Ben
The 13, Book Four
Anne L. Parks
Fireside Publishing, LLC
Ben
The 13, Book Four
Copyright 2018 Fireside Publishing, LLC
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction.
Names of characters, places, and events are the construction of the author, except those locations that are well-known and of general knowledge, and all are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental, and great care was taken to design places, locations, or businesses that fit into the regional landscape without actual identification; as such, resemblance to actual places, locations, or businesses is coincidental. Any mention of a branded item, artistic work, or well-known business establishment, is used for authenticity in the work of fiction and was chosen by the author because of personal preference, its high quality, or the authenticity it lends to the work of fiction; the author has received no remuneration, either monetary or in-kind, for use of said product names, artistic work, or business establishments, and mention is not intended as advertising, nor does it constitute an endorsement. The author is solely responsible for content.
Cover design & Formatting by:
Drue Hoffman, Buoni Amici Press.
Disclaimer:
Material in this work of fiction is of a graphic sexual nature and is not intended for audiences under 18 years of age.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Anne L. Parks
Chapter One
Bodies packed the courtroom. Sweat mixed with perfume and men’s cologne. Personal space barriers between strangers were eliminated and drove the temperature in the room to sweltering. Mia Rowland sat in the witness box rubbing the goose-bumps from her arms. Dark, intense, hateful stares from the defense table sent a chill down her spine and froze her to the core.
“Ms. Rowland.”
Mia startled slightly at the sound of her name, and swung her gaze to the lead defense attorney standing at the podium. A ball of stress sat in the center of her chest and flamed to life. Inadvertently she rubbed the spot. But nothing would stop the slow burn spreading like wildfire through her chest.
“You stated you found the Hutton Foundation file in your office, discovered it did not belong to you, and decided to take it home with you. Is that correct?” the attorney asked.
“Yes, but that’s because Mr. McKenzie’s secretary—”
“Yes or no answers are sufficient, Ms. Rowland.” The attorney’s lips curled up in a menacing manner. Mia shifted in her seat. She hated the slimy little weasel defending Hutton. He made her feel as if she should shower after even the smallest encounters with him. “So, you took a client file home—not a client of yours—against firm policy?”
Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes. This man would not get the better of her. Stay calm. The prosecutor had warned her that Senator Hutton’s defense team would make her look like the bad guy. He had also stated that he would repair any damage with rebuttal questions. “Don’t worry about outsmarting him with your answers. We’ll worry about strategies to outmaneuver Mr. Bealls. You just tell the truth.”
All she needed to do was keep a calm head and answer the questions. “Yes.”
“And you went through the file, isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t stop there—did you? You then turned over confidential client information to a man you went out on a blind date with, correct?”
Her mouth went dry. She placed a hand against her stomach, trying to soothe the butterflies that were in full flight. The lead prosecutor, Garland, gave her a small smile that did nothing to actually reassure her.
“Don’t look to the prosecutor for the answer, Ms. Rowland,” Bealls voice boomed as he step sideways to block Mia’s view of Garland.
Garland bolted to his feet, head and shoulders above the pip-squeak Bealls. “Your Honor, defense counsel is trying to create a spectacle for the jury—”
The gavel came down. Mia jumped in her seat. She hated that thing, but it seemed to be the judge’s favorite toy. He gave both men stern glares then turned his head to Mia. “Answer the question, please.”
“Yes.” She lifted the water glass. The water bounced and sloshed inside the glass from the tremors in her hand. Getting it to her lips, she tried to relish the cool water flooding her mouth but was too busy concentrating on not spilling water everywhere.
God, she hated what this prick was trying to insinuate. She hadn’t done anything wrong. It was Hutton, through his foundation, who laundered money for a Russian terrorist organization. She had just been the unlucky person who uncovered his illegal activities.
And from that moment on her life had changed. Months in protective custody while federal prosecutors put together a case against Hutton. Her home, her career—her burgeoning relationship —all gone.
Ben…the Navy SEAL who had not only saved her life, but had a firm hold on her heart.
She would give anything to be with him in Vegas attending Mason’s wedding. Mason—the big hulk of a man who had scared her at first. Another Navy SEAL who had helped to get her out of Colombia. She loved him—albeit more like a brother. The thought that she had to be in that courtroom instead of with all her friends seemed cruel.
The doors to the courtroom burst open. Sunlight illuminated four hulking figures. Gasps filled the air, as if everyone in the gallery had inhaled deeply all at the same time. Mia squinted at the figures. Men. Each held something long in their hands.
The judge slammed his gavel against the desk and stood. “What do you—” Long black barrels leveled on the man. Two loud pops echoed through the chamber. Red mist spewed from the back of the judge’s head. Warmth peppered the side of Mia’s face. She wiped it before realizing what she had done. Blood smeared across her fingers. Bile rose in her throat, but she forced it down, not able to put her hand over her mouth. Not wanting the judge’s blood on her lips.
She glanced back at the men with guns. They had made their way to the attorney’s tables.
Screams bounced off the ceiling and walls. People in the gallery clamored over the seats—over each other—rushing toward the door to get out of the way of the men.
The two armed guards standing sentry behind Hutton drew their weapons. One RRA gunman at the back of the courtroom aimed at the men and shot. The guards were thrust forward by the blasts to their chests, then fell to the floor, out of Mia’s sight.
Senator Hutton faced the men in black, and barked what Mia could only guess were orders by the tone of his voice. Mia couldn’t make out the words. Was he speaking English? He took a few steps towards the men, a wide smile on his face, and his arms open wide as if welcoming them to his home.
A bullet blast lifted him off his feet. He crashed on top of the defense table. His mouth opened, but only garbled gasps came out. His eyes wide
ned—in shock or pain, Mia wondered? Blood poured from the gaping hole in his chest. After a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His chest no longer rose and fell.
She turned her gaze to the man who had shot Hutton. His rifle was aimed at her. The world seemed to slow to a stop. Her head was screaming for her to move, but her body had shut down. She was paralyzed with fear. With the knowledge that she would suffer the same fate as the others that had fallen prey to these ruthless men.
Her life seemed to explode through her mind like a video montage. She clutched her chest, her heart seized in pain and disappointment. This was not the way this day was supposed to have ended. Ben was supposed to come back from Vegas tonight. They were going to meet at her hotel—no longer under lock and key and secreted away from society. Or the man she loved more than life.
It was supposed to have been so different. She was supposed to have been so happy…
Instead, she was looking death square in the face, her end imminent. Her last thought as she closed her eyes and waited for the bullet to pierce her heart and kill her soul was of Ben.
A hand wrapped around her upper arm and yanked her from the witness stand. She fell to the floor as two more shots whizzed over her head. The court bailiff fell on top of her. A long, slow wheeze slipped from between his lips, and his body went limp.
The door to the hallway behind the courtroom opened. A man crouched behind the doorframe peered around, held up his US Marshal shield, and motioned for her to join him in the hall. She wriggled under the weight of the bailiff, but couldn’t budge.
The marshal duck-walked over to her, grasped her wrists, and pulled. She moved a little, but the dead weight of the bailiff made it difficult to move.
Two other men rushed beside her from inside the courtroom. One rolled the bailiff off of her. The other lifted her to her feet and shoved her out the door into the hallway.
“We need to get her to the basement, into the secured holding area,” one of the marshal’s said. “The van should be in the parking garage to get us the hell out of here.”
Yelling flooded from the courtroom behind them. Again, in another language. But this time, Mia recognized it.
Russian.
Her knees gave out. The Russian Revolutionary Army. They were going to make good on their threats to annihilate her.
“Move, move, move,” the marshal yelled. Each of the marshals grasped on of her arms, a third ran behind her. She heard the pop-pop of the rifle and dropped her head to her chest.
She looked down the hallway. The elevator was ahead. A sheriff waved for them to hurry as he held the door for them. They were so close.
They were going to make it.
A shot rang out. Blood covered the rear of the elevator. The sheriff grasped his chest and dropped to his knees.
More gunshots flew around Mia. The marshals tossed her into the open elevator, blocked her from the men rushing towards them, and returned fire. The sound of gunfire was deafening. Mia covered her ears, but couldn’t take her eyes off the massacre in front of her. One of the marshal’s hit the button for the parking garage, but the doors couldn’t close with the dead sheriff’s body laying over the threshold. Mia grasped the sheriff’s arm and tried to pull, but the man was far too heavy, and she was unable to get proper leverage.
She got to her feet, squatted, and grasped the sheriff’s shirt with both hands. Using all her upper body strength, she managed to move the man a few inches. But at this rate, she would never get him out of the way. One of the marshal’s bent down while still firing his weapon, grasped the sheriff’s arm, and helped Mia pull the body into the elevator.
“Clear,” the marshal yelled to the other man. A loud thud sounded through the space, followed by a grunt. A red mist sprayed from a hole in the man’s back, covering the left side of Mia’s face. The marshal slumped to his knees, and pitched forward.
The other marshal dropped an empty cartridge to the floor and quickly inserted a new one into his gun. The air filled with of smoke and the acrid smell of cordite. Firing one shot after another, he let out a loud roar. Two Russians were sprawled in the hallway. Mia watched as the last remaining Russian advanced toward them.
Only one man was going to survive this battle. And the path of her future would depend on which one made it out alive.
A bullet hit the Russian in the shoulder. He stumbled but quickly regained his stride and continued to fire on the marshal. The distance between them was closing rapidly. A bullet hit the marshal in the knee, and he dropped. His gun wavered slightly in his hand, but he continued to fire at the Russian.
Another shot whizzed past the marshal, embedded into the side of the elevator just above Mia’s head. A third shot hit the marshal in the chest, but was stopped by the Kevlar vest. The marshal dropped his gun hand to the floor to steady himself.
A shot fired. The marshal’s head tipped back. Blood spilled from the hole in his eye socket. His body quivered and slumped to the floor. Mia held back a scream. She was dizzy, weak in the knees. Pain lanced through her chest.
She was going to die in this elevator. What she wouldn’t give to tell Ben she loved him once last time.
Anger ripped through her core. Fuck this! This was not how she was going to die. She was going to fight.
She jumped to her feet. She had one shot at freedom. If she could get off the elevator and down the hall, she could find the other marshals or maybe a sheriff. If she zigzagged down the hall like Ben had taught her, she stood a chance of not catching a bullet in the back.
It was worth the chance. And it beat sitting in the elevator waiting for this man to shoot her in the head. She bolted toward the opening and almost made it past the Russian. His hand raised, and the barrel of the gun grazed her cheek, right before the butt hit her in the temple.
Her vision blurred. Pain radiated through her skull. Her body hit the floor, and darkness consumed her.
Ben sat on the end of the aisle and watched one of his new best friends get married. He was happy for Mason, but he also couldn’t seem to swallow the bit of jealousy lodged in his throat. This should be Mia and him standing at the alter, vowing to share their lives forever.
Mia…God, how he missed that woman. The closer it got to her wrapping up her testimony against Senator William Hutton, and finally being released from protective custody, the more Ben grew antsy.
She was probably in court now. Was she nervous? He had wanted to be there to support her. But she loved Mason and had insisted that one of them be at his wedding. Since she had other obligations she couldn’t get out of…she made him promise he would represent both of them.
Ever since she had discovered that Hutton’s charitable foundation had been a front for money laundering to fund the RRA, Ben, Mason, and Lance had been there to protect her. Mason and Lance had been the ones to care for her while Ben was recovering from a gunshot wound he received rescuing Mia from being beaten to death in an RRA compound in Colombia.
Mason barely waited for the officiant to announce he could kiss the bride before wrapping Jess up in a tight embrace and kissing her deeply. The room filled with hoots and howls of support, and a few playful admonitions of “get a room.”
Ben’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, hoping it was a phone call from Mia. Instead the Newport office number lit up the screen.
“Wells,” he said as he answered the call.
“Humps,” Ryan Flaherty greeted him using Ben’s call sign. Flaherty was a Petty Officer in the Navy, Riley’s computer specialist, and one of two assistants she had.
But what the hell was he calling Ben for? Was he trying to get Lance or Riley?
“I thought you’d want to know as soon as possible—there was an active shooter at the federal courthouse in DC.”
Ben’s scalp prickled. He stood and walked to the back of the room, his emotions heightened. Mia’s fine…there’s nothing wrong.
Ben closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where?”
“Inside the courtroom where Hutton’s trial is being heard.”
The one where Mia was supposed to be testifying at that moment. A chill moved down his spine and intensified the quiver in his gut.
“There were apparently at least four men with guns. No one knows for sure how they got in with weapons, but all indications are that it was an inside job.”
Cold fear washed over Ben. “Mia?”
“I can’t get confirmation on her whereabouts, but everyone has been cleared from the courthouse and the wounded taken to the hospital. I’ve checked her name against the people admitted for treatment. Ben…it’s not looking good.”
Ben cleared his throat, the fireball of fear dropped into his gut. “Maybe she’s still inside the courtroom.”
Flaherty exhaled. “The only ones left in the building are all dead.”
Chapter Two
The man sat in the driver’s seat of the rental car. The seconds ticked away slowly, loudly, and out of sync with his racing heart. Rubbing the glass face of his Grandfather Boris’s vintage Heuer watch, mesmerized by the small inset second hand that sat in the “six” position on the watch face. Simple, with its white face and black numbers. He had updated the band to black leather. It was a treasured possession. Not simply because his grandfather had left it for him, but because of the inscription on the back. His grandmother had given it to Boris on their wedding day. The inscription read: Every second I share with you now and forever, your own sweet Eva.
Ben (The 13 Book 4) Page 1