Targeted (FBI Heat)

by Marissa Garner

  Fourth blast. So loud. From on top of her.

  A groan, a thud…

  Pain. Darkness.

  The premonition…

  Voices drifted through the fog in Marissa’s head. A great weight pressed her against the floor. It took all her strength to simply breathe air into her lungs. She smelled the sticky wetness bathing her. Blood? But I’m not dead. She forced her eyes open.

  “Nooo!” she screamed when she saw the body, bloody and limp, draped across her. “Ameen!”

  No response.

  Khaleel. Cell phone. Bomb. Gun.

  She jerked her head up to see past Ameen and found Khaleel. He was sprawled on the concrete, a puddle of blood spreading across the floor under his head. His left hand was also a bloody mess. His cell phone and pistol lay several feet away.

  Ignoring her own pain, she pressed down on the floor to lift the upper half of her body and rolled Ameen gently off her onto the floor. “Ameen!”

  Kneeling beside him, she checked for a pulse. Weak. Feathery.

  She ripped open his shirt. Blood spilled from his chest. No, God, no. She tore off her blouse, wadded it into a ball, and pressed it hard against the wound. “Help!” she shouted despite knowing no one outside could hear her.

  He groaned.

  She bent close to his ear. “Ameen, hang on.”

  His eyes opened. “Ba…hee…ra?”

  “I’m here. Be strong. Help is coming.” Tears filled her eyes and cascaded over. “You saved my life again, Ameen. Surely Allah will save yours.” She gently kissed him.

  “We…connected…many ways,” he managed to whisper.

  “Yes.” Marissa touched her heart and then his.

  His eyes closed, and his body shuddered. Marissa’s chin dropped to her chest but she continued to put pressure on his wound. She choked back a sob. “Help! We need help!” she cried, hoping against hope she’d be heard by someone outside.

  Ameen groaned again—softer, weaker. His eyes barely opened a slit as he struggled to form words. “Real…name?”

  “Marissa.”

  “I…love you…Ma…rissa.”

  “I love you too.”

  He trembled and went still.

  As she pulled him into her arms a deep, savage hatred, like nothing Marissa had ever experienced before, roiled up inside her. A cry of unspeakable anguish burst from her lips and filled the building.

  Chapter 27

  Ben kept a close eye on Marissa as he drove across the San Diego–Coronado Bay Bridge. After she’d collapsed in the morgue at 11:00 p.m., he had finally convinced her to stop. He couldn’t tell if her insistence on working had been an attempt to keep her mind off Ameen or to close this hellish chapter of her life as quickly as possible. Whatever her motivation, everyone—not just Ben—was worried about Special Agent Panuska.

  Many hours earlier at the Otay Mesa site, Ben had raced into the warehouse to find Marissa holding a dying Ameen. Refusing first aid for her own injury, she’d insisted on keeping pressure on his wound herself until the paramedics arrived. Then she’d watched stoically as they loaded him into the ambulance. Only when she learned of Wahid’s death did she break down for a short time, turning and walking away with Ben for a private moment of grief. Even after Fateen, the lone surviving terrorist, had been taken into custody and the other bodies carted away, she still wouldn’t leave. The medics had bandaged her shoulder, insisting she get to the hospital immediately, but she’d refused. Everyone but Ben, who stayed at her side, remained at a respectful distance.

  Unable to do anything to ease her pain, he shadowed her, supported her, as she shuttered her anguish behind a professional demeanor. He knew Marissa, and he knew the depth of her emotions and her feelings for Ameen that he’d witnessed after the shooting.

  But this was her op, and she refused to give in to emotions and feelings. She updated Rawlings on the phone. She conferred with Stan Williams, the JTTF leader. She watched the techs defuse the bomb. Although she received updates on Ameen’s condition by phone every half hour, she stayed on site until everything was finished. Completely finished.

  Finally, she allowed Ben to drive her to the hospital. Before going to the emergency room, they checked on Ameen. He had survived the surgery to remove Khaleel’s bullet but remained in ICU. He’d lost a lot of blood and had not regained consciousness. The prognosis was uncertain.

  The ER doctor had wanted to admit Marissa, not only for her physical wound but also for psychological observation. The trauma she had endured for more than two weeks, culminating with Ameen’s life-threatening injury while saving her life, had obviously taken a significant mental and emotional toll. But Marissa was adamant in her refusal to be admitted. She explained that she couldn’t stand the idea of being confined someplace she didn’t want to be for even one more night. When she’d threatened to call a cab to take her to the San Diego FBI office, the doctor and Ben capitulated. They negotiated a compromise for her to spend the night at his apartment.

  Afterward, Marissa endured hours of tedious debriefing, interrupted by frequent calls to the hospital. Her emotions fluctuated wildly between pride, relief, rage, joy, and grief. But she showed no emotion at all when the report came that the last terrorist had been located, dead in the trunk of his car. While identifying the bodies at the morgue, she collapsed. No one was surprised. After they revived her, she refused all assistance and walked, back straight, head held high, to Ben’s car.

  Now Marissa was calm but distant. Wearing sky blue hospital scrubs, she looked fragile and vulnerable. As they drove across the bridge, she stared at the dancing reflections of downtown San Diego in the dark water of the bay far below them. She drew a deep breath and exhaled a long, heavy sigh.

  She turned to him, her face pale and eyes sunken, but still amazingly beautiful. “Thank you, Benja. I could not have survived without you.”

  “You know I’d do anything for you, Gypsy.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you…okay?”

  Her long lashes veiled her eyes for a moment. “No…but I will be. Your Amber is okay that I’m staying with you, yes?”

  “Of course. Amber was in LA, but when I called her from the hospital, she insisted on driving home immediately. She’s excited about meeting you. You’ll like her.”

  “I’m afraid I won’t be a very pleasant guest.”

  “She’ll understand. I told her that you’d be staying with us for a few days. I want you to relax and decompress before going back to Washington.”

  Marissa nodded absently, drifting away. Ten minutes later, Ben ushered her into his apartment.

  Amber greeted them with comforting hugs. “You both look exhausted. I already got the inflatable mattress ready in the office.”

  “Thanks, babe. I’ll get Marissa settled, and then I’ll be right to bed.” He gave her a kiss that he hoped told her how glad he was to be home.

  “I’m looking forward to getting to know you, Marissa, but we’ll talk tomorrow. Sleep well.”

  “That will be nice. Good night, Amber.”

  After the bedroom door closed behind Amber, Ben led Marissa down the hall to the office. She sat down wearily on the mattress.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, shutting the door and leaning against it.

  “There are no words yet, Miláčku, only pain. Give me time.”

  “But I want to do something.”

  She managed a weak smile. “I need to talk to Ameen’s uncle, tell him how Ameen saved my life.” Her voice caught. “Will you drive me to the hospital tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, no problem.” He paused. “He’s gonna make it, Gypsy. He’s a fighter.”

  She rubbed her hand across her eyes. “The doctors were not so confident.”

  “They said the surgery went great.”

  “But he’s been unconscious for hours.”

  “He lost a lot of blood.” Ben sighed. Facts weren’t going to ease her pain. “Will you be able to sleep?”

 
; She gazed at the window. “I doubt it.”

  “Well, let’s put you to bed anyway.” He pulled back the comforter and smoothed the sheets, thankful Amber had readied the room. Then he reached for the gown she’d left on the desk. When he turned back, Marissa’s face was frozen and pale. Tears spilled from her eyes as she stared down at her bloodstained shoes. Ameen’s blood mixed with her blood. Sobbing, she buried her face in her hands.

  Ben caught her in a tight embrace as anguished sobs racked her slumping body. He’d recently almost lost Amber so he understood what Marissa was feeling. He just let her cry until, eventually, she shuddered and sighed.

  “Benja, the pain is so bad. But I’m beginning to understand why. I have been poisoned by a new passion: hate.”

  He waited quietly while she collected her thoughts.

  “This poison pulses through my heart with crazed vengeance. It fogs my mind with irrational thoughts. It is consuming me.” She grimaced. “Not only do I hate Khaleel for shooting Ameen, but I also hate the San Diego cell, all of al-Qaeda, every Islamic terrorist who lives and breathes while Ameen fights for his life. How do I destroy this heinous passion before it becomes a permanent part of me?”

  “Now that you’re no longer surrounded by life-threatening hatred, I suspect your natural, loving nature will return. Even this traumatic experience can’t change the core of who you are.”

  “I hope you’re right, Benja. But this will certainly leave scars, yes?”

  “Probably. But it may also give you a better understanding of the minds of the Islamic fanatics that we’re trying to stop.”

  “Ameen said he doesn’t believe a rational mind can truly understand a fanatical mind.”

  Ben considered the premise. “Yeah, I agree with him. Your experience may not give you understanding, just insight.” He hesitated. “You and Ameen have…connected pretty damn fast.”

  “Yes, I feel deeper connections with Ameen after only a few days than I ever felt with Ian.”

  Ben wiggled his eyebrows. “And during these crazy few days, I suspect you managed to find some private time to explore those deep connections in a…physical way.”

  Her eyes widened. “You know?”

  “Of course I know, Gypsy. I saw it in your eyes when you held him in the warehouse.”

  “We’ll never be able to keep secrets, yes?”

  “Afraid not.”

  Marissa paused thoughtfully before she explained. “My relationship with Ameen is not just sexual. You know me better than that. Just as you and I share a passion for catching bad guys, Ameen and I found we share a certain passion. And I suspect there are even more that we have yet to discover.”

  “You won’t go back to the desk work?”

  “I don’t want to. Now that Homeland Security sees Muslim women getting more and more involved in the terrorists’ activities, they will find better things for me to do with my Arab-like appearance and Arabic fluency.”

  They lapsed into a pensive silence. Ben’s mind retraced the events of the past few incredible days to the point where it had all started for him. An unbelievable incident that still made no sense.

  “Gypsy, I don’t understand about my nightmare Sunday night. What was it? How the hell did I dream what was actually happening to you when Samir…?” His voice trailed off.

  She didn’t respond immediately. “You always think I understand these things, but I don’t. Sometimes, it is easier to simply accept, instead of worrying about explanations.”

  “If you say so. The thing that really freaks me out is how real it was. I’ll never forget the terror in your eyes. It was like I was feeling it, not just seeing it.”

  She grimaced at the painful memory. “I have never felt such fear, Benja. Not even with Khaleel and the bomb. That night, I truly believed I was going to die…in that terrible place, in that terrible way. Maybe my fear was a telepathic conduit.” She smiled faintly and laid her hand on his. “Perhaps, we have yet another connection that cannot even be explained.”

  * * *

  After Ben left the room, Marissa undressed and slipped on the borrowed gown. She strolled to the window and peered into the night sky.

  Passion had always been her lifeblood. Positive passions. How would she purge this hateful one from her soul?

  She wanted to believe what Ben had said about recovering now that she was no longer surrounded by the terrorists’ hatred, but she didn’t think he could fully comprehend what she was feeling. They shared the passion for catching bad guys, but this new emotion went far beyond that.

  Only one person she knew might be able to understand: Ameen. Perhaps he would be able to help her heal. But if Ameen died, at the hands of his terrorist “friend” Khaleel, she feared hate would become a permanent part of her soul.

  Oh, Ameen, please don’t die. I love you. I need you. We have so much passion to explore. Together.

  After a long time, she lay down and cried herself to sleep.

  Chapter 28

  Only a fool would go to work today, his wife had complained bitterly as he’d prepared to leave early Thursday morning. She was probably right, Rawlings grudgingly conceded while he shuffled through the pile of paperwork awaiting his attention. Maybe he would take a day off once the loose ends and the paperwork were taken care of. He scowled. So much goddamn paperwork.

  And so many goddamn phone calls. Annoyed at yet another interruption, he yanked the ringing phone to his ear. “Rawlings,” he snapped. His eyes widened, and he instinctively sprang to his feet. “Yes, Mr. President. Thank you very much, sir.” He listened raptly. “Yes, it was a tragic loss. A ricochet off a metal dumpster. I’ll communicate the details to Winslow about where to send your condolences to Special Agent Jabbar’s family…and to Special Agent Jamila Zafar.” He nodded as he listened. “It was definitely an amazing operation. I’m always proud to serve my country, Mr. President, but I’m not the one who deserves that praise. The star of this show was Special Agent Panuska. She’s the one who should be recognized and honored.” He grinned. “I’m pleased you agree, sir. When she returns, I assure you that we would both be honored to have dinner at the White House.” His eyebrows jerked upward. “Excuse me? May I quote you on that, Mr. President?” And then he laughed—for the first time in a long time.

  After the call, he stood at the windows, reflecting. Indeed, the operation had been an overwhelming success. They had captured the complete Herat bomb: all the parts, the radioactive material, the C-4 explosive, and the assembly diagrams and instructions. Five of the San Diego cell members, both Tijuana engineers, and the real Baheera Abbas were dead. The Mexican authorities actually seemed eager to extradite the two cell members, Tareef and Masoud, captured at the Tijuana hideout. Fateen, the sole survivor of the Otay Mesa assault, and Liban/ Pablo/Dawud, the Arab assassin, were in custody with interrogations already underway. And several agents were on the hunt for Dr. Terrorist.

  On the other side of the scoreboard, they’d lost Special Agent Jabbar during the shoot-out, and Panuska had been non-critically wounded while protecting the bomb.

  And, of course, Ameen Ali had been shot by his traitorous friend, the terrorist engineer Khaleel. The brave, former SEAL had sacrificed himself to save Panuska, a woman he barely knew. And she was clearly devastated by his life-threatening injury. I wonder if…

  Lost in thought, Rawlings drank a long swig of coffee. That young man was a hero, although he would probably never get the recognition. Having already read the first report of Panuska’s debriefing, Rawlings was aware she kept repeating a phrase she attributed to Ameen: There’s danger in waiting. The meaning for those serving their country was more significant than for most.

  “There’s danger in waiting,” Rawlings whispered. “Yes, Ameen, there sure as hell is.”

  He glanced back at the paperwork and frowned. Abruptly, he stomped to the desk and punched a few numbers on the phone. Hearing his boss answer, a broad grin lit his face.

  “Good morning. I just received
a very interesting phone call. The President of the United States ordered me—and I quote—to get my ass home and take a goddamn vacation. And, sir, I’ve decided not to wait to follow that order.”

  * * *

  Her throat tight, her eyes burning with unshed tears, Marissa stepped into the hospital’s ICU waiting room. Wearing the traditional garments of a Muslim imam and sporting a full, salt-and-pepper beard, Ameen’s uncle was not difficult to spot. His shoulders slumped, he sat alone in a corner of the room, the other occupants keeping a conspicuous distance from him. He stared solemnly at his hands resting in his lap. He didn’t move until Marissa stopped a few feet away and spoke.

  “Abdullah Ali?” she asked, even though she was sure who he was.

  He looked up. Dark, expressive eyes met hers. Ameen’s eyes, only older, sadder.

  “Yes,” he confirmed hesitantly and studied her with suspicion. “And you are?”

  She extended her right hand clumsily because of the bandage and sling. “FBI Special Agent Marissa Panuska. I need to speak to you about your nephew.”

  He straightened and bristled. “Ameen is a good man. He was not shot in a drug deal gone terribly wrong. He has never had anything to do with drugs. Special Agent Williams’s conclusion is wrong.”

  “I know.” She nodded. “I’ve taken care of that…unfortunate misinformation.”

  Abdullah waited another few seconds before shaking her hand. “Are you here to tell me more lies?”

  Marissa shook her head. She hadn’t expected his defensiveness, but she could understand it. The nephew he loved was fighting for his life after being shot under circumstances that no one would explain honestly. “No. I want to tell you the truth…at least as much of it as I can.”

  “Then, by all means, please sit and tell me what really happened,” he said after considering her words.

  She surveyed the room to confirm no one could eavesdrop on their conversation before sitting down in the chair next to him. Staring at her hands clasped in her lap, she drew a fortifying breath.