An excerpt from Flight to Freedom

Laura tried the door to the bank. It was locked, of course. Laura pulled a little harder and it came open. Six heads turned to her in surprise. "MBPD," she announced. "You're going to want to leave that here."

Brian looked at the blue canvas bag in his hand, a large bag, full no doubt of cash from the vault, and then he smiled at her.

That, too, was different from his pictures. His smile was stunning when not frozen in black and white. Handsome. Wow. And he was staring at her, like somehow he might find her as fascinating as the world found him. "I don't think so," he said, lightly.

Laura spoke to the bank employees. "Are you all right?" They had lost their easy manner and looked at Laura with worry. She understood that. The robber had been about to leave, but Laura had come in to keep him. But surely, some of them cared about the money!

"We're fine," the bank manager said weakly.

"Why don't you all leave?" she asked them in a firm voice, indicating the door, but her eyes on Brian. He made no effort to stop her, or to stop the employees as they gingerly got to their feet and sneaked past Laura to the open door.

When they had gone, Brian said, "I'll be going, too."

"Nope," Laura answered. She stood between him and the door.

"You're not going to pull a gun on me, are you?" he asked. Those blue eyes were the color of a summer sky. Somehow, he managed to look innocent and maligned.

"Not supposed to." She put a hand on her hip in her blue jeans, right near the holster. "Doesn't mean I won't."

"Fair enough." He took a step toward her and Laura held her ground.

"Excuse me," he said.

Laura tried not to laugh. Laugh? Cops didn't laugh. She glared at him. "Not moving."

"I can change that," he offered softly. Laura waited. And waited. Brian just stood there.

Finally she raised her eyebrows. "Well?"

He was staring at her, blinking his eyes. He raised a hand, palm out, toward her. "It's not really in the hands," he said, as if she wanted commentary. "But..." He trailed off. "You're not moving."

"That's what I said," she reminded him.

"Yes, but normally, that's up to me," he answered, in a kind of confused voice. He shook his head, dropped his hand. "You're really not moving." He turned and Laura followed his gaze to the vault, where the open door began to slide closed by itself. "Not me," he murmured, turned back to her. "It must be you."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He cocked his head at her. "How much do you weigh?"

"Not as much as the vault door," Laura said stiffly, standing straight in her size 6 jeans.

"That's so weird," he whispered.

Laura did not like it when people called her weird. "I'll show you weird," she muttered, and picked up a glass paperweight from the desk beside her. It was heavy, at least a pound. In a smooth, well-practiced motion, Laura threw it at Brian.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, as the paperweight leaped up just before it hit his face and smashed into the wall behind him. He turned to stare at it. "Well, I'm glad I could move that."

"Give me the money," Laura ordered.

"Now, hold on," Brian said, as if it were acceptable to ask for a time out.

It wasn't. Laura put her hands under the whole desk this time, lifted it off the floor. Papers and pens and a lamp went crashing.

Brian was staring at her. "Hey," he said, but Laura threw it anyway. Brian had to duck this time, he fell over onto the dark blue bank carpet as the desk swerved to miss him. It left a dent in the wall where it hit.

"Who are you?" he exclaimed, looking at the desk that could fly.

"Officer Wayne."

"Officer Wayne." Brian looked like he was about to get up, but wasn't sure if that was going to help. He still clutched the canvas bag in one hand. His hands had already caught Laura's attention, they were large and strong, gorgeous hands. A match to the athletic build of his body. "You have a first name?" Brian asked.

"Yup."

Brian coughed, and it sounded suspiciously like a laugh. He slowly got to his feet. "Okay." He stretched his arms a little bit. "I'm ready to go home, and I'm sure you want to get on with your day, so may I leave now, please?"

"Sure. Just give me the money. Even trade."

A half smile. "That's awfully gracious of you."

"Not like a jail could hold you."

"Thank goodness for small favors." Brian did not let go of the bag. "Sorry, Officer."

Laura heaved a sigh and then heaved a chair at him, but this time Brian was ready. He let the chair hurtle past unhindered, but turned a graceful flip above it, landing on the floor behind Laura. Next to the door. Frustrated, Laura swung at him, punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow!" Brian cried. He ducked as she swung again, caught her fist in his hand. Laura tried to press forward, but he held her steady. Though it looked like it took a lot of strength on his part. Then he took a quick step backwards and Laura stumbled. Brian pulled out of her reach as she caught herself. He now stood right next to the door.

"Will you tell me your name?" he asked, rubbing his shoulder.

Laura looked from him to the bag still in his grip. Then, after a moment's thought, she put out her hand to him, palm up.

Brian started laughing this time, didn't try to hide it. He unzipped the bag, took out a wrapped bundle of money, pink cellophane. Carefully, he dropped it in her hand.

"It's Laura," she said graciously, setting the money on a nearby desk.

"It's been a pleasure, Laura," said Brian Grayson, sounding like he meant it, and then he pushed open the glass door, rose into the sky as Laura heard a burst of radios, the pounding of helicopter blades, the shouts of a crowd. Later everyone wanted to know how Laura had recovered some of the stolen money.

"Because that's what cops do," she said.