On the street, the guys appeared like ghosts from the cloud. Brett hung limp over Strongman’s shoulder. Jesus, was he dead?
Then they were running through the streets, looking for cover. The weight of his rifle hung like a bolder over his shoulder. Sweat ran down his neck and between his shoulder blades. Then bullets were tearing into the concrete behind him gouging pieces out of the wall and peppering him. He lowered his weapon and returned fire, piercing the windshield as the truck went by.
The truck ran up on the sidewalk, hit the wall and flipped, scattering the men in the bed onto the pulverized asphalt. Gas from the ruptured gas tank ran along the broken sidewalk, and he thought for a moment about igniting it, but it would draw the enemy down on them.
One of the shooters in the bed rolled on the ground screaming, his shinbone sticking through his ragged pants leg. Blood black as oil ran in a rivulet into the dirt beneath him.
Jesus… Jesus…
Flash fought his way free of the dream, every muscle still tensed for action. His chest heaved like bellows as he tried to catch his breath. Clammy sweat covered his body and he threw back the covers and shot from the hotel room bed. The pale glow of the early morning sun pierced a narrow crack in the curtains and reflected off the far wall, cutting across the muted wallpaper.
Sunrise. He strode to the window and shoved back the curtains. The Nevada desert looked so similar to Iraq, for a moment he thought he’d been transported back to that dry, dusty place with its miserable, burning heat.
He clenched his fists and rested them against the tempered glass windowpane. The air conditioner worked overtime drying the sweat that beaded his skin. No air conditioning in Iraq. Just heat and sand, sparse greenery, and men trying to kill them.
Why couldn’t he quit reliving that last mission?
Because he felt as if he’d been left behind.
The guys would be getting up about now to report to the base for more training. An ache of loss settled just beneath his breastbone. It had been almost ten months since they’d returned from Iraq, and he was still stuck in the same place. Reliving the same shit over and over, because he couldn’t leave it behind until he’d moved on with his team.
Had Brett fought his way back from his injuries? He hoped so. Were Hawk and Zoe still together? Were Doc and Bowie okay? Had Greenback made a decision about staying or going? He missed hanging with the guys at Chief Langley Marks’s house, with the chief’s wife Trish and the kids. A wave of homesickness struck him.
Why hadn’t he told his teammates at the time about being approached by the FBI? Had they been told anything about his connection to two FBI agents who’d been shot? Had anyone ever reported that? Had the guys he’d shot even been FBI? He’d begun to doubt they were.
The sweat on his torso finally dry, Flash shivered, turned away from the window and pulled the curtains closed. He had to keep hoping that Gilbert would make a mistake soon. But until that happened, he had to keep putting one foot in front of the other and doing whatever it took to stay alive and ahead of anyone looking for him.
He’d made it across the border using identification he already had. He’d updated his drivers license to represent his change in residence to Nevada, though he’d only been here a week. He’d carefully laid in a history, but it had taken him months to build it, and he’d broken some laws while he was at it.
His identity was tied to the corporation he’d built in Mexico, and all the money he earned for his work went through it, so he could fly under the radar. The letters of incorporation were tied to Travis. There’d been no other way to do it. But Flash was simply an employee of the corporation, so if something went down, Travis couldn’t be held accountable. Flash had made certain of that. Javier held the reins of the office in Baja now. So it was just a family organization that had hired him to open a branch office in Nevada.
It would allow Flash to hide in plain sight until he could gather more proof against Gilbert. And he was slowly building a case. He’d hacked into the man’s phone, his computer, and his life so deeply he couldn’t make a move without Flash knowing about it.
He and Travis had decided on Nevada because taking up a physical residence in California would have been too close and too risky. He just had to follow the plan and hope things came together. And the first step was for him to go about business as usual and create a work history.
He glanced at the clock. He had several hours free before he was supposed to check out the apartment he’d arranged to rent. And though he had a couple of business appointments to keep before that, he’d still have time to use the exercise equipment downstairs. He’d kept up his training, ran every day, swam when he could. There were days discouragement made it hard for him to keep going. But what else could he do? He wanted his life back. And he’d get it one day soon. He had to believe that.
He quickly shed his pajama bottoms and changed into swimming trunks, pulled sweatpants on over them, and slipped on a plain white t-shirt. In the bathroom he threw water on his face and brushed his teeth.
He was finally getting used to the close-cropped beard that darkened the lower half of his face. But the medium brown hair that curled against his head still looked strange. It had been years since he’d allowed his hair and beard to grow. Even when he’d been downrange, he’d scraped away the beard for the sake of staying cool. And he’d certainly never colored his hair. But he’d spent a good deal of time in Vegas before, and couldn’t afford to be recognized right now. And as big as the world was, you never knew when you’d run into someone you knew. With that in mind, he shoved the irritating glasses he’d bought as part of his disguise onto his face, grabbed his keycard and MP3 player and left the room.
The hallways were empty as he strolled down to the elevators and rode to the first floor, then followed the arrows to the exercise room. Three other men were already hard at work on the machines, so he did some stretching and chose a treadmill. Inserting the ear buds, he turned on some heavy rock and started running. He started slow and every two minutes increased the speed until he was running a six-minute mile, burning off some of his frustration with the physical activity. Thirty minutes later he eased the machine back to a slower pace every two or three minutes to cool himself down.
“Are you training for something?” a wiry-looking guy with curly hair asked as he stepped up on the treadmill next to him.
Flash shook his head. “Just staying in shape. Going to hit the pool.” He threw up a hand in farewell and went through the glass doors to the pool. The smell of chlorine hung strong in the air. Though there were lounges all around the area, it was satisfyingly empty. He shucked his sweatpants and t-shirt and dove into the deep end.
Twenty laps later he stopped, hiked himself out of the pool, and sat on the side to catch his breath. Why was he pushing himself like this? Why couldn’t he just let it go? He ran his hand over his hair, slicking it back out of his face.
Because he didn’t have anything else. And he didn’t know how to stop.
When he found something that meant as much to him, maybe he’d be able to let it go.
CHAPTER 14
Samantha Cross read the end of the web news article with a sense of satisfaction. Even after seven months, the fallout for Judge Moreland just kept coming. A number of his cases were now being reopened. It was going to cost the state of Nevada a fortune to retry them.
After all the heartache he’d caused her, she wasn’t sorry he was going to jail. Nor about how his connection to her in-laws had helped her in court. Because of it, the next judge who dealt with the Cross family had not been so sympathetic to their wife-beating son.
Sam left the website and got back to the research paper she’d been working on, typed in the last bit of information and saved the document.
Joy’s conversation with her dolls reached her, and she leaned back in her seat at the kitchen table to catch a glimpse of her daughter playing in front of the living room television, hunched over her favorite Barbie dolls. Joy d
anced one across the floor as if Barbie was doing a ballet.
Samantha saved her class paper to her flash drive and then sent the file to her Dropbox as well. Pulling the flash drive free, she slipped on the attached lanyard like a necklace, closed the laptop, and rose.
“Where’s my Joy?” she called out, as though unable see her daughter sitting in the center of the living room rug.
“Here I am!” Joy swung around, her blonde curls bobbing, her smile free of restraint.
“How about we go out for a treat?”
“Ice cream?” Joy asked.
“Pistachio?” Sam asked.
Joy wrinkled her nose. “No, Mommy, chocolate.”
“What ever you want, baby.”
“I’m not a baby,” Joy said. “Miss Karen says so.”
Samantha ignored the painful twinge. Her baby was growing up. Joy’s preschool teacher’s attempt to encourage her students to be independent was a good thing. They’d both thank her one day. She needed to keep telling herself that. “Miss Karen is right. Why don’t you go put on your shoes and we’ll drive down to the grocery store.”
“’Kay.” Joy clambered to her feet and ran down the hall to her room.
Samantha checked the doors and windows, making sure they were secure. She took the time to turn on a small digital video recorder hidden within a plant atop one of the built-in bookcases on either side of the fireplace. The recorder had cost her fifty dollars at a pawnshop. The money would be well worth it if she could catch Will up to his old tricks. She knew he was coming into her house, touching her things, going through her computer files. He’d destroyed her desktop the last time, wiping out all her schoolwork. Thank God she’d backed up everything.
Scooping up her backpack, she hustled into the kitchen, disconnected her laptop from the power cord and stuffed it inside the bag, then added her small billfold. She carried the backpack into the living room.
Will had done everything he could to pressure or intimidate her into coming back to him. How could he even think his continued abusive behavior was going to accomplish that? She’d live in a ditch first. Never again would a man raise his hand to her.
She was learning to protect herself, but she couldn’t protect Joy when she went to him on the court-mandated two-hour visits. Those two hours seemed like a month. Every time, she paced the floor, sick with worry. What if he lost patience with Joy and hurt her? It only took a second. And Joy was so small.
What if he punched the supervisor and went on the run with their daughter? She might never see her again.
The only reason he was visiting Joy was to get to Sam. She knew it. And if he ever got unsupervised visitation, he’d really have some leverage to control her.
Then there were times she believed he’d come here and kill her first before he disappeared with Joy. He wouldn’t want to leave her behind for fear some other man might take his place.
As though she’d ever let another man close to her. Never again.
Joy was taking too long. She was too quiet. A rush of concern cramped her stomach, spurring her to a near-jog down the hallway. The bedroom door stood open. Samantha peeked inside the room. Dressed in black knit pants, a leopard print top, a pink feather boa and plastic high heel shoes, Joy strutted in front of the mirror. She paused to spread clear lip-gloss over her pursed lips.
Relief and amusement had a smile springing to Samantha’s lips. “You about ready to go, girlfriend?”
“I have to get my purse,” Joy said and trotted over to pick up a hot pink shoulder bag.
Samantha suppressed a chuckle. “Love the boa. It really makes that outfit.”
Joy smiled wide, wrinkling her nose. “I’m ready.”
“We’ll take a sweater just in case you need it,” Samantha grabbed a white sweater hanging on the closet doorknob.
With Joy tottering ahead of her, they returned to the living room. Samantha swung her backpack over her shoulder, snapped up the car keys from a bowl on the coffee table, locked the door as they headed out and, using her house key, secured the dead bolt.
“Hold my hand. You need to practice walking down steps in high heels. Mommy’s done it and it’s not easy.”
“’Kay.”
Joy’s hand felt sticky as she grasped it. What else besides lip-gloss had she put on? When her daughter nearly pirouetted off the steps, she was grateful she’d held on to her and saved her from a nasty spill.
“Stay on the stepping stones, Joy. High heels and sandy soil don’t work very well.”
“’Kay, mommy.” With her eyes directed downward, she concentrated on doing a tiptoe-hopping maneuver from one steppingstone to the next.
After strapping Joy into the back seat, she got in, and dropped the backpack onto the passenger seat next to her. She backed the car out of the drive and paused for a moment to study the house. The one-story, three bedroom house had seen better days. The outside stucco had cracked in spots, and the eaves had begun to deteriorate, but she loved every inch of the place. It had been home to her from when she was six until she’d married. After that interminable, four-year absence, she’d returned with her heart in pieces and her body battered.
But she was good now, and so was Joy. And it was going to stay that way. She’d promised Gran.
“Go, Mommy,” Joy demanded, fortunately breaking into Samantha’s thoughts before her emotions got the best of her.
Thank God for her daughter. She forced a smile. “We’re going.” She turned the car east toward South Boulder Highway.
Dry desert, intermittent clumps of grass, sparse trees, and carefully-landscaped desert palms set in business park medians stretched along the road, leaving only a cloudless sky to study. Traffic was light and Sam soon swung left into the shopping center, took another left and pulled into the parking lot in front of the grocery store and parked. “Stay in the car until I come around and get you, Joy.” she cautioned as she unbuckled her seat belt. She slid out of the car and hurried around the car. A silver Lexus drove through the lot, and she paused to watch it before opening Joy’s door.
Will drove one just like it. Surely it wasn’t him she chided herself. But she saw him everywhere she went. The back of a man’s head. The way a man walked or stood. A car similar to his. She knew she was paranoid, but experience had taught her she needed to be on her guard. She needed to get a dog. She needed to get a license to carry a gun as well, but thus far she’d been unable to too convince herself to do it. She had two shotguns at the house, loaded, ready and locked up out of Joy’s reach. That would have to suffice.
She helped Joy out, grabbed her backpack, and locked the Ford Focus. Joy gripped her hand and they walked across the asphalt to the front entrance. “I think you need a ride around the grocery store, Joy. It will save your feet in your new high heels.”
“’Kay.”
Sam lifted her into the shopping cart and smiled when Joy flipped her feather boa over her shoulder like a diva. Gran couldn’t have bought her anything she enjoyed more. An ache settled at the base of her throat as it tightened, but she swallowed it back. She had to stay strong for Joy.
Sam pushed a happy, chattering Joy down the aisles, picking up a loaf of bread, some bananas, orange juice and the ice cream she’d promised Joy. “Can I borrow that boa for my next date?” the checkout woman, Gloria asked.
Joy looked up and shook her head. “Grandma El bought it for me.”
The girl’s smile faltered. “Grandma El was the best. You be sure to take good care of it.”
“’Kay.”
“You knew my grandmother?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, she was always real sweet when she came through. Always had a smile and something friendly to say.”
“Thank you for remembering her with a smile. She,” Sam swallowed, hard, “She would have appreciated that.”
Sam fished inside the backpack for her small purse and handed over the last twenty-dollar bill she had until payday. She’d swallowed her pride and applied for food stamps a
nd any other assistance she could qualify for, but it took time for the paperwork to go through the system and she wouldn’t hear anything back for another several weeks. The girl handed her back four dollars and some change.
Sam thanked her and wheeled the cart out the door. As she crossed the drive in front of the store, she frowned. Something wasn’t quite right with the car. Her heart plunged and her stomach cramped. All four tires were flat, and the car sat on the ground like a turtle hiding in its shell.
Fear jetted through her and she whipped the cart around and headed back into the store. “Aren’t we going home, Mommy?”
“Not just yet, baby.”
She was shaking and her breathing came in a labored pants. She fumbled in her purse for the prepaid cell phone she kept for emergencies, and, finding it, dialed nine-one-one.
“Is there a problem, ma’am?” one of the checkers asked.
“Someone’s slashed my tires.” They’d have to be slashed to deflate so quickly. Fear burned her skin and her face prickled as her chest labored to draw enough oxygen into her lungs. Adrenaline flooded her system.
“Oh my God. I‘ll get the manager.” The woman rushed away.
A thin man with bushy hair and glasses approached just as the dispatcher came on the line. Sam gave her the details of where she was and what had happened. “You have to send someone to my house. While I’m here dealing with this, he’ll be going through my house and destroying the place.”
“Who is he, ma’am?”
Sam stepped away from the buggy to keep Joy from hearing the conversation. “My ex-husband, William Cross.”
“Did you see him there?”
“I thought I saw his car earlier. I don’t have to see him. I know it was him. I haven’t got any other enemies. He’s just been released for defying the restraining order I have on him. And now my tires have been slashed.”
Breaking Away (Military Romantic Suspense) (Book 3 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers) Page 12