Simply The Best

by Denyse M. Bridger

She did it, and shook her head when the panel shifted downward to reveal the keypad and scanner of a security access system. “I'm not in the security system here,” she told him, faintly dismayed.

  "Marg entered the codes,” Tommy informed her. “My guess is she's got you in, probably the same code as your house."

  "If you're wrong?"

  "Then Max's guests will know he's not alone. Your call."

  She punched in her home code, then pressed the ball of her thumb to the flickering panel. When the low click of the locking mechanism sounded, she bit her bottom lip and swallowed a cry of relief.

  "What do I do now?” she asked, once she'd closed the door behind her.

  "Nothing,” he answered immediately.

  "Nothing!"

  "You're safe where you are."

  "Max isn't!” she snapped, her husky voice roughening with the depth of her anger and fear.

  "We're going to get Max out,” Tommy reasoned gently. “It'll be a lot easier with you..."

  Kaylee broke the connection and punched in T.J.'s number; a few seconds later, his welcome voice growled into her ear.

  "It's Kaylee..."

  "Yeah, I know,” he stated, tone short. “Tommy's already told me. They're on the way.” He paused, then added; “Stay where you are, Kaylee. Max's going to be as worried about you as you are about him."

  "I have to do something, T.J.,” she insisted, though she knew the moment the words were out that she hadn't a clue precisely what it was she could offer in the way of help.

  "You don't do anything, Kaylee!” T.J. snapped, this time giving the simple words the tone of an order. “The Commander's gonna need to stay sharp, and if you get yourself..."

  "I get the point!” Angry, she ended the conversation and slipped the phone back into her pocket. It was hardly out of her hand when it rang again.

  "This is going to be a lot easier if we can all talk,” Marg announced when she answered. “See if there's a headset in the command center."

  Kaylee searched the desk and found what she was looking for. Marg told her how to activate the communications link, and she had it in place and operating a few seconds later.

  "Can you hear anything at all?"

  "Kaylee?” It was Tommy's voice again, concern and impatience making his tone curt.

  * * * *

  "Sayid, help Commander Richmonte to a chair,” Muammar directed with morbid friendliness.

  Max bit back a groan of pain as he was hauled to his feet and flung onto a chair. Seconds later his hands were securely bound, then his feet. He knew the instant his head was jerked back with a solid yank that the pain was just beginning. This was the moment that Muammar had been anticipating; been hoping for, even.

  Max was startled when the Libyan solider slid a small handgun from a holster at his back. He smiled, and allowed Max to see the gun clearly.

  "An impressive weapon, wouldn't you agree, Commander Richmonte?” He turned the gun casually, permitting Max to identify it: an expensive German Heckler and Koch, a smooth-firing weapon that was lightweight, compact, and used 9mm cartridges, 8 of them. Lethal, and perversely elegant.

  Max braced for the blow, expecting it to land in the vicinity of his temple. Muammar didn't disappoint him. The bar grew hazy and grey for indeterminable seconds, then slowly swam into focus, albeit wavering focus. He was dimly aware of angry voices, and a rush of words in a language he didn't understand.

  Chapter 10

  "Marg?"

  "I'm here, Kaylee,” she answered immediately.

  "I have Max's gun, the one I gave him. How the hell do I use it?"

  "Kaylee! Stay put."

  She ignored Tommy's annoyance.

  "What's happening?” Marg questioned calmly.

  "They're having a rather loud discussion about who is going to kill Max. I'm not planning to wait for the winner to be decided."

  There was enough ice and steel in her voice to alert the mercenary team to her rage; and to the futility of trying to reason with her.

  "Marg?"

  Kaylee was making her way back to the rear door that she'd used to gain access to the basement. Half her mind was already preoccupied with controlling the fear that wanted to paralyze her; the other listened as Marg quietly and dispassionately took her through the steps of checking the clip, taking off the safety, and a few encouraging words about actually pulling the trigger.

  "We're less than five minutes away,” Kevin inserted into the static lull that followed Marg's instructions.

  "In five minutes he may be dead,” Kaylee replied with patently false detachment. She said a silent prayer, took a deep breath, and slipped back into the corridor that would lead her to the main room of the bar.

  * * * *

  Max knew his time had just run out. Whatever they wanted with T.J. had now become secondary to killing him. The sounds of tires screeching broke the unnatural silence and he dared to breathe again. A blunt order was issued; Muammer's two comrades headed for the doors, front and back.

  Max stared at the remaining man for a split-second, already seeing the bullet in his mind's eye. The gun rose, and the air exploded with the report of a single shot. Seconds later, several others ripped through the club, then the silence deepened in aftershock.

  Max's senses reeled when his look shifted from the dead man at his feet to the cringing figure less than two yards away. His stomach churned wildly, and he cursed furiously when he tried to move and couldn't.

  Tommy burst into the room, gun raised, eyes everywhere.

  "Sir?"

  "There were only three of them,” Richmonte ground out, tearing his hands free the instant the sniper loosened the cords that bound him. Marg and Kevin slipped into the room from the corridor, nodding in response to his unasked question.

  * * * *

  Kaylee slid down the wall, shaking violently as the bar faded in and out of clear focus. The noise still rang in her ears, deafening ... raging ... condemning ... Her awareness was erratic, she heard the voices of her friends, but they didn't quite reach her.

  * * * *

  "Max,” Marg touched his arm and held him back when he would have gone directly to Kaylee. “Give her a few minutes,” she advised, her voice barely above a whisper; pale blue eyes filled with apprehension.

  Tommy and Kevin glanced at each other, uneasy and awkward in a situation that neither would have flinched at under normal circumstances.

  "Kaylee?"

  She looked up at Max's soft murmur, her expression shaky.

  Marg went to her side, bent, and took the gun from her limp fingers. Kaylee's gaze moved to her and she slowly climbed back to her feet, only then aware that she was no longer standing.

  "Is he dead?"

  Tommy nodded when he saw that her look had fallen on him.

  She winced, and hugged herself, chilled. For a few heartbeats she stared at Muammer's still body, her gaze fixated on the seeping stain of blood that was spreading over the floor. She shuddered, then turned away, running for the sanctuary of Max's office.

  Marg's cell phone chirped and she reached into a pocket, answered it, then handed it to Max.

  "It's Baldwin."

  He took the phone and walked the few paces to the bar, rubbing the back of his neck and wincing at the stabbing pain his action woke through his body. He was going to be painted with a vivid array of colorful bruises by day's end.

  * * * *

  Kaylee looked around the office for minutes that felt eternal, then gradually forced herself into motion. She refused to think about what had happened; and made her mind concentrate on the simple process of gathering her work. She had blueprints rolled and her briefcase closed when she sat at the desk and stared at the door. She stuffed her hands into her pockets, felt the small weight of the cell phone and took it out. She put it back in the drawer, and left the headset from the command center next to it.

  A short while later she was about to reach for the doorknob when the panel swung open and Max stood in fro
nt of her. She had her briefcase in one hand, the blueprints tucked in the crook of her other arm. Max took the bundle from her, confusion written all over his handsome features.

  "Where are you going?"

  "Home,” she whispered. “I need to finish this presentation. I told you that."

  He touched her chin, made her look up at him, and she shut her eyes, refusing to comply with his need to see what was in her heart.

  "Let me go, Max,” she pleaded softly. “I can't stay here right now. I can't.” His touch fell away and she lifted the books from his hands again.

  "I'll drive you..."

  "No!” It was too sharp, and she stepped back, out of his mesmerizing orbit. “No,” she repeated, quieter, calmer. “I'll call you later. I just want to be alone. To clear my head."

  He didn't know how to deny the request, despite his certainty that the last thing she needed was to be alone.

  She didn't wait for his response, she darted past him, and headed for the rear exit to avoid the rest of his team. Her steps faltered briefly when she almost tripped over the body of another of the dead men. Biting back a scream that felt more like a sob, she flung the door open and headed for her car.

  * * * *

  Max leaned back in his chair, careful not to stretch too many still aching muscles; his bruises were only hours old, and they hurt like hell. The bar was packed, and he'd been bumped and jostled so often in the couple of hours he'd spent tending to his business that he'd finally sought the haven of his office. The quiet had helped ease some of the pulsing headache, and one by one he'd dealt with the members of his mercenary team, and their less than subtle concern for him. He appreciated their caring, but he was too worried about Kaylee Masterson at the moment to be preoccupied with himself. Kevin had passed her house on his way down the coast and had told Max that he'd seen her on the beach. So far, she hadn't made the promised call to Max, and he was growing more concerned with each hour that it was delayed.

  The ringing of the phone distracted him, and he glanced at the instrument, surprised to see it was his security line; not the one that would have been picked up down at the bar. He snatched it and settled back again.

  "Richmonte."

  "Commander. How are you, sir?"

  Max smiled, genuinely pleased.

  "I'm fine, T.J. How's Hawaii?"

  "Never better,” was the laughing reply. T.J. paused for a second. “Is Kaylee around?"

  "No. She wanted a few hours alone,” Max told him. “Have you tried the house?"

  "I've been trying to reach her all evening. I figured she'd be staying close to you after what went down."

  Max straightened in his chair, alert and tense.

  "She left here hours ago, T.J. I thought she'd call you as soon as she got home. That's why I let her go.” He had assumed that she'd turn to T.J. automatically; their friendship, and Windsor's past with Max, made him the logical choice for her to reach out to in her confusion and fear. Max had no illusions about what this had cost her in emotional terms; but Marg had been firm in her declaration that if he pushed, Kaylee would bolt.

  Again there was a hesitation before T.J. spoke.

  "What happened, Commander?"

  "She killed one of the tangos before the others arrived.” He could have said more, but there was little point in details; T.J. understood her better than Max did in many ways. “I'll be in touch in about an hour, I'm going to see if she's home and not answering the phone."

  He hung up and rubbed at his eyes, suddenly suffering an entirely new set of aches, internal hurts and fears that wanted to give way to the smoldering rage that had possessed him from the minute his bar had been invaded by the rogue Libyan soldiers. A few minutes later, he was in his car and headed for home.

  * * * *

  Kaylee stifled a yawn as tiredness threatened to make her collapse. Her knees had been none too steady for the past eight hours, and the long flight to D.C. had drained what little reserves of energy she'd still had left.

  She handed the smiling hotel bellman an overly generous tip, and closed the door quickly. He'd been almost too helpful, and she wanted silence, not chit-chat that was meant to impress her but fell far short of the intended mark.

  The day had been a true nightmare for her, but there had been comfort in the flight to DC, the simplicity of it had been welcome. She was having a hard time adjusting to certain aspects of Max Richmonte and his unusual life. He had no real family outside his team, but in Carter Baldwin was the essence of a father, and Kaylee needed to know that part of her lover's life, even if was only a shadow of what the reality might have been. Carter knew Max better than anyone, and he knew the business involved. She could have talked to Max about her fear, and the grief that was tormenting her, but she suspected they'd end up making love. While that was a pleasant enough refuge, what she needed was perspective. That required some distance and an objective eye, both things that were readily available in Carter's presence.

  The shower beckoned, and she decided to indulge. She passed through the cozy sitting room of the small suite, tossed her overnight case on the bed and began to strip off her travel clothes as she headed for the bathroom.

  * * * *

  Max slumped in an armchair and brooded in the silence of her house. He'd been waiting several hours, and there was still no sign of her returning. He'd checked with her answering service, and their neighbors. No one knew where she was. He'd checked the security systems, and knew she'd come home at some point. There was nothing to suggest that anything out of the ordinary had taken her from the house.

  His mind wouldn't shut down, and he finally decided to go to bed and wait. He placed a short call to the Silver Star, told Janelle to lock up, then headed for the bedroom.

  * * * *

  It took nearly two hours of phone calls to finally reach the man she wanted to speak to, and Kaylee's nerves were frayed to the very limits of her composure when Carter Baldwin's voice came on the line.

  "I don't think it would be this difficult to contact the President,” she said in exasperation.

  "Kaylee?"

  She heard laughter and surprise in his voice, and smiled in spite of her edgy mood.

  "Why didn't you use my private number?"

  "I don't know it, Carter,” she informed him pertly. “T.J. called you this morning, not me.” It could have been simple, if she'd wanted to call one of Max's friends to get the number, but she wasn't ready for them to know where she'd gone.

  "What can I do for you, honey?” Baldwin asked warmly.

  "Is your wife expecting you home for dinner?"

  He paused, and she could feel the change in his manner before he asked; “Where are you, Kaylee?"

  "About a mile from your office, if you're in the Pentagon?"

  "Is Max with you?"

  "Max doesn't even know I'm not in San Diego,” she admitted.

  "I'll send a car for you,” Carter said after another brief hesitation.

  "Why don't you come here,” she requested. “We can talk privately while we eat. I need to talk to you, Carter,” she added, unable to keep her voice completely steady.

  "I'll be there in about twenty minutes,” he assured her and she told him the name of the hotel she was staying in.

  * * * *

  "Dinner was lovely, Kaylee,” Baldwin said with a smile as he sat on the sofa and she handed him a drink. She curled up in a chair that faced him, thoughtful and uneasy.

  "You haven't said much,” he observed after several moments passed in expectant quiet.

  "Tell me about Max,” she asked.

  "You know him better than I do, honey,” Carter replied with sincere affection.

  "The things I know about Max have very little to do with what you know about him. I need to know that part of him, too, Carter. If I can really understand it, maybe I won't be so afraid all the time.” She bit her lip then sighed heavily. “He's a stranger in so many ways. Like there are two different people living in the same body, and I on
ly know one face in many. I know you've asked him to go back to work for you, and he's considering it."

  "Max's a highly trained killer, Kaylee,” Baldwin said with surprising candor. “He's the best at what he does, and I'm damn glad he's on our side and not one of the enemy."

  "I do know that, Carter,” she whispered. “If I'd had any doubts, they were put to rest today. I saw it, clearly, in all of them. Tommy, Marg, Kevin. It's a job they do. They were so calm. So detached."

  "And you weren't?” he guessed, correctly.

  She laughed, a harsh spurt of bitter irony.

  "Detached? Very. I thought I was going to lose my mind when I saw those men attacking Max. There was nothing rational or..."

  "It's not your job, Kaylee,” he inserted into her frightened pause. “You weren't trained to handle weapons and life or death situations. You're not a killer."

  Her eyebrows rose, and again there was nothing but irony in her tone when she spoke, her smile cool, masque-like.

  "But I am, now,” she breathed smoothly.

  Baldwin measured her barely contained emotions, his mind and heart responding to her turmoil on many levels. She was frightened, and that fear dominated everything else she was presently feeling. It was what had driven her to him; to the man she saw as Max Richmonte's mentor and father figure. She was more than a little bit correct in her assessment of their friendship. In many ways, he'd grown closer to Kaylee Masterson than he was to his own daughters, and he knew without doubt that it was Max she really needed close to her tonight.

  "Is that what scares you? That you killed a man?"

  "Isn't that enough?"

  "Did you have a choice?"

  She shook her head, then shrugged.

  "There's always a choice. I could have let them murder Max. If you count that as a choice."

  He didn't.

  "And you'd do it again."

  "In a heartbeat,” she replied without an instant of reflection. “That's what terrifies me. How easy it was to take someone's life from them. All I could think about was losing Max.” Her fragile, over-strained composure shattered with the words and she tried not to choke on the scream that suddenly wanted to burst from her. She closed her eyes, tried vainly to stem the tide of tears, and sobbed quietly when Baldwin's hands pulled her from her chair and led her to the sofa. He sat next to her and she curled into his arms, crying uncontrollably.