Triumph (The Bellator Saga Book 6)

by Cecilia London

  Her backup wasn’t coming. She’d be dead in a matter of seconds. But fuck, if she was going down, it would be with a little dignity. “No,” she said.

  He shook his head. “I should have known. A woman who doesn’t know her place. Predictable.”

  Maybe she could keep arguing with him. What was the worst that could happen? He’d shoot her for refusing to obey? She was as good as dead anyway. “My place is wherever the hell I want it to be.”

  He kept the gun trained on her head. It was a .40 caliber. Smith and Wesson, maybe? He was only a few feet away. Too far away for her to lunge at him and too close not to miss if and when he chose to fire. Goddammit.

  “Sadly, you don’t get to make that decision anymore,” he said. “You gave up your ideological and physical sovereignty the instant you turned yourself in. Tell me, why did you do it?”

  Sovereignty. What an interesting choice of terminology. Almost Machiavellian. Or was it Hobbesian? She couldn’t very well be expected to keep track of her philosophers when she was waffling back and forth on whether the situation warranted a last ditch effort to make peace with her God. “Why do you think?”

  “Turning the question around, I see.” He waved the gun again. “Get on your knees and I’ll tell you.”

  “It’s not very gallant to ask a lady to kneel in a skirt.”

  He reddened. She was getting to him. “I see no lady,” he said quietly.

  How long had they been in his office alone? Caroline was running out of options. Reluctantly, and carefully, since she was cuffed, she dropped to her knees.

  The action drew a venomous smile. “That’s more like it.” Santos took a step forward. “I think we’ve talked enough, don’t you?”

  “You promised you’d tell me why I gave myself up.”

  He glared at her through the sight on the gun. “Only a fool would believe such a promise. I pity you. About as much as I pity the janitors who will have to clean your remains off the floor.”

  In other words, not much. But every second he was talking was another second she was still alive. “Be sure to get them a nice fruit basket,” she said.

  That gun was still pointed straight at her head. “Your pathetic martyrdom has no limit, does it? Do you think I don’t know how terrified you are right now? Your cowardice will be your demise. You can’t fool me with your false swagger. It might have gotten you through your time in prison but it won’t help you on the way to hell.”

  She stared at him. If she couldn’t die on her feet she would take her last breath looking that bastard right in the eyes. “If I end up in hell, you’d better hope you don’t see me there.”

  “I’m not concerned,” Santos said, as he took a step back, aimed, and fired.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A loud crash. The smell of cordite. A hail of gunfire. A boot in her back. Caroline fell forward and rolled, barely avoiding yet another broken nose. How had that happened so quickly? Had time slowed in her mind then sped up the instant Santos discharged his gun? He was laying in front of her, riddled with bullets and most definitely dead. Caroline whirled around, eager to see her saviors. She caught a glimpse of silver hair. A knee ripped to shreds. She scrambled over to him, her handcuffs grating into her wrists. Words failed her.

  They weren’t supposed to be here. None of them were. But especially him.

  Gig was frantically removing his belt as Jonesie and Crunch tried to staunch the bleeding. Her friends. Trying to help. Help her goddamn husband, who despite the absence of training had decided to play hero.

  “Steven-” She stopped. Did she sound as feral as she thought?

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Gig said.

  Yeah. Sure. Right. Her husband’s knee had pretty much been blown off but everything was super awesome. Jesus tapdancing Christ.

  It was more than just the four of them. There had to be at least a dozen men in the room, with more in the hallway. Hardly any of them were wearing rebel uniforms. Gig glanced around at the other soldiers as he finally freed the belt and started to tighten it around Jack’s thigh. “Somebody get those cuffs off her,” he shouted. “Come on.”

  Jack’s eyes were closed. His chest was heaving. Had he been shot anywhere else?

  “He’s wearing a vest,” Crunch said, as if reading her thoughts.

  Someone – she wasn’t sure who – came up behind her and unlocked her cuffs. An impressive feat, considering how much she was shaking. She lurched forward and patted Jack’s face. His eyes fluttered open.

  “Did I get him?” he whispered.

  Caroline didn’t want to think about the body slumped on the other side of the office. “That was you?”

  “Of course it was me.” His voice was fading. “Are you okay?”

  Her husband was bleeding out on the floor of the Oval Office. Yeah, she was fine and fucking dandy. “I wasn’t hit,” she said. “But somebody kicked me in the back so I’m in a little pain.”

  “That was me. Did I get him?” Jack repeated.

  Of all the things to focus on now. There had been so many gunshots there was no way to know. But she could give him the answer he needed. “You did,” Caroline said. “You finally hit a target that counted.”

  “Good.” Jack groaned as Gig tightened the belt around his leg. “Be gentle, you asshole.”

  “He’s trying to stop the bleeding,” Caroline said. And save your life.

  He groaned again. “Good luck with that.”

  “You’re going to be fine,” she whispered.

  Time slowed and sped up again. She felt dizzy. Blood pooled under her husband’s legs. His face was turning gray. Now was not the time to lose control, which was probably why she was panicky as hell.

  Goddammit, this was not how it was supposed to be. Caroline was meant to back her way into danger but somehow come out ahead. To walk away from the rubble without a scratch. That was the plan. That was how it was supposed to work. No one else was supposed to get hurt.

  Hadn’t she suffered enough? She’d lost one husband. She thought she’d lost two. Had she gotten complacent again, taken him for granted? Trusted him to be less impetuous than her? She should have known. Should have realized he would be the first to volunteer, to put himself at greatest risk despite his lack of experience.

  She had to keep it together. For his sake. “You’re going to be fine,” she repeated.

  Jack reached for her hand. “I told you never to kneel for anyone,” he said weakly. “You listen like a fucking brick.”

  She was torn between throttling him and bursting into tears. “Why did you come here?” she whispered.

  “I promised you backup, remember?”

  “You shouldn’t – I can see that.”

  Jack clenched her hand tighter as Gig continued to twist the belt around his upper thigh. “Jesus Christ, woman, you never told me how much it fucking hurt to get shot.”

  “Stop talking,” she said.

  “That goddamn bastard shot me in the knee when I pushed you out of the way.”

  Because he was aiming for my head. Caroline leaned in closer. She needed him to shut up. “I love you,” she whispered. “But you really should stop talking.”

  “I have too much to tell you.” He reached for his shirt pocket, pulling out the note she’d written him that morning. “Hold onto that for me. I want it back.”

  She took it from his hand. It had a bloody fingerprint on it. She hastily shoved it into her uniform jacket. Caroline glanced at Gig, who was concentrating on the tourniquet. It clearly wasn’t working.

  “Is an ambulance coming?” she whispered.

  “Soon,” he said. “I promise. The Commander is going to be fine.” Gig pointed at Crunch. “Check on that transport.”

  Jack closed his eyes, and Caroline pressed her lips to his ear. “Don’t leave me. Not after all this.”

  “How can I leave?” he mumbled. “My knee’s a mess.”

  “Stop joking. Please.”

  “It’s the o
nly way I can get you to like me.”

  She kissed his forehead. “The ambulance will be here soon. And then you’ll have to be quiet. Just let me talk.”

  “You did good, sweetheart. Real good.”

  She didn’t care about what she’d done. What she would have been willing to do. She kissed his forehead again, tears dripping into his hair. “We’re not done yet, Jack. We have things we need to do.”

  “You’ll be okay,” he said, his chest heaving.

  Oh, fuck no. He was not going out like that. They’d earned their ever after. They deserved to grow old together, to nurse each other’s wounds, to hoot with gravelly voices and peer at their grandchildren through crinkled eyes as they tottered onto their laps. “You’re going to be fine,” she said. How many times would she have to say it for it to be true? She was terrified she was about to break down completely.

  “I love you, sweet Caroline,” Jack whispered. “You did real good, baby.” His head lolled to the side.

  No.

  “It’s all right,” Gig said, squeezing her upper arm. “He just passed out. Pulse is strong. He’s gonna make it.”

  Was he being straight with her? Everything gelled together – the voices of the other soldiers, the hand Jonesie placed on her back, the commotion that took place when the EMTs wheeled a stretcher piled with medical supplies into the room.

  Caroline looked at Gig. “Can we trust them?”

  He gestured toward the other soldiers. “If not, I suspect we’ll have a damn good backup plan. Come on.” He extended his hand. “Stay with me while these people do their stuff.”

  She accepted the hug she was offered, unashamed of her tears. She had no cowardice, only honor. And a fierce pride. In herself, in her family, in her friends.

  In her husband.

  Surely she could find some way to get through. Jack wouldn’t quit on her. She’d be damned if she would quit on him.

  *****

  Caroline rested her head against the wall, counting the buttons on her uniform jacket. Unbuttoning them. Rebuttoning them. Starting from the bottom, or in the middle, or in a pattern. Up, down, up, down. When she got bored with that she’d move to her beret. Straightening it. Tightening it. Adjusting it. She ignored the blood on her hands, twirling her anniversary band as she clutched the beret in her fist.

  At least half a dozen people had offered her coffee, and she had always refused. She sure as hell wasn’t going to drink it. Gig and the others kept their distance, speaking quietly in the corner with the Canadian Special Forces. They didn’t know what to say, or maybe they knew she wanted to be alone.

  Jack, Jones, Crunch, and Gig had been her primary backup, but they’d been joined by troops from Canada, the United Kingdom, and Mexico, as well as a decent number of U.N. Peacekeepers. The Peacekeepers were in the process of restoring order – taking suspected collaborators into custody, policing the streets, questioning stray staffers and military personnel. More troops would arrive by the hour to ensure as seamless a transition of power as possible. She didn’t know much else beyond that.

  She wanted to sleep. Forever. But that wouldn’t happen until she found out what condition Jack was in. It had been hours with no word. It had to be late night or early morning. She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and looked up.

  “Hey, Punky.” Christine was giving her a shaky smile. Caroline tried to return it and failed, and Christine quickly sat down next to her, pulling her into her arms. “He’s going to be fine,” she whispered.

  Caroline let out a small sob. “There was so much blood, Chrissy. I didn’t know what to do. He kept trying to talk to me and he wouldn’t shut up, and then he passed out. The EMTs couldn’t stop the bleeding and things got worse on the way to the hospital and I haven’t heard anything and-”

  “Stop.” Christine kissed her temple. “I’m telling you, he’s going to be fine.”

  “Is there something you know that I don’t?”

  Christine’s eyes were bright. “No,” she said. “But Jack McIntyre is not going to leave you without good reason. That man would fight all of the archangels and God himself to get back to you. He’s not going quietly into that good night.”

  “His knee is all torn up,” Caroline said. “Do I want to know what that means?”

  Christine started rubbing Caroline’s back. “I don’t think you need to speculate at this point.”

  Caroline gulped back another wave of panic. “I mean, could he lose-”

  “Let me rephrase. I do not think it is healthy for either of us to speculate at this point.”

  Message received. Christine’s customary lecturing tone was cold comfort. Caroline rubbed her eyes, reality dawning on her. “Um, what are you doing here?”

  “I was wondering how long it would take you to figure that out.”

  She’d had a rough day. Surely her lapse could be excused. “I could have sworn all of you told me you were staying home.”

  “Ah, yes. The classic lie of omission. If you recall, you never specifically asked us what our plans were. You just assumed we would hang back in California.”

  “That’s sneaky.”

  “I assure you I did not make the decision lightly.”

  Caroline blinked. “You came here with Jack, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. I knew he was part of the backup team since the very beginning. We thought you’d focus better if you thought all of us were back in California.”

  Which was probably true. “Where are the girls? Are they here too?”

  Christine kept rubbing her back. “They’re fine. They’re someplace safe, just outside the city. Don’t worry. They’re under heavy military guard.”

  Caroline looked up at the soldiers surrounding them. “Are we safe?” she whispered. “They made everyone turn over their weapons when we got here.”

  “If anyone gives us a hard time, there are a few battalions of Peacekeepers outside to tell them what’s what.”

  Caroline had been so fixated on the plan that she hadn’t thought about the details that hadn’t been discussed. “The girls knew too,” she said. “That’s why they’ve been so calm lately. Why they were so chipper this morning.”

  Christine was actually starting to look embarrassed. “Yes.”

  “Well,” Caroline said. “Aren’t you all a bunch of assholes.” She looked around. “Are there more Peacekeepers in here than there were a minute ago?”

  Christine slipped her suit jacket off. Always impeccably dressed, even in the midst of a governmental collapse. “They, uh, made me interim Commander in Chief.”

  Caroline crossed her arms. “Because of course they did.”

  Christine laughed. “Don’t make it sound like that. There weren’t a lot of options. No one wanted to see a military takeover, even if temporary. Martial law is enough for now, and I’m hoping I can end that soon.”

  Holy shit, Christine Sullivan was in charge. “Are these U.N. guys going to tackle me if I smack you?”

  “They take their duties quite seriously. I wouldn’t chance it.”

  “You got lucky,” Caroline said. “How’d this happen?”

  “The military leaders of our little operation. The ones who weren’t you and Jack.”

  Her head swam. Was this conversation really happening? “Just to confirm - you’re the President of the United States?”

  “Until we can hold formal elections.”

  Caroline pulled back a little. “Since I’m not allowed to smack you, am I supposed to salute you? I am in uniform.”

  Christine pulled her closer. “No,” she whispered. “You’re supposed to keep me humble.”

  “Is your appointment even legal? Who made that decision?”

  “Well, technically you did pull off a coup.”

  “Technically we weren’t American soldiers at the time.”

  “You don’t need to split semantic hairs, Caroline. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Military officials made the decision, and I signed an executive order indicating I wa
s not to remain in office longer than it took to set up elections. If all goes as planned, we’ll have the election in November and the swearing-in in January, and everything will revert back to normal.”

  A relative term, no doubt. But Caroline knew what she meant. “How long have you been president?”

  “About three hours.”

  Which was probably about as long as Caroline had been sitting in the hospital. “And how many executive orders have you signed?”

  “About ten. Mostly to undo Santos’ damage.”

  “Jesus. How the hell did you pull that off?”

  Christine’s lips twitched. “I’m very efficient.”

  “I thought you believed most executive orders were overreach.”

  “I still believe that. Right now, overreach is sorely needed.”

  “Since you’re wielding that pen so judiciously, you gonna issue any executive orders concerning me?”

  “I just might,” Christine said. “‘Caroline Joan Gerard is no longer allowed to do stupid shit.’”

  If Christine was trying to keep her calm, she was doing a great job. “That language is vague and overbroad and that order is probably unenforceable. And it’s not ladylike to curse.”

  Christine sighed dramatically. “You lawyers suck the fun out of everything.”

  “Get used to it. You may have to deal with more of them in the near future.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I know. I talked to Roger earlier. He and Brian are coming back as soon as they can. Both of them may run.”

  “They’d be good candidates,” Caroline said. “That matchup would be a clean campaign, which I think we need.” She leaned into Christine’s shoulder. “This feels weird.”

  “It might for a while. Might not feel like home for a while, either.”

  A good point. Washington might never feel like home again, but it was better than being a patriot without a country. “I still can’t believe you’re here,” Caroline said softly.

  Christine let out an exasperated breath. “Honestly, Punky. I can’t believe you thought we wouldn’t come after you.”

  It had occurred to her but she’d brushed it aside, too consumed with worries about whether or not infiltrating the White House would succeed. “I wasn’t sure.”