Bulletproof & Locked, Loaded and SEALed

by Cynthia Eden

  “I—I’m afraid of heights. I can’t.”

  He cupped her face in his hands. “You do it, or we have some kind of gun battle with the people trying to get into this room. I’ll go first, and I’ll catch you. Do you trust me?”

  If she didn’t want to do it, he’d go to battle for her, but he hoped she trusted him enough to take a chance.

  Could she take a chance on him?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sophia swallowed. Her gaze drifted past Austin’s shoulder to the hotel door, which had closed—for now. Who was on the other side? If it were the cops, they would’ve said something.

  She focused on Austin’s face, strong, confident. Did she trust him? More than anything else in her life right now.

  She released a breath. “Tell me what to do.”

  Smoothing his gloved thumbs across her cheeks, he said, “You got this, but we’re gonna have to hurry.”

  To make his point, Austin gave her a little shove from behind toward the railing that separated her from thirty feet to sudden death.

  “Watch me.”

  Gripping the top of the railing he flung his body over the ledge. Sophia watched him slide his hands to the bottom rung of the railing and swing like he was competing in a gymnastics event.

  She’d always been really, really bad at gymnastics.

  When Austin disappeared below her, she clutched her suddenly tight throat. His voice floated up from beneath her. “Your turn. Hoist yourself over and scoot your hands as far down as you can.”

  Licking her lips, she glanced over her shoulder into the room. Had the door opened again?

  She curled her hands around the railing and swung one leg over. She perched there like a giant awkward bird for a few seconds before rolling her body into oblivion. She squeaked once as her legs dangled in midair.

  Austin’s hand stroked her ankle. “Ready to swing?”

  She began to work her shoulder muscles to propel her hips forward. She kicked her legs to increase her momentum just like when she was a kid on the swing set in the run-down park that was her refuge. She closed her eyes and swung harder. If she ever needed to escape, this was it.

  “You’re doing great. I’m going to tell you when to release and you’re just going to let go.”

  Let go? Right.

  But when Austin gave his command, she released. His strong arms wrapped around her legs and yanked her into the balcony below.

  Her body flew into his and he stumbled back, taking her with him.

  They landed with a thump and a crash into the metal chair stationed on the balcony.

  Her eyes flew open and she looked into his face, meeting his slightly amused green gaze.

  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  With her body stretched out on top of his, their faces inches away from each other’s, she’d never felt better. She rested her head against his shoulder. “That was crazy. Now you’re telling me we need to jump off this balcony two stories high into those bushes down there?”

  “We’re in luck.” He tipped his head back. “The guests in this room left their slider unlocked.”

  Raising her head, she squinted through the window. “They’re not in there, are they?”

  “I’m pretty sure they would’ve come running out here if they were.” He shifted beneath her and grunted. “Are we going to stay out here all afternoon, or would you like to get going?”

  She wouldn’t mind lying on top of him for the rest of the day, but they had a killer or killers waiting for them.

  She rolled off his body and onto her knees. “We’d better hurry before the people in this room come back.”

  Austin scrambled to his feet and pulled open the door, poking his head inside the room. “I think our luck is holding. Doesn’t look like anyone’s staying here.”

  She squeezed past him into the room, taking a deep breath of his masculine scent. She’d never forget it. If the tinny smell of blood would always remind her of her father’s death, this woodsy scent would always bring Austin back into her thoughts.

  They crossed the room and Austin tucked her behind him when they got to the door. “Hang on.”

  He peeked out the peephole and then eased open the door. “Let’s head for the stairwell. I have my gun ready in my pocket. If I tell you to duck…duck.”

  “You got me this far. I’ll be the best damned soldier you ever encountered.”

  He squeezed the back of her neck. “You already are.”

  When the fresh air hit her face and whipped her hair into tangles, Sophia almost collapsed from the relief.

  Sensing her frailty, Austin took her arm and hustled her down the sidewalk. “Let’s keep moving. We’re almost to the car.”

  He wasted no time once they were buckled in throwing the car into gear and peeling out of the parking lot. He smacked the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “All that risk for nothing. The police left nothing behind—if Patel even left any clues in the room.”

  “I did take these.” Sophia tugged at the zipper on her jacket and pulled out a bunch of newspapers.

  “What the hell? How did you manage that?”

  “I had just found them when someone tried the door. You’d told me to check for writing, but I didn’t have time so I just zipped them up in my jacket. I thought I might lose them when I was swinging from the side of the hotel, but the bottom hem of my jacket is fitted and they stayed put. They may’ve even helped break my fall when I landed on top of you.”

  “For you, maybe.”

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “You couldn’t hurt me if you tried, but I did get nailed with the chair leg.”

  Could the same be said for her? Not that he would ever hurt her on purpose, but this flirtatious game he was playing with her could only end badly.

  “Now that I have the newspapers, let me take a look to see if he wrote anything on them.” She smoothed out the papers on her lap and flipped over each page, her gaze scanning the black-and-white print.

  “There’s nothing out of the ordinary here.” She tucked the first paper under the other two and skimmed through the next one, and then the next. She slumped in the seat and sighed. “Nothing.”

  “Let’s get some lunch.” He drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. “I’m driving in the opposite direction of Boston. Anywhere you want to go?”

  “How can you think about food after the day we just had?”

  “Look at it this way—you never know when you’re going to need energy to jump out of windows and swing from balconies.” He patted his flat belly. “I need sustenance.”

  “I hope that’s the last jump I take from a window for a while.” She looked out the window and studied the road signs. “Lexington. It’s less than an hour away.”

  “Lead the way.”

  She gave him directions to a small lunch place with some booths for privacy. She didn’t know what Austin’s next move was going to be and maybe he didn’t either, but they needed some time to figure it out—unless his shadowy superiors had already figured it out for him.

  He parked the car down the street from the restaurant and ducked his head to read the street sign out the window. “We’re near the Lexington Battle Green.”

  “Haven’t you ever played tourist here before?”

  “A long time ago. When I was in middle school our class took a trip here. I’ve been back a few times, but never did the full round of tourist stops.”

  “I guess it’s not going to happen this time either.” She grabbed the newspapers and got out of the car, slamming the door behind her.

  They found a booth in the corner of the restaurant, and she ordered lemonade and a turkey wrap while Austin got a beer and a burger.

  When the waitress delivered the mug, she tapped the s
ide of it. “Aren’t you technically on duty or something?”

  “No clue. Do you think I’ve done something like this particular mission before? Sleuthing is a little out of my comfort zone.” He took a sip of beer through the thick foam. “Does it bother you when people drink around you?”

  “Not as long as they maintain control. I hate drunks.”

  “I promise I’ll control myself.” He raised his glass. “Let’s have a look at those papers again.”

  She picked them up from the seat next to her and plopped them on the table. “I did notice one thing about the newspapers.”

  “What?” He turned the first paper around to face him.

  “They’re not current papers. All three are from different dates in the past couple of months.”

  “That’s significant.” He shoved his beer away and positioned the two other newspapers on either side of the first one, lining them up. His head swung from side to side as if watching a slow-moving tennis match. He flipped over the first page of the paper on his right, and then smacked the table.

  “Did you see something?”

  “All three of these papers—” he tapped each one with his finger “—have the same story.”

  “They do?” Leaning on her elbows, she hunched forward. “I guess I wasn’t looking for that. What’s the story?”

  “They’re stories about a symposium here in Boston on terrorism, or rather preventing it.”

  “That makes too much sense.”

  The waiter returned with a plate in each hand. “The burger?”

  “Right here.” Austin slid the papers to the side and tapped the table in front of him.

  When the waiter left, Austin put his condiments on his burger and took a big bite.

  “You’re unbelievable.” She reached across the table and snatched one of the papers. Her gaze tripped across an article on the lower right-hand side of the page, and she read aloud. “‘Leading terrorism experts and advocates for at-risk youth are meeting to discuss methods for reducing the risks of home-grown terrorism.’”

  Austin held up his finger as he took another bite of his burger. He wiped his mouth, gulped some beer and then smacked his lips. “Sustenance—now I can think.”

  “What do you think? Sounds pretty harmless to me.” She trailed her finger along the lines of the rest of the article. “Sounds like a brainstorming session on keeping disaffected youth from being attracted to terrorist organizations. Hey, I’m familiar with one of the sponsors—Boston’s Kids. I did some volunteer work with that group. They do good work, nothing sinister there.”

  “When is the symposium?”

  “This week, just a few days from now.” She picked up her turkey wrap. “What was Patel’s interest and why did he think Dr. Fazal would be interested?”

  “Since I don’t know who Patel is—yet—I can’t tell you. Fazal is connected because he fingered a terrorist for us—a big fish. Maybe Patel was trying to warn Fazal about something, a warning that the guys who killed both of them don’t want out there.”

  “About this symposium?”

  “Is there a list of attendees in that article?”

  “Nope.” She started to reach for the next paper, and he stopped her.

  “Eat.” He took his own advice as another fry disappeared into his mouth, and then he grabbed the newspaper. “This article discusses security for the event, nothing about the guest list.”

  “And the last one?”

  He slid the paper in front of him with one finger. “Bingo—a list of attendees, or at least some of them.”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “One or more of these members might be a target.”

  “Do you recognize any of them?”

  “A few names. One of these guys wrote a book we had to read. He knows his stuff.”

  “Is that what you think this is about? Do you think someone at the symposium or the whole symposium is at risk?”

  “That’s what it looks like to me. Why would Patel be carting these papers around with him? The information that he gave Fazal or that his killers think he gave Fazal must involve this symposium.”

  “But still nothing concrete.”

  “We know more than we did an hour ago, and I have something more to report, which justifies my continued assignment.”

  “Why do you think Patel brought this intel to Dr. Fazal instead of contacting US intelligence?”

  “Maybe Fazal was the only way he knew how to reach us.”

  “Then why didn’t Dr. Fazal report it? Patel had been hanging around for almost a week before Fazal’s murder. Nothing, right?”

  “There are big chunks of the story we don’t know. I’m hoping those fingerprints can give us Patel’s identity, and I’m going to be reporting this latest information about the symposium. Maybe we already know something about it.”

  She held up her wrap. “I think you’re on to something with this sustenance thing. I feel better already, and I’m not even half done.”

  “Finish up.” He dipped the end of one fry into a puddle of ketchup. “Sustenance also includes some fresh air and a clear mind. We’re going to take a stroll into Minute Man National Park and delve into a different war from the one we’re fighting now—because make no mistake about it, Peter Patel launched us into battle without firing a shot.”

  * * *

  WHEN THEY GOT back to the hotel, Sophia slipped away to the hotel shop to look for a frame but found some new pajamas instead. She needed them, anyway.

  Austin spent the rest of the afternoon working, and she tried to keep busy with patient files. But she’d had enough.

  She put away her laptop and bounced on the edge of the bed, watching Austin hunched over his laptop. “Did you submit the symposium presenter names, too?”

  “Symposium, presenters, location, security measures. The FBI may already be working with the Boston PD on this, but I have no insight into what they’re doing.”

  “I couldn’t find a frame in the hotel shops. Do you think I’ll have some time tomorrow to go out and buy a new frame for my picture?”

  He glanced up. “You’re not a prisoner, Sophia.”

  “You mean, I can walk out of this hotel any time I want and do whatever I please?”

  “Not exactly.” He paused, his fingers poised over the keyboard of the laptop. “Is there someplace special you want to go—other than picture-frame shopping?”

  “Other than picking up where my life left off?”

  Tipping the chair onto its back legs, he folded his hands behind his neck. “You can’t go back to work yet, can you?”

  “I have no patients, really. All of mine were Dr. Fazal’s. They’ll be seeing another doctor now and if they want to continue to see me as their physical therapist, we’ll have to work through their new doctors.”

  “You’re anxious to get back to your social life, your…friends. I can understand that, but you need to be careful who you contact right now. Fazal’s killers could be watching people, you know.”

  “Oh, God, that would be awful. It’s bad enough they got to Ginny.” She glanced at her phone, where another message from Tyler had come through. She’d already explained about the death of her close friend. He could wait a few days. She’d even given him her cell phone number so he didn’t have to keep messaging her through the Spark app.

  She skimmed her fingertip over his message. She and Tyler had seemed to hit it off over coffee. Maybe once all the craziness subsided, they could reconnect. She stole a glance at Austin, back on his laptop.

  Would Tyler measure up to Austin? Would any man? What other man could compete with someone who protected you from terrorists out to kidnap you? Austin would be a hard act to follow, but if she ever hoped to get into a relationship in the real world, outside of the
fantasy one she was currently inhabiting with a larger-than-life navy SEAL, she’d have to get back out there and date—and Tyler would be her first.

  She responded to his message that she’d be attending a memorial service for her friend on Tuesday and she had several loose ends at work to tie up, but they could reschedule their date later.

  He replied immediately with a thumbs-up emoji, and she wrinkled her nose. She could never imagine that tough guy in the chair over there ever using an emoji.

  Clearing her throat, she tucked one edge of her phone beneath her thigh. “Do you ever use emojis when you text? You know, those little…”

  “I know what emojis are. I use them all the time when I text my nieces and nephews—even my sisters.” He stopped typing and raised his eyebrows. “Why do you want to know?”

  Her shoulders rose and fell. “Just wondering.”

  “Why do I feel like I just failed a test?” A little horn trumpeted from his laptop, and he glanced down. “Email from Ariel.”

  A knot tightened in her stomach. Every time Austin’s superiors communicated with him brought the threat that they could be yanking him off the assignment—yanking him out of her life. She licked her lips. “What’s it about? I mean, if you can tell me.”

  “Yes.” He pumped a fist in the air. “There’s a match for the fingerprints. Peter Patel is actually Waheed Jilani from the same province in Pakistan as Dr. Fazal, near Peshawar. He must’ve been friends with Hamid back home.”

  “Do they have any idea what he was doing here or why he contacted Dr. Fazal?”

  “No, but the area where they’re from? It’s a hotbed of terrorist activity, so maybe he heard something about a plot involving the symposium in Boston.” He dragged a hand through his hair and mumbled, “Oh, my God.”

  “What?” She launched herself from the bed and crowded in next to him to see the laptop.

  He snapped the lid shut. “Waheed Jilani’s eldest son was just murdered—today.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Austin gripped the edge of the laptop. God, he hoped Sophia hadn’t seen that picture of Jilani’s son. What the hell had the man done to warrant that outrage?