,” he replied, not breathy at all but deep and gravelly.

“Um… what are you doing here?” I asked, taking that opportunity to glance toward my house to see a biker had a tape measure and was measuring my window.

“Heard word you had a visitor last night,” Tack said and I looked back at him.

“Kind of, he was… uh, interrupted before I could, um… offer him some chocolate chip cookie dough,” I told him.

This garnered me a white teeth surrounded by salt and pepper goatee’ed smile and I made a mental note to stop being a smartass because, apparently, badasses liked smartass women.

Then Tack stated, “You didn’t call.”

“Um… no, I didn’t call,” I agreed.

“Told you, you get in a situation, you call,” he went on.

I stared through my shades at his shades. He didn’t sound biker-angry. He wasn’t being scary. I would know because when he was you could see it, hear it and feel it.

I decided not to answer.

Tack continued. “So, I heard word you had a situation, you didn’t call, I figure, you’re the kind of woman who wants the call. So, I’m callin’.”

I looked at the bikers on my lawn and at my door. Then I looked at Tack.

“Sorry, I must have missed it. Maybe my phone ran out of juice.”

“No, babe,” he dipped his head to the side to indicate the bikers, “that’s me callin’.”

I looked back at the bikers then at Tack. Then it hit me that was how Tack made his call to announce that he was interested and he intended to do something about it.

Uh. Wow.

“Oh,” I whispered.

I was thinking this was not good at the same time feeling warm and fuzzy all over.

I heard the purr of an engine and I leaned to the side to see a metallic dark gray, new model, kick-freaking-ass Chevrolet Camaro rolling to a stop behind the black van and gliding up behind that was another black van, this one newer, nicer, more expensive and very shiny.

The door of the Camaro opened up and Hawk folded out, also wearing shades, his were aviator glasses that were even more kick-freaking-ass than the Camaro and the Camaro was hot. Out of the van jumped a bunch of heavily muscled, cargo-pants and tight, long-sleeved tee wearing commandos.

Hawk’s shades sliced our way.

Uh-oh.

I was wrong. This was not good and I was no longer feeling warm and fuzzy at all.

I heard a car door slam across the street, I leaned the other way to peer around Tack and saw a police vehicle with red and blue lights in the dash, not on the top and walking across the street wearing his own, wire-rimmed, super-hot shades was Detective Mitch Lawson.

Super, double, extra uh-oh!

The hot-o-meter started ringing like crazy as hot guys descended on me, my car and Tack from two directions.

Boy was I glad I curled my hair.

Tack turned but didn’t unpin me as they got close.

What did I do now?

I decided to play it cool but there was one big problem with that, I wasn’t cool.

Hawk got there first and his shades didn’t leave me when he stopped a few feet away.

“Babe,” he greeted but his voice was kind of rumbly in a way that I didn’t suspect meant he was in a good morning mood.

“Hey,” I greeted back.

Lawson arrived, rounding Hawk so he could get a clear line of sight to me but his shades swept Tack, his mouth tight, before they landed on me.

“Mornin’, Gwendolyn,” he greeted, ignoring Hawk and Tack.

“Uh, morning,” I greeted back.

“You sleep okay?” Lawson asked.

“Not really,” I answered honestly.

“Got a remedy for that,” Tack put in and two pairs of shades sliced to him so mine did too and I saw he had his arms crossed on his chest and he was grinning.

Shit.

At this point, Hawk was done.

I knew this because he pointed a finger at Tack and then at Lawson saying, “You… you… talk,” and I figured he was probably the only person on the planet who could get away with doing something like that with those two guys.

He took a step back and both Lawson and Tack moved. So did I, to clear my door and throw it to. When I did, Hawk, who had turned to walk with Lawson and Tack across my lawn, turned back to me.

“Babe. Stay.”

I blinked at him through my shades.

Then I lost my temper.

“I’m not a dog!” I snapped loudly.

One second he was five feet away from me, the next I was pinned against my car.

“You stay or I’ll carry you to my car and handcuff you to the steering wheel. Your choice. Two seconds.”

Obviously I was right. Someone was not in a good morning mood.

“There’s a police officer here. I think he’ll frown on you carrying me to your car and handcuffing me to your steering wheel,” I informed him.

“Lawson knows me, so does Tack, and I promise you, Sweet Pea, I have to do what I have to do to deal with my woman, not a man in your yard will lift a finger to help you.”

I wasn’t certain I believed this statement but with the way he said it I wasn’t going to test it. Things were tense enough. I didn’t need biker vs. commando war on my front lawn with Lawson calling in police intervention.

So I gave in but I didn’t do it graciously.

“You just slipped down two levels on the hot-o-meter,” I informed him snottily.

“I’ll survive,” he shot back and turned away.

As he walked toward where Lawson and Tack were standing and waiting while watching me and Hawk, I walked to the hood of my car, jumped up to sit on it and crossed my arms on my chest.

Bikers and commandos alike swung their heads from me to the macho man, badass huddle. Me, I just watched the three hot guys talk, faces tight, eyes not even close to avoiding contact. Shades were locked to shades. This conversation was tense but it lasted all of three minutes. I didn’t time it but my guess was it could have been even less.

Then they broke away from each other. Lawson headed to his vehicle but he gave me a low wave. Tack whistled, flicked his fingers and the army of bikers were on the move, jumping on bikes and loading up in the van. Tack’s eyes came to me and he put a finger to his forehead and flipped it out before he jumped on a bike. Lawson’s car started and Harleys roared and through them taking off, Hawk broke off from talking to a slim but lean and cut man who was about two inches shorter than him and he came to me while the rest of the commandos unloaded what looked like boxes of equipment.