by Joy Jenkins
"Found it," Donovan said, pulling out a metal device from behind one of the monitors.
He yanked the cable out and reached for his phone. "Now let's get the military here.”
Carter reached for him. "I don't think that's necessary."
"Why?"
"Because they're already here."
Chapter 52
Donovan jerked his head up. From the video feed covering the front of the museum, they watched as a line of SUVs and SWAT cars created a perimeter around the front entrance. Carter felt a flood of relief. Donovan stared as if he wasn't sure what he was seeing.
"How'd they know?" he asked.
Carter shook her head, her eyes still glued to the screen. "Must have been my tracker. It's the only explanation."
The line of cars fanned out, making a barrier in the street. Car doors flung open and hordes of men in full-body gear clambered out. All Carter and Donovan could do was stare, the pressure of their solitude lifted.
A man in a black suit, wearing an FBI bullet proof vest, stepped out of one of the SUVs, followed by more hard-faced men dressed in similar attire. From the moment his foot hit the ground, the man barked out orders that neither Carter nor Donovan could hear. But one thing was clear: this was the man in charge. Within minutes, stations were up and troops of men were formed into packs and ready to move.
As the scene continued to unravel, Carter became aware of the pain in her arm. The dull throbbing pulled her from her mystified stupor. With the return of her thoughts, she noticed the time, shocked to realize it had been less than an hour since the power went out.
She shifted back in her chair, wincing. Donovan broke from his daze. "Your arm?"
She nodded. She looked down at it, eyeing the sleeve that was now thoroughly ruined.
"You mind?" she asked, looking to her arm.
Donovan rolled his chair closer to her, his legs bumping against hers. She leaned towards him, offering up her other sleeve. In one smooth motion, he ripped it off and moved to her wounded arm. Carefully, he unknotted the tie, his fingers warm as he held her limb in place. He wrapped the new bandage around the old one and secured it again. Carter peered down at her bare arms then up at Donovan, his face only a few inches away from hers.
"I don't think the ripped shirt is my look," she said.
"I don't know," he said, his voice low. "I could argue a few points in its defense."
He stared at her. In his blue eyes, Carter saw all the emotions she felt. Her heart stuttered a few beats before quickening its pace. The feel of his fingers on her arm still lingered. In that moment, she had the strongest urge to tear both their gas masks off and kiss him. She saw in his face the same thoughts playing through his mind.
They both shifted closer.
The sharp buzz of a radio in the room shattered the moment.
They froze, jolted from the intensity of emotions racing through them. Donovan backed away first, breaking their connection.
"Porter come in," a baritone voice commanded.
Carter and Donovan searched for the radio. The command came once more as Donovan found it.
"Porter is currently unconscious," Donovan said, rushing to answer, "as well as the rest of the security team."
At the statement, Carter noticed the other set of men zip-tied and comatose in the far corner of the room. On screen, the gray-haired man glared at the front doors, as he held a radio similar to the one in Donovan's hand.
"Who am I speaking to?" the man said, iron in his tone.
"This is Agent Donovan Keller of the Secret Service," Donovan said.
The gray-haired man spoke rapidly to a man beside him. Together they consulted a screen and the man in charge focused back on the museum. "Agent Keller, this is Associate Deputy Director Townsend with the FBI.” His face was hard as stone. "I have no record of you. You have one minute to explain to me who you are."
Donovan didn't show any concern. "With all due respect, sir," he said, confident though respectful, "it's because you don’t have the right clearance. Now if you will connect me to-"
Townsend's eyes narrowed. "I am second to the Director of the FBI," he said, cutting Donovan off. "I can assure you I have the right clearance."
Donovan flexed his jaw, annoyed. "Deputy Townsend," he said, trying to hold in his impatience. "We do not have time for this. I'm currently in a museum that has been hit with knock out gas and filled with an unknown amount of hostiles. I need-"
“No! Understand this. I am standing outside a museum with its entrance barred and talking to a so-called agent by the name of Donovan Keller that we have no record of. There is nothing you can say-"
Townsend cut himself off when a faint voice spoke. Carter looked to Donovan but his eyes were fixed on the screen, his fist clenching the radio. From the speaker, they heard someone talk.
"Did you say, Keller?"
Chatter filled Carter’s ear but she wrenched out her earpiece, needing to hear what came next. Beside her, Donovan did the same. From behind Townsend, a man in his late twenties with Donovan's similar facial structure stepped forward. Donovan relaxed.
"Yes," Townsend said, unaware that he still held down the talk button.
Donovan's brother looked at the Deputy Director with the utmost respect, his posture military straight. "If he said Donovan Keller, sir, you can trust he is telling the truth. One call to Director Joseph will confirm it."
"You know him?"
"He's my brother, sir. His current position is highly classified."
Carter waited as the Deputy Director made a call, a bubble of nerves playing in her stomach. They were unable to hear what was said, the Deputy Director finally releasing the talk button.
"That's Brock?" Carter asked.
Donovan nodded once. The static from the radio filled the room as they waited.
"Agent Keller," Townsend said, his voice no longer harsh.
"Yes?" Donovan said.
"What's your status?"
Donovan dropped his tense shoulders and the crease in his forehead vanished. “Knock out gas was released and the entire class of students is unconscious as well as three of the four Secret Service agents on The Falcon’s detail. The Falcon is secure in the Restoration room and both he and Lancer are protected by Agent Smith. Four hostiles have been neutralized. I'm positioned in the security booth, along with a civilian. Carter Owens. Her father is Agent Owens of the Secret Service."
Townsend took all of this information in with a straight-faced expression. At the name 'Owens' he called out something. A second later, Carter’s father walked around a van and into view of the camera.
At the sight of him, Carter felt every fear and knot of tension dissipate. She sagged as a weight was taken off her shoulders. Her father was impassive but she could tell from the stiffness in his posture that worry ate away at him. Townsend spoke to him. He gave a single nod and a one-word response. Carter's heart ached to run out of the security booth and find the familiar comfort in her father’s strong arms.
"Agent Keller," Townsend said, "my men are preparing to breach the main doors. I need you to vent the museum."
"Tell me what to do," Donovan said.
Carter watched as he followed Townsend's instruction, typing away on the computer. He worked with the assurance of someone confident in their place. He spoke to Townsend as a soldier would a commander.
Deep respect came over Carter as she studied him, seeing a man she had only glimpsed. She liked this version of him, someone who had earned his title and deserved to keep it. She felt a tired smile tugging at her lips.
Donovan hit enter and a faint whirring sound came on above them breaking Carter from her thoughts. She glanced up at the vents, imagining she could see the gas being sucked away. Thirty seconds later the computer flashed a message. "Venting complete."
"Deputy Townsend," Donovan said, removing his gas mask, "you're clear to breach."
"Copy that."
Townsend nodded to a group of men beside him. The
men approached the museum with swift, calculated movements. Carter pulled off her mask and took a deep breath. The air tasted clear and seemed to strengthen her aching muscles. Donovan watched the group's progress, expressionless.
From the corner of her eye, Carter spotted movement on one of the other screens. What she saw made her burn with anger. In the stairwell to the archive tunnels was a group of five men, Philips in the lead. Carter glanced at the team at the front doors and knew they wouldn’t move fast enough to catch the escaping group in the tunnels.
“Donovan,” she said.
Instantly, he knew something was wrong and she motioned to the screen. He came to the same conclusion as her and grabbed his gun. “We have to go.”
Forcing her weariness away, Carter picked up her gun and dashed out of the security room after Donovan. Despite her best efforts, Carter felt a dragging sensation she couldn’t shake off.
As they crossed the atrium back to the gallery, they kept their guns trained in either direction. They retained the same form they had before, Donovan taking the lead as Carter brought up the rear. They moved quickly and efficiently, accustomed to each other's thoughts and pace. By the time the FBI team managed to get the front doors open, Carter and Donovan had covered the distance to the stairwell.
Slowly, the pair descended and snaked their way down the corridor, slipping from the cover of one set of crates to the next, inching closer to where voices emanated from. Crouched around a corner, Donovan spied on the now stalled group.
“Still five hostiles," he whispered. “They are outside the Restoration room. We need to move now."
Carter nodded, her heart jackhammering her rib cage. The pain in her arm weighed her down but she did her best to ignore it. Donovan pointed to himself and then to the right. Carter nodded, knowing they would be going in the same formation as last time. Her stomach knotted as he rose from his crouched position, fist raised. Blood pounded in her ears, deafening her. The metal casing of the gun dug into her palm as she squeezed it to help her remain alert.
Donovan dropped his fist and they burst from around the corner, guns raised, targets already in sight. The men barely had time to turn around before Carter and Donovan fired. Carter's first dart took down Mr. Philips. Donovan got two quick shots into two of the men before he was attacked.
As Carter shifted her gun to her next target, she knew something was wrong. Her movement wasn't fast enough, even with the boost of adrenaline. By the time she had her gun leveled at the other man, he was before her. He wrapped one bear-sized hand over the gun. Carter let it go, narrowly missing having her fingers crushed.
She kneed the man in the side and swung at his face, battling against sudden exhaustion. Only her knee made contact, the man easily batting aside her fist.
A trickle of dread set in.
The man reached out for her. In his eyes, she could read his resistance to harm a girl and she managed to duck away.
Taking a step back, she twisted and grabbed the fire extinguisher. With all her remaining strength and more speed than she thought she possessed, she brought it up and smashed it against her opponent.
The blow grazed his temple, sending him stumbling back but didn't have lasting damage. As he regained his footing, blood dripped from the cut on his forehead and he snarled. In a blink, he stood in front of Carter before she could devise a plan of attack. She aimed a fist at his jaw but the blow never landed.
The man slammed his fist into Carter’s ribs and she cried out at the explosion of pain. He sent a second blow to her face and Carter felt as if she had been hit by a semi-truck. The force of the hit threw her back into the wall. Stars popped before her vision as pain pierced her brain.
She heard a gunshot, the sound seeming to come from a distance.
Donovan's name rose to her lips, right before her world went dark.
Chapter 53
Carter regained consciousness, laying on the ground. Her brain felt swollen and crammed with a jumbled mess of thoughts. Gradually, the shuffling footsteps registered. Everything came into focus as Donovan smashed the butt of his gun into her attacker's face. The sheer force of the blow sent the man crashing to the floor. Donovan shot him in the leg to keep him there, his face a mask of fury.
Carter tried to move but a flash of pain nearly brought the blackness back. A cry escaped her lips. She closed her eyes, fighting to remain conscious. Donovan rushed to her side, his features contorting into deep concern.
"Carter," he said, unable to hide the worry in his tone.
The initial shock of agony subsided, leaving her with an intense pain that was bearable. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she focused on Donovan. He bent over her, his blue eyes dark with roiling emotions. Tucking his gun away, he gently cupped the back of her head and caressed the side of her face.
"Hey," he said, tenderly.
She took in a deep breath, the pain ebbing away. At the look of worry on his face, her heart smiled.
"You're right," she said, her voice raspy. "I don't protect my left side."
Donovan dropped his head and gave a shaky, relieved laugh. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, his breathing ragged. His lips were warm and soft. The feel of them lingered on her skin.
Carter closed her eyes, every inch of her felt battered. But with each steady breath, she became more and more accustomed to her injuries. From the aches in her body, she knew at least a couple of ribs were bruised, if not cracked. Her face felt sore but nothing was majorly damaged. It was possible she had a concussion because of the fuzziness in her brain. Slowly, she propped herself on her elbow.
"Can you get up?" Donovan asked.
Carter started to nod but stopped when the hallway tilted, dizziness washing over her. Donovan caught her before she hit the ground, one arm holding her around her shoulders.
"I'll take that as a no," he said.
She blinked, trying to clear the haze from her mind. "I just need a minute.”
Donovan didn't respond. Instead, he slid his other arm under her legs. Instinctively, Carter wrapped her uninjured arm around his neck as he lifted her off the ground.
A stab of pain hit her as his hand pressed against her injured ribs. She sucked in a breath, gripping the back of his shirt, the spike bringing tears to her eyes. Donovan quickly shifted his hand. "Sorry. You okay?"
She rested her head in the crook of his neck, taking a shaky breath, her eyes closed.
"Yeah," she said, her fingers still clenching his collar.
Moving cautiously, Donovan took a couple of steps over to the crates and sat down. His grip on her didn't loosen as he leaned his head back against the wall. There was a quiet strength in his hold as if he was scared that if he let go she might disappear. The adrenaline-induced energy of the past hour drained from him.
For a long moment, neither said anything. Carter let her body relax fully against Donovan. She found strength in his hold as well as the steady drumming of his heartbeat in her ear.
In his arms, she felt small and vulnerable but beneath that was a sense of safety. She breathed him in. He smelled like sweat with a faint scent of his cologne. Her breathing synced with his as she moved with the rise and fall of his chest.
Slowly, her dizziness vanished and her thoughts righted themselves. She carefully raised her head. Donovan had his eyes closed. He looked tired and bruises played along the side of his face, from his cheekbone to his jaw. She lightly touched his injured jaw. He gazed down at her. An exhausted smile pulled at the edge of his mouth.
"How are you feeling?" he said.
"Like I got beat up by a two hundred seventy-five pound militarily trained guy.” Donovan chuckled weakly. "What about you?"
"Only a little better than that. I have a bruised rib or two but that's about the worst of it. I've had worse encounters."
Carter raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Really?"
"You live with Marines, you're bound to be black and blue for a good part of it. I learned how to take a hit."
"Seems I could stand to learn that sort of lesson."
"You shouldn't have to if I'm around."
She closed her eyes as he kissed her forehead. The heat of his lips seemed to engulf her and send her aching body humming.
Down the corridor, they heard the soft patter of footsteps. A second later, a team of men rounded the corner and Donovan whipped his gun out from behind his back aiming at the leader. The man dressed in full-body gear and armed with an automatic gun raised it along with his other hand. He then quickly flipped up his visor. "Good to see you're still in one piece, Donny," Brock said, grinning
Donovan let out a tired breath and dropped the gun. Brock waved the men forward and they began tying up the unconscious attackers.
"I have Agent Keller and the civilian," Brock said, into a comm set. "I'm escorting them out now. Have a medic standing by."
Carter shifted as if to stand up but Donovan didn't release her. Without a word, he stood, still holding her in his arms, his hold on her making it clear that he wasn't about to let go.
Brock led them back through the tunnels and up the stairwell. Inside the gallery, the lights had been restored and men in body gear moved through the hallways, clearing the area. As they approached the museum entrance, Carter looked up at Donovan.
"I'm going to have to walk once we hit those doors," she said.
"Why?"
"Because if my dad sees you carrying me, he will most likely shoot you."
This comment received a smile. "Understood."
They stopped just inside the front doors and Donovan lowered Carter's feet to the ground but kept a firm grip on her side. She kept her arm slung over his shoulders, testing the steadiness of her balance. When convinced she wasn't going to fall over, she loosened her hold. Donovan caught her hand before she could pull it away.
"I'll risk being shot," he said, “I don’t want you collapsing."
"Okay."
Brock stepped forward and pushed the door open, holding it for them. They emerged into the gray day, the cool air scented with coming rain. Beyond them lay the perimeter of cars with the addition of ambulances. The scene teemed with people constantly in motion, preparing for the onslaught of hysterical parents and the reviving of dozens of students.