Body Armor

by Alana Matthews

  “Trust me, it’s there.”

  “So’s the scooter boy. How do you plan on dealing with him?”

  “I don’t. If we’re careful, he won’t even know we’re there. None of them will.”

  “You sound pretty confident,” the passenger said.

  “You sure these gizmos you got us will work?”

  “They’ll work. The tech demoed them for me. All we have to do is wait for the beep.”

  “Sounds like voodoo to me.”

  The driver shook his head again. “Simple electronics. We kill the lights, go in, snatch the prize and we’re gone.”

  “And if scooter boy wakes up?”

  The driver smiled. “We put him right back to sleep.”

  IT WAS THE THOUGHT of her kiss that kept him awake.

  He could still taste her on his tongue. Feel her lips. The hunger in them.

  Her scent lingered in the room, an intoxicating mix of cologne and sweat and pheromones.

  He had tried closing his eyes, putting her from his mind, but after a full hour of sleeplessness, he finally gave up.

  He kept seeing the look on her face as she stood in Adam’s doorway. The sadness. The regret.

  He knew she was conflicted. Knew that she wanted him, but she wasn’t quite sure she was willing to go there again. To make that commitment.

  Why should she? He hadn’t proved to be all that reliable.

  But he was older now, and he’d learned that there were a lot more important things in the world than his own battered ego. He’d spent the past few years kicking himself for his selfish, unthinking behavior toward Anna, and he knew full well that her last memory of him was of a man walking out the door, never to return.

  How could he possibly erase that?

  As much as Brody liked to tell himself that Anna was the same woman he remembered, the reality was that she had moved on. She had a different life now.

  A business to run. A son to raise.

  Frank’s son.

  The thought tore at him. If he had played things right, he would have been making chocolate chip cookies with his own boy. He and Anna would have created the family that he’d never really known. The family he’d never really thought about until he was welcomed into the Sanford home when he was barely a man himself.

  It didn’t really bother him that Adam was another man’s son. Blood or no blood, he had taken to the boy right away. Felt an easy camaraderie with him. But while he sensed that Frank wasn’t in the picture much, Brody had no doubt that if he were to stay in Anna’s life, Frank would feel that old tug of rivalry, and things would get complicated very fast.

  He wasn’t sure he was willing to be the cause of that kind of friction. He’d already done enough to this family.

  Yet as he lay there in Owen’s bed, he couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. It had stirred something that had been dormant inside him for far too long.

  He wanted Anna. Badly. So badly that he could hardly contain himself.

  He didn’t want to contain himself.

  Impulsively, he got to his feet and went to the door. He didn’t quite know what he was doing, what his plan was, his desire clouding all rational thought. Last night he had resisted the urge to go straight into Anna’s room, but this was a different night now and he could no longer resist.

  He opened Owen’s door and stepped into the hallway. Anna’s room was the last one on the right, and he could see light coming from the crack at the bottom of her door.

  Still awake.

  He stopped thinking then. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t evaluate. Didn’t weigh his options and consider a course of action. Instead, he reacted. Simply aimed himself toward that light and moved. And when he reached the door, he grabbed the knob and pushed inside—

  —and there was Anna, sitting on the edge of the bed as if she’d been waiting for him, wearing nothing but an unbuttoned shirt, one of his old uniform shirts from his early days on the force—the one she’d often be wearing when she handed him that thermos full of coffee at the door.

  She looked like something from a fever dream, and Brody felt as if he had somehow stepped out of his own body and was observing this moment from another plane of existence.

  Then her voice snapped him back to reality. She spoke softly, the underlying sadness still there.

  “Why are you here, Brody? Why did you come back? What do you want from me?”

  “I just want to make it right,” he said.

  “You can’t. This will never work. I hate you too much. I’ll never forgive you.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  Then he went to her and pulled her into his arms.

  A few moments later he was inside her—inside her body and her mind.

  And he wanted to stay there.

  Forever.

  He just hoped she’d let him.

  BRODY CAME AWAKE WHEN he heard the noise.

  It was a subtle sound—nothing that would alarm the average Joe lying in an upstairs bedroom next to the woman he loved. Not a crash or the tinkling of broken glass or a stumbling thump or the creak of wood on the stairs.

  But then Brody wasn’t your average Joe. Just as he’d been trained to use his eyes, he had also learned to rely on his ears to alert him to signs of danger, and what he heard may have been subtle, but it was there.

  A faint rustling. Nothing more.

  Outside Anna’s window.

  It could have been the wind, but he knew it wasn’t. A scurrying rodent, perhaps, but this particular rodent undoubtedly stood on two legs. There were bushes on this side of the house, and he knew that someone would have to squeeze past them to get to the electrical panel in the wall below the window.

  A moment later the soft creak of a rusty hinge told him the panel door was being opened. There was a soft thump, then the digital clock on the side of the bed went blank.

  Brody flew out of bed, grabbed his pants from the floor and yanked them on. Leaning toward Anna, he cupped his hand over her mouth and shook her awake.

  She opened her eyes with a start, sucking in a quick breath. Brody put a finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet, then leaned in close and whispered in her ear.

  “Get Adam and Sylvia and bring them in here. Move as quietly and as quickly as possible and hide in your closet.”

  He sensed that she wanted to say something, so he kept his hand cupped over her mouth.

  “Someone’s here,” he told her. “You need to keep Adam safe.”

  She nodded, and he took his hand away. She got out of bed, her naked body silhouetted against the light from the window. Grabbing a robe from the closet, she pulled it on, wordlessly, then crossed to the door.

  Brody snatched his gun off the nightstand and waited in the hallway as Anna moved silently to Sylvia’s room then on to Adam’s and brought them back. Adam was fast asleep on her shoulder, Sylvia blinking in fear and bewilderment as she followed her daughter into the bedroom.

  After the three had squeezed into the closet and shut themselves inside, Brody closed the bedroom door then crept down the hall to the top of the stairs.

  He waited.

  Listened.

  The house was silent.

  Almost eerily so.

  Then he heard it: the faint snick of a dead bolt lock.

  The door at the side of the house.

  Whoever this guy was, he was good. Not many people could pick a lock that fast.

  And his presence here meant only one thing.

  Just as Brody had suspected, the two guys in the van were not the last of it. And whomever they’d left behind still thought that Anna had the button. Or that it was somewhere inside this house.

  And maybe that was true.

  Or maybe it was right here in Brody’s pocket. The RFID tag he’d found in the garment factory.

  What the hell was on this thing?

  He quietly flicked the safety off his gun and raised it, stepping sideways down the stairs. By the time he got to the bottom, he’d he
ard the door open and close—barely a whisper—followed by two pairs of shoes, thumping quietly on the polished wooden floor.

  Not one man, but two.

  If they split up, as he fully expected them to, Brody would be at a distinct disadvantage. His only advantage, he thought, was that they didn’t yet know he was awake.

  But even if he took one of them down, the other would still be roaming freely, and that just wouldn’t stand.

  He couldn’t let either of them get up those stairs.

  Not with Anna and her family up there.

  Circling backwards he stepped into the shadows next to the stairway, where a tall Christmas tree stood, adorned with handmade ornaments, its lights dormant for the night.

  He decided it was best to go on the defensive and wait these guys out. And just as he had expected, he heard their footfalls move in opposite directions, one heading toward the family room and kitchen, while the other came toward the carpeted steps.

  A moment later, a dark silhouette emerged from a hallway and moved in his direction. Stepping deeper into the shadows, Brody waited as the man approached.

  Only his eyes were visible through a ski mask, nothing more than two black dots in the wan moonlight filtering through the living room window.

  The guy didn’t seem to be in a hurry, one of his arms extended, holding a dark object in front of him.

  Certainly not a flashlight.

  A gun?

  A knife?

  It didn’t look like either, but Brody couldn’t be sure in this light. He’d have to be very careful when he took him down.

  The man stopped for a moment, turning in his tracks, keeping the object extended in front of him. Then he continued toward the stairs.

  When the man’s foot hit the first step, Brody emerged from the shadows, circled around behind him and pressed the muzzle of his gun into the small of his back.

  The guy froze.

  “Two steps backwards,” Brody whispered. “Very slowly.”

  The guy did as he was told. But as his foot came down to the floor, he shifted suddenly, feinting to Brody’s left, then quickly moved to the right, bringing an elbow back, straight toward Brody’s chest.

  Anticipating the move, Brody stepped away and spun him around, grabbing hold of the wrist that held the weapon—or whatever it was—and driving the arm upward.

  The man grunted and swung out again with his free arm, connecting with Brody’s shoulder. Brody absorbed the impact and stumbled back, but it hadn’t been enough to knock him down.

  He started to bring his gun up again, but the guy charged, slamming him against the wall. The blow dazed him and the gun flew out of his hand and straight into a nearby table lamp. The lamp crashed to the floor, shattering against the wood.

  A split second later, he heard running footsteps in the hall and knew the second guy was on his way and likely to be armed. Twisting away from his attacker, he swung out hard, slamming his forearm into the side of the man’s head. The guy grunted and fell to one knee, but before Brody could move in for another blow—

  —the second one emerged from the hallway—also wearing a ski mask—the black ugly silhouette of a gun in his hand.

  As the gun came up, Brody dove.

  The weapon flashed, once, twice, three times, narrowly missing Brody as he hit the floor and rolled behind the couch.

  Three more shots were fired, punching the sofa cushions. Then, without a word spoken between them, the two thugs turned tail and ran, the hallway echoing the sound of their retreat.

  Jumping to his feet, Brody found his own gun amidst the lamp debris, snatched it up and barreled toward the front door. Throwing it open, he ran out onto the lawn just in time to see the two men running down the street, jumping into a dark sedan.

  As the engine roared to life, Brody sprinted toward the sidewalk, raising the gun.

  But he didn’t fire.

  This was a family neighborhood, and despite the hour, he had no intention of adding any of his own bullets to the chaos.

  Instead, he watched the sedan burn a long patch of rubber as it tore down the street and disappeared. And he knew this wasn’t the last he’d see of these guys.

  Chapter Twelve

  When the closet door opened, Anna nearly shot Brody’s head off.

  Once they’d closed themselves inside, she had hand ed Adam off to her mom and quickly searched the closet shelf for the shoe box containing her dad’s old pistol and loaded magazine.

  Anna fumbled in darkness, trying to snap the clip in place. Her father never had a chance to teach her how to shoot, but she knew he’d kept the gun for their protection. Years after he died she dug it out of the attic, but had never taken it out of the box until now.

  The silence that followed the gunshots downstairs was excruciating. She had no idea what had happened and could only think the worst.

  Had Brody been shot?

  Was he dead?

  The thought sent such a violent wave of horror through her that it took everything she had to keep from throwing the closet door open and crying out to him or running down to see if he was alive.

  But she remained still, only the sound of her rapid breathing filling the silence.

  Adam had miraculously slept through it all, but Mom looked as terrified as Anna felt. When they heard the door to the bedroom open and knew that someone was in the room, Anna tried to remain calm, but her knees began to buckle.

  She brought the pistol up, her hands trembling un controllably, not knowing what to expect.

  Could she pull the trigger if she had to?

  Did she have that kind of courage?

  If it meant protecting Adam, then yes, she would do what had to be done. But she didn’t relish the thought of killing someone, no matter how heinous he might be.

  A moment later, the closet door flew open and Anna came very close to squeezing off a shot. It took her a split second to realize that it was Brody standing there, but in that tiny moment of time, she almost put a bullet between his eyes.

  He jumped back at the sight of the pistol. “Woah. Where’d you get that thing?”

  Anna lowered it and fell into Brody’s arms. “Oh my God, you’re alive. Are you all right?”

  He pulled her close, running his hands along her back. “My pride’s a little bruised, but I’ll survive. Un fortunately, the bad guys got away.”

  He stepped back now, letting them out of the closet, and gestured to the pistol. “You’d better put that where it belongs. There’s been enough shooting around here for one night.”

  She nodded and immediately found the box and put the pistol away.

  “Is it safe to take Adam to bed?” Sylvia asked.

  Brody nodded. “They won’t be coming back anytime soon.”

  As Mom carried Adam back to his room, Brody pulled out his cell phone and dialed. “This is Brody Carpenter. I need you to get Deputy Matson out of bed and over to his ex-wife’s place right away. There’s been an attack on her house.” He looked at Anna. “There’s no way Frank can ignore this thing now.” Anna only hoped he was right.

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, it seemed as if half the sheriff’s deputies in Cedarwood County were inside Anna’s house. Add the ballistics team to the mix, which was busy digging slugs out of the wall, and there was barely enough room to move.

  It took Frank and Joe Wilson a while to show up. They both came in looking rumpled and only half awake, Frank studying the scene somberly—the broken lamp, the holes in the wall, the ruined sofa cushions. Then he approached Anna and Brody, who were sitting at the dining room table.

  He gave Brody a look of mild disgust, then turned to Anna. “Can I speak to you in private, please?”

  “You can talk in front of Brody,” she said.

  “I’d rather not. We need to interview you separately.”

  Anna glanced at Brody and he nodded, patting her hand. The gesture didn’t get past Frank. He scowled at them then crossed into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table inside.r />
  Anna didn’t immediately follow. “Talk about déjà vu…”

  “Go on,” Brody told her. “It’s standard procedure. Just answer his questions. We want him on our side.”

  Anna nodded, knowing Brody was right. But only a few hours ago she had been sitting in an interrogation room across from Frank and the situation hadn’t been pleasant. She couldn’t generate much excitement over the idea of a repeat performance. Especially so soon. Especially if it involved another “let’s get back together” proposal.

  Heaving a sigh, she got to her feet, crossed to the kitchen and stood in the doorway. “Well?”

  “Have a seat,” Frank said.

  “I’d rather stand, thank you.”

  Frank waved dismissively. “Have it your way. But I just want you to know that the undersheriff has approved putting a couple of deputies at the doors. Front and side.” He paused. “And we’re reopening Owen’s case.”

  Anna was surprised. Brody had said this was bound to happen, considering tonight’s turn of events, but she hadn’t quite believed it.

  “You’re serious?”

  “I don’t joke about an investigation. You know that as well as anyone.”

  Anna sat at the table now, reaching across to take his hands in hers. “Thank you, Frank. Thank you.”

  He pulled his hands away. All business. “We still don’t have IDs on the two guys in the van, but once we do, we’re hoping we can find some kind of connection to Owen.”

  “Owen would never have anything to do with those creeps.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t voluntary. Whatever the case, it looks like they wanted this button thing and their partners must be convinced Owen passed it on to you.”

  “I told you all this two nights ago.”

  “You still claiming you don’t know what it is?”

  Anna frowned at him. “Claiming?”

  “Come on, Anna. You and Owen were like two peas in a pod. If he was in trouble, I can’t imagine he wouldn’t share something like that with you. Which is why you kept insisting it wasn’t suicide.”

  Anna stiffened. “What are you saying, Frank? That I’m lying to you?”

  “Maybe you just have some sort of misguided loyalty to Owen and think you need to cover for him. If he was involved in a crime—”