by Pamela Clare
Javier threw himself and Laura through the open doorway, the two of them landing on their hands and knees just as the shooter opened up on the entrance.
More screams.
Javier jumped up, dragged Laura to her feet again, and hurried her down the hallway. “Everyone get out of the hallway and away from the door! Those rounds can penetrate concrete. Go! Move!”
He didn’t stop moving until they reached the dressing room. Both hands gripping her coat, he pressed her up against the wall. “Are you hurt, bella? Talk to me.”
She looked at him with dazed blue eyes, blood running down her temple, her entire body shaking. “I-I’m fine.”
Shit.
“Like hell you are.”
She was in psychological shock—acute stress reaction.
He quickly removed her coat, checked her for other injuries, and found abrasions on her palms and right knee from hitting the asphalt so hard.
Goddamn, that had been close! If she hadn’t stumbled . . .
His stomach lurched at the very thought.
She reached up, pressed her hand to her bleeding temple, and looked down at the blood on her fingers, as if she couldn’t understand what had happened, the expression on her face reminding him of the expression she’d worn in the helo after he’d carried her out of Al-Nassar’s compound. Slowly, she sank to a sitting position on the floor.
He draped her coat over her to keep her warm and pulled out his cell. “McBride, it’s Corbray. Yes, she’s safe but in shock with contusions on her right temple, her hands, and one knee. She’ll need an ambulance. We’re inside the building. Killeen is down. I think the shots came from the top of a parking garage to the north of our position. He’s probably using a flash suppressor.”
Through the walls of the station Javier could hear the wail of sirens, but it sounded as if the shooting had stopped. Oh, how he wished he were out there, rifle in hand. He would run that fucker down and catch him trying to make his getaway.
But Javier couldn’t leave Laura.
“We’ll stay put. Roger that.” He hung up and slipped the phone into his pocket, then walked to a nearby sink, grabbed a paper towel, and wet it. “One of the deputies is taking care of Killeen. Ambulances are on their way.”
Laura was silent, her gaze focused on nothing as he knelt beside her.
He pressed the wet paper towel to her temple, gently wiping away the blood, something in his chest constricting when the light pressure made her flinch. “Sorry. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to get a look.”
Her temple had a few deep abrasions, and it looked as if some debris had embedded itself in her skin, probably from ricocheting bits of concrete. Once it was cleaned out, it would heal fine. She was lucky it hadn’t struck her eyes.
“Look at me, bella. Talk to me.”
She met his gaze, her eyes still unfocused, pupils dilated, body trembling, her arms wrapped protectively around her middle. But she said nothing.
And Javier understood.
She’d been forced to watch the footage of her abduction and had then stepped out the door into a hail of gunfire. Together, it was just too much.
He pressed his forehead to hers and looked straight into her eyes. “Laura, do you hear me? You’re safe. You’re here with me, and you’re safe.”
A voice came from the dressing room doorway. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
Javier looked up—and found himself staring into a camera lens.
“Turn that fucking thing off!” He reached out, put his palm over the lens, got to his feet, and slowly pushed the cameraman out the door. “You got any shame, man? She’s one of yours. If she were lying there bleeding to death, would you film that, too? Yeah, you probably would. Ratings, right?”
Martin spluttered, glaring at him. “Do you know how expensive that piece of equipment is? You can’t—
“The hell I can’t.” Javier stepped back, slammed the dressing room door in the cameraman’s face, and locked it. He sat beside Laura and drew her trembling body into his arms. “It’s going to be all right.”
* * *
IT WAS THE reassuring sound of Javier’s voice that reached her.
“Javi?”
“I’m right here, bella. You’re safe now. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”
Head throbbing, Laura realized she was in the station’s dressing room. She’d done the broadcast. Gary had played the footage of her abduction. And . . .
Oh, God! Someone had tried to shoot her!
“Wh-what . . . Who . . . ?” Her heart pounded as if she’d been running, her stomach churning, her body shaking uncontrollably.
He looked into her eyes. “You don’t need to worry about that. McBride, the cops—they’ve got this locked down. It’s over. You’re safe.”
It was then she remembered, her heart giving a hard knock, the breath leaving her lungs in a rush. “Janet. Agent Killeen! She was shot!”
It was happening again. People were dying because of her.
“The ambulance is almost here. There are marshals with her now. She’s not alone, bella. Just take deep breaths.”
Laura closed her eyes, tried to do as he said, but the sound of gunshots and screams echoed in her mind, memories of another time, another place.
Cries. AK fire. So much death.
Cover her! Cover her!
No. No. No!
She clung to Javier, the strength of his embrace and the reassuring tone of his voice holding her together, horror from the past threatening to drag her under. She lost any sense of time, aware only of Javier and the thrum of her own pulse.
A knock.
“Paramedics!”
“They’re here, bella.” Javier pulled away from her, reached over, unlocked the door. “They’ve come to help.”
Two men in paramedic uniforms entered, both carrying red medical kits.
“She’s got some abrasions, and I think she’s in shock—acute stress reaction,” Javier said.
The paramedics knelt down beside her. “You’ve had a rough night, but we’re going to check you over and take good care of you, Ms. Nilsson.”
One of them clipped something to the end of her finger and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her left arm, puffing it up until it was tight.
But Laura wasn’t the one who needed help. She tried to draw away. “Go to Janet—Agent Killeen. She’s been shot.”
Javier took her right hand and leaned in close where she could see him. “There’s already a team with her, Laura. These men are here to help you.”
They were here to help her? There was nothing wrong with her.
“I-I’m fine.”
None of them seemed to agree with her.
“Those contusions aren’t serious, but she’s definitely shocky. Pulse is ninety-eight. BP is seventy-five over forty.”
“We’ll get some fluids in her, give her some IV Ativan and some oxygen, and get her under transport.”
It took a moment for their words to hit her, but when they did, she shook her head.
“No. I’m not going to the hospital.”
“You’re in shock, bella. You need—”
“No! Take me home. I just want to go home.”
* * *
IT WAS ALMOST midnight by the time they reached The Ironworks and parked in the secured underground garage. Zach opened Laura’s door, Javier meeting her at the rear of the vehicle. Marc and Julian pulled into a visitor’s space near Laura’s car, which sat looking abandoned and forlorn, not having been driven in almost a week. Two other unmarked vehicles, each carrying two deputy marshals, slowly circled the garage, while the security detail that had her building under surveillance kept watch on the street.
She ought to feel safe, but she didn’t. Maybe it was recounting the details of what had happened for Alex
for his news story. Or maybe it was just stress or exhaustion. Regardless, she couldn’t shake the sense of dread that had crept over her. She felt hunted, the world closing in around her.
They walked to the elevator, Laura sandwiched between the men, their footfalls sharp against the concrete floor, the echo eerie. She pushed the elevator call button, and they waited.
Ding.
Laura gasped, jumped.
It was just the elevator car arriving.
Javier slipped an arm around her waist.
She let herself lean into him, needing him, needing his strength, his confidence. How could anyone live with this kind of violence as part of his job? She glanced up at the men around her, each of them willing to risk his life for hers, each of them ready and able to kill, each of them . . . so much taller than she was.
She let out a laugh, surprising herself as much as anyone else.
“What’s funny?” Javier asked.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been the shortest person in the room before.”
The men didn’t say a word, but Laura saw grins on their faces.
The elevator door opened, and they stepped out, crossing the small hallway to her door. Laura fished in her handbag and drew out her keys.
Zach held out his hand. “Hunter, you and I will clear the place. You two stay here with Laura.”
Laura gave him the keys and waited, Javier and Julian beside her. She heard the click of the dead bolt and looked up to see Kathleen Parker and her husband peering out of their front door.
“Yes, I’m still alive. I know you don’t want me here, but this is my home.”
The door shut hard, the bolt turning with a quiet click.
“What the hell was that about?” Julian asked.
Laura was about to explain, but Javier beat her to it. “The day after the car bomb, Ms. Nosy Yoga Pants there came over to tell Laura that she and her hubby and some other folks in the building would sleep better at night if Laura sold her flat and moved somewhere else.”
“I guess I can understand why they’re nervous, but seriously?” Julian rested a hand on Laura’s shoulder. “Sorry you had to put up with that, Laura.”
Zach returned. “The place is clear.”
Laura walked inside—and stepped on something. She looked down to find a large manila envelope with her name on it lying on the floor. Pretty sure she knew what it was, she bent over and snatched it up, tucking it beneath her arm.
But Javier had seen. “What was that?”
“Oh, just some files I requested.” She hoped he would assume she was talking about her job. “You all feel free to make yourselves comfortable. Grab whatever you want from the kitchen. I’m going to take a shower and call my mother.”
She walked into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She set her purse aside and looked down at the envelope. There on the front, Agent Killeen had printed her name with black marker.
Poor Janet!
Laura sat on the edge of her bed, ran her fingers over the letters, and found herself blinking back tears. Janet had fought to stay on Laura’s protection detail and had ended up taking a bullet for it. Was she out of surgery yet? How badly had she been hurt?
What if Javier had been shot, too? What if he’d been killed?
Laura couldn’t stand to think about it, the very idea making her stomach knot.
And suddenly she felt weary to the bone.
She was tired of being afraid, tired of seeing good people get hurt and killed, tired of feeling like every day was an uphill battle. Life had been challenging enough just trying to put body and soul back together, hold down a job, and find Klara.
But now . . .
What had happened today had reopened something dark inside her, punctured a deep hole in her sense of self, and exposed the brokenness that was still inside her. For a time, she’d been shut down. She hadn’t been able to think clearly.
Had she made any true progress? How could she still be a prisoner of this terror?
Allt kommer att bli bättre med tiden.
Everything will get better with time.
Would it?
Laura got to her feet, tucked the thick envelope into one of her drawers, then walked toward the bathroom.
* * *
JAVIER HEARD THE water go on in the shower and nodded to the others.
McBride spoke first. “Our guys found Derek Tower with a bullet in his chest on the top level of the parking garage. He was armed—an HK Mark 23 and a tricked-out AR-15 that was loaded with five-five-six green tip.”
Armor-penetrating rounds.
“Is he dead?”
McBride shook his head. “He’s in surgery at University Hospital. No word on his condition, but it doesn’t look good.”
A cold sense of loathing settled in Javier’s chest. “So Tower is our man after all.”
“What’s the first rule of assassination?”
“Kill the assassin.” Javier didn’t like the way this was coming together. “Maybe Tower was the shooter and someone showed up to take care of him, or Tower came to take out the shooter and it went sideways big-time.”
“How would a former Green Beret get mixed up with terrorists?” Hunter asked.
McBride shrugged. “Regardless of how it went down, there has to be at least one more person involved, someone bad enough to get the better of Tower.”
“If Tower isn’t our shot-caller, he must know who is.” Darcangelo ran a hand over the day’s worth of stubble on his jaw. “I just hope he survives.”
“How about Agent Killeen?” Javier knew Laura would ask.
“She made it through surgery. They had to transfuse her, but she made it. The round shattered her hip, broke her pelvis, and severed her sciatic nerve. They had to replace the joint. They’re not sure how much nerve function she’ll regain.”
“Jesus!” Javier hated to think of the long road that lay ahead of her. If Tower was behind this . . . “It’d be best not to tell Laura yet. She really likes Killeen. She’s going to take it hard, and I don’t think she can handle anything else tonight.”
“Obviously, it was a mistake for us to let Laura do the interview at the studio,” McBride said. “We asked the station not to announce it, but they couldn’t resist. That gave our shooter a couple of days to plan. He got the studio’s address, was probably watching when she arrived, using the hour she was inside to get into position.”
That made sense to Javier. “Whoever he was, he had good night optics, and he knew how to shoot. If Laura hadn’t tripped . . .”
He let it go, unable to say it, the very thought making his heart trip.
“So the shooter sucks with ANFO, but he’s got some solid sniping skills.” Darcangelo seemed to consider this apparent contradiction.
“Not just solid, buddy. Rock fucking solid.” Hunter looked over at McBride. “I stood where he stood when he took those shots and scoped them myself. It was a good three hundred yards, but he hit everything he wanted to hit—except for Laura. He wasn’t just firing random shots, at least not until the end. He fired at her, missed. Then he took out the SUV’s engine and its tires, immobilizing the vehicle, clearly hoping she’d take cover inside.”
And then he’d have had her.
McBride pointed to Hunter. “He’s not just making shit up, Corbray. Hunter here served as an army sniper. Earned himself some medals, too. For a while he held the record both for confirmed kills and long-distance marksmanship.”
“So the guy we’re looking for can shoot, but somehow missed Explosives 101. That’s strange.” Then it dawned on Javier. “Do we know for certain that the shooter is the guy behind the car bomb?”
McBride shook his head. “We can’t be sure these two attempts on her life were made by the same person. We have no idea how many suspects might be involved or whether they’re part
of a cell. We have no clue how Tower is connected to this or why he was shot. All we have are more pieces to the puzzle, and that puzzle keeps getting bigger. We’re pulling surveillance video on the parking garage. Hopefully it will give us some answers.”
“DPD is canvasing for witnesses,” Hunter said. “This happened in the middle of downtown Denver. Someone must have seen something.”
Javier hoped so. “The pieces need to start coming together—and fast. It was close today, man, too close.”
“Hell, yeah, it was,” Darcangelo said. “We got ahold of the news footage, then slowed it down. That round missed her head by no more than an inch.”
Javier’s stomach seemed to hit the floor.
McBride met his gaze. “You saved her life. You realized what was happening before anyone else. She’d have been dead the moment she regained her footing if you hadn’t been there.”
Somehow that didn’t make Javier feel better. “So what’s the plan?”
“We work the case,” McBride said. “We pull surveillance video, question Tower if and when he wakes up, and strengthen security around this building. Until we know for certain Tower is our shooter, we cover all adjacent rooftops and keep this place under tight surveillance. Laura can’t set a foot outside her own door. They took a shot at her today because they knew exactly where she was going to be and when. But they haven’t tried to hit her here, which tells me they’ve scoped it out and decided it’s too risky.”
Javier would see to it that the risk level got even higher.
“Any chance it would be safer for her in Sweden?” Darcangelo asked. “She’s got family there, right?”
“She’d have to give up the life she’s built for herself, and she doesn’t want to do that.” Javier couldn’t blame her. She’d already lost more than most people could comprehend. “Besides, what’s to stop these guys from boarding a plane and taking a little trip to Stockholm? You think they can provide security in Sweden that we can’t?”
“Good point.” McBride glanced at his watch. “We need to get some sleep.”
They stood.
“Just a warning,” Hunter said, pointing to Javier. “You made prime time.”