Delta Force Die Hard

by Carol Ericson

  “If you’re sure I’m not putting you out.”

  “Are you prepared to say a few words at the fund-raiser?” Hailey held her breath. Ayala could be such an asset at this event, but she was shy.

  “I’d be happy to talk briefly.”

  Hailey clapped her hands. “Then make yourself at home.”

  “I’m going to get back to my hotel.” Joe straightened up and stretched, and Hailey tried not to stare at the way his shirt molded to his chest, although Ayala didn’t seem to have the same reservations.

  “It was nice to meet you, Joe, and thanks for looking out for my friend.” Ayala draped an arm around Hailey’s shoulders.

  “I’m glad she has company here.” Joe grabbed his jacket. “Can I take you ladies out to dinner tonight?”

  “Of course.” Hailey wrapped one arm around Ayala’s waist to make sure her friend knew she wouldn’t be intruding. “We’d love dinner.”

  “I don’t—” Ayala jumped when Hailey pinched her side. “Sounds good to me.”

  Ayala extricated herself from Hailey and headed for her bags in the corner. “I’m going to pick out a room now.”

  “Stick to the first two on the right. They share a connected bathroom. Clean towels in the cupboard.”

  “Just like a hotel but better.” Ayala hitched her carry-on bag over her shoulder. “See you later, Joe.”

  “See you.” Joe peeked around the corner of the kitchen to watch Ayala go up the stairs and then joined Hailey at the sink. “Speaking of hotels, I think it’s worth it to check out Marten’s.”

  “Do you think he still has a room there?” Hailey reached around Joe’s solid form to pick up Ayala’s cup.

  “Why wouldn’t he? I told you, I picked up Marten’s trail from the Pacific Rim Hotel, not from some house in the Sunset District. He went straight to the ferry from the hotel. If he never returned, he never checked out.”

  The cup slipped from Hailey’s fingers and clattered in the sink as it broke in two pieces. “You didn’t tell me it was the Pacific Rim.”

  Joe sucked in a breath. “Did you cut yourself?”

  “No.” Hailey held up her hand. “The Pacific Rim, are you sure?”

  “Yeah, fancy digs. If Marten was gambling, he must’ve had a good run.”

  “That’s where my fund-raiser is going to be.” She picked up the broken teacup by the handle and dropped it into the trash. “I wonder if Marten knew that.”

  “If he did, why wouldn’t he just set up a meeting at the hotel?” Joe pinched the other piece of the cup between his thumb and forefinger and threw it away. “If you’re having the fund-raiser there, do you think you can get access to Marten’s room?”

  “Don’t worry. I can get access to Marten’s room, no problem.”

  “Do you know a manager at the hotel?”

  “Better than that. I know the owner—it’s my father.”

  * * *

  JOE ADJUSTED THE scarf around his neck and turned his back to the wind as it whipped around the corner of his hotel. He’d rather be having dinner with Hailey alone tonight, but with Ayala in town he now had a package deal.

  Hadn’t his fortune at lunch today encouraged him to take a chance on a dark-haired beauty? Ayala had dark hair and beauty to spare, but he had eyes for just one brunette. He’d already taken a chance on a blonde and failed. Would hair color make a difference?

  A sleek white Jag pulled up to the hotel’s loading zone, and the passenger window buzzed down. Hailey leaned over the seat and called out the window. “Hey, stranger, need a ride?”

  Joe slid into the car and onto the warm leather seat. “Never thought I’d appreciate a seat warmer, but that wind off the bay cuts right to your bones.”

  Ayala leaned forward from the back seat. “Can you imagine how I feel coming from Florida?”

  “Yeah, don’t knock the seat warmers.” Hailey skimmed her hands over the steering wheel. “Where are we having dinner?”

  “I made reservations at a steak house in the Financial District—Jackson’s on Jackson. Is that okay?”

  “Good choice. You must’ve read the reviews.” Hailey pulled out of the hotel and into traffic.

  Joe twisted his head around. “Is that okay with you, Ayala? If you don’t eat steak, they have fish and even some vegetarian entrées.”

  “Steak is fine by me.”

  It didn’t take long for Hailey to navigate the traffic, and twenty minutes later she was handing her keys to a valet attendant.

  They took an elevator up to the top floor of the office building, where the restaurant commanded a view over the glittering lights of the city and the Transamerica Building formed a triangle in the sky.

  Would’ve been a romantic spot if not for the third wheel. Joe pulled out Hailey’s chair and then made a grab for Ayala’s chair. He’d already twisted the woman’s arm behind her back; he didn’t want her to know his real thoughts.

  She smiled her thanks and took her seat as a waiter scurried over to deliver water and a basket of bread.

  Hailey sighed. “This is nice.”

  Ayala raised her water glass to her lips and gazed over the rim at the view. “A long way from Syria, isn’t it?”

  Joe asked, “Are you going back soon or staying in Florida for a while?”

  “Just two weeks in Florida before returning to the refugee camp.”

  “It must get—” Joe waved a piece of bread in the air “—depressing. How long have you been doing the work?”

  “For a few years now. It’s not depressing to me. Those are my people, you know. My parents immigrated to the US from Syria. I have an older brother who was born there. I’d been working as a nurse, and as soon as I learned about the need for medical care during the civil war, I knew I had to help.”

  Joe bowed his head. “I am humbled to be in the presence of two such selfless, generous people.”

  “As Delta Force, you do your part, too—just in a different way.” Hailey opened the wine menu. “Should we share a bottle?”

  “I’m not much of a wine drinker, but you two go ahead. I’m a beer guy—you can take the boy out of Southie, but you can’t take the Southie out of the boy.”

  Ayala shook her head. “All I can handle is one glass, Hailey, so unless you’re prepared to polish off that bottle yourself, we should probably stick to single drinks.”

  “You’ve been in Syria too long. You used to be able to drink us under the table.” Hailey wrinkled her nose. “But if you’re opting out, I’m not going to order a whole bottle for myself.”

  The waiter approached their table. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  Hailey ordered a glass of cabernet, Ayala ordered a martini and Joe stuck with a beer.

  When the waiter left, Joe offered the basket of bread to Ayala. “Tell me about your experiences in Syria. Think of it as prep for the speech you owe Hailey.”

  Ayala waved off the bread. “I’ve been working out there for about three years. While I was at a symposium in Florida on emergency room treatments, I—I ran into a few nurses who had been working at some of the refugee centers. The work sounded incredible and I was stuck in a rut, so it was perfect timing for me.”

  “And for them.” Hailey ran a fingertip up the outside of her water glass. “The need couldn’t be greater right now.”

  “It’s so dangerous, though, as you both found out. Do you feel safe there, Ayala?”

  “Most of the time. What happened to us—” she glanced at Hailey from beneath her eyelashes “—that was an aberration. A onetime thing.”

  “I know it put a damper on the peace negotiations. Have both sides recovered from the damage that bombing caused?”

  The waiter appeared with their drinks, and Ayala sank back in her seat and took a long pull from her martini glass before he and Hailey even had their drinks i
n front of them. He’d have to steer the conversation in another direction. Either the violence bothered Ayala more than she let on, or she didn’t want to talk business tonight.

  Once they ordered their food and all had their drinks in hand, Hailey raised her glass. “To my bodyguard and keynote speaker and a successful fund-raiser.”

  They clinked glasses and Ayala took another big sip of her drink. “Keynote? I’m saying a few words, right?”

  “As many or as few as you like.” Hailey swirled the ruby wine in her glass. “I think I mentioned already that our keynote speaker is Dr. Nabil Karam-Thomas. You remember. He visited us at the refugee center.”

  Ayala raised her napkin to her face, covering the lower half. “I—I do remember. He’s much more eloquent than I am.”

  “You don’t have to speak at all if you don’t want to, Ayala. I was joking about earning your keep at the house.”

  “I know you were, and I really don’t mind talking. I just don’t like going into the graphic details or the political landscape.”

  Was that directed at him? He’d definitely be changing the topic, but if he were involved in such a selfless endeavor, he’d want to tell everyone about it. Maybe Ayala thought he was trying to glean information from her about Denver. At the house, Ayala had suggested Hailey stay as far away from the inquiries into Denver’s involvement in the bombing as possible, and it seemed as if she were taking her own advice.

  Joe took a sip of beer through the thick head of foam. “Where do you live in Florida, Ayala?”

  Ayala preferred talking about Florida to Syria and seemed to finally open up and lose her reserve—or maybe that apple martini she’d been guzzling had something to do with it.

  When the food arrived, both women ordered a second round of drinks while Joe nursed his beer. Someone would have to drive home.

  Hailey tapped Ayala’s empty martini glass. “Looks like we could’ve finished that bottle of wine together.”

  “Oh, this?” Ayala pinged her glass. “It’s sour apple. It doesn’t taste like alcohol at all.”

  Hailey rolled her eyes. “Like I said before, you’ve been in Syria too long. Those are the most dangerous kinds of drinks. Right, Joe?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” He curled his fingers around the handle of his mug. “I’m a beer guy.”

  By the end of dinner, Joe knew a lot about Florida and San Francisco but very little about the two women who lived in those cities. Ayala kept her conversation surface level, and while Joe wanted to know more about Hailey, he didn’t want to make those discoveries with an audience.

  Ayala excused herself to use the ladies’ room, and she hadn’t been joking about being a lightweight. As she rose from her chair, she staggered and grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself.

  “Are you all right?” Hailey put a hand on Ayala’s arm.

  “I’m fine. Just got up too fast.”

  Hailey watched her friend as she wended her way through the tables in the dining room. Then she rested her elbow on the table and buried her chin in her hand. “Thank you.”

  “For what? Dinner?” He fingered the check the waiter had placed discreetly at his elbow. “I haven’t paid for it yet.”

  She cracked a smile. “Oh, that, too, but I’m thanking you for engaging Ayala in conversation. I’ve never heard her so animated and open.”

  “That was open?”

  “For her it was. She’s very reserved and has gotten even more so the longer she spends at the refugee center.”

  “Sounds like she might need a break.”

  “I know I did after...” Hailey drained her glass, and her lips in the candlelight appeared stained red with wine.

  “Are you going to be okay to drive home?”

  “Probably not.” She twisted her head to the side. “Where’s Ayala?”

  “She’s definitely not okay to drive. I’m glad one of us stayed sober.” Joe slipped his wallet from his pocket and slid a credit card onto the tray.

  The waiter picked up the check and the empty glasses and asked them if they wanted anything else—twice—before Hailey pushed back from the table. “I’d better check on Ayala. She’s been in there long enough to wash her hair in the sink.”

  * * *

  AS SHE WALKED away from the table, Joe called after her, “Be careful.”

  Or maybe she just imagined his warning. Why should she be careful on her way to the ladies’ room in a restaurant? Regardless, a little chill caused a rash of goose bumps to race across her arms. She rubbed them and headed toward the bar.

  She hesitated at the entrance to the dim hallway that led to the restrooms and an emergency exit. A man brushed past her, and she jumped. Hailey straightened her spine and marched to the ladies’ room.

  She pushed open the door and poked her head inside. “Ayala?”

  A woman washing her hands at the sink met Hailey’s eyes in the mirror and then looked away.

  Hailey took two steps into the bathroom, which contained three stalls. The doors to two of the stalls yawned open. Hailey rapped her knuckles against the closed third door. “Ayala?”

  The woman at the sink plucked a paper towel from a stack on the sink. “That stall was occupied when I walked in, but I haven’t heard anyone in there.”

  The doors to the stalls reached the floor, so Hailey couldn’t peek beneath. With her head pounding, she knocked on the door again. “Ayala?”

  This time, a soft moan answered her and Hailey gasped. “Did you hear that?”

  “I did.” The woman was literally clutching her pearls. “Should we call the manager?”

  “Go, go.” Hailey shoved into the stall next to the locked one and climbed onto the toilet seat. She peered over the top and yelped. “Oh my God. My friend’s passed out.”

  Hailey managed to clamber over the top of the separator between the two stalls and opened the door before crouching next to Ayala.

  Another woman stood in front of the stall, gaping. “What happened?”

  “My friend’s ill. I think someone went to get the manager. Can you call 911?”

  “Of course.”

  Hailey curled her arm beneath Ayala’s head. “Ayala. Ayala, what’s wrong? What happened?”

  Her friend groaned as white foam bubbled from her lips. “Help me. I’ve been poisoned.”

  Chapter Eight

  The woman who’d left to get the manager stumbled back into the bathroom. “Is she okay? I called 911.”

  Hailey peeled her tongue from the roof of her dry mouth. “She lost consciousness. Can you sit with her for a minute while I get my friend? What’s your name?”

  “Marcia.” The woman knelt beside Hailey and put her hand on Ayala’s forehead. “She’s clammy.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Hailey charged out of the bathroom and emerged from the hallway into the dining area.

  Joe must’ve been watching for her. He immediately jumped up from the table and strode to her side. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Ayala. She’s been poisoned.”

  Cursing, Joe charged past her to the restroom. “Is she in the ladies’ room?”

  “She’s in the last stall.”

  “Conscious?”

  “Barely. Someone already called 911.”

  “Good.” Joe pushed into the ladies’ room and crouched next to Marcia.

  “Thank you.” Hailey put a hand on Marcia’s back. “How’s she doing?”

  “Still unconscious, but her pulse is strong...and the foaming has stopped.”

  Joe looked up from his assessment of Ayala. “She was foaming at the mouth?”

  “A little when I first found her.” Hailey helped Marcia to her feet. “Could I ask you for one more favor? Could you please tell the manager that there’s an impaired woman in the restroom and that 911 is on the way? I don’t thi
nk that other woman ever alerted the manager.”

  “Absolutely. I hope she’s going to be all right. I’ve seen a lot of people passed out from booze, but not with foam coming out of their mouths.” Marcia backed out of the bathroom.

  Hailey dropped to the floor next to Joe, who’d rolled up his jacket and shoved it beneath Ayala’s head.

  “What the hell happened?” His harsh whisper echoed in the empty bathroom.

  “When I came in here to look for Ayala, there was a woman at the sink and a locked stall. I called Ayala’s name at the door of the stall, but she didn’t answer. The woman at the sink told me the stall had been locked when she came into the bathroom. I banged on the door and heard a groan.”

  “Was it Marcia at the sink?”

  “No, that woman took off. Marcia came in later.” Hailey broke off as someone barreled through the bathroom door.

  The manager poked his head in the stall. “Is she all right?”

  Joe pressed two fingers against Ayala’s neck. “She’s still alive but unconscious. Are the paramedics here yet?”

  “Not yet, although I saw them arrive street level.”

  “Could you do me a favor and keep everyone out of here, and when the paramedics arrive, guide them in here? Let them know the woman mentioned poisoning before she lost consciousness.”

  The manager jerked back. “Poisoning? Not in my restaurant. More like alcohol poisoning.”

  “Just let them know that’s what she mentioned. It might be helpful when they treat her.” Joe tipped his chin toward Hailey when the manager swept out of the bathroom.

  “That’s what she told you, right?”

  “Yes. When she wouldn’t respond or open the door, I climbed onto the toilet seat in the stall next to hers, saw her slumped on the floor and hoisted myself over the top. She was mumbling and foam or spittle was forming at the corners of her mouth. When I got down next to her, she said she’d been poisoned, and then she passed out. I asked Marcia to get the manager and call 911, and then I ran out to get you.”

  “How could her food or drink have been poisoned here? Maybe it happened before she got to your place?”