by J. M. Madden
FOURTEEN
Amy hadn’t even bothered to put her shoes on. She was running down the hallway in the flip-flops she kept by the front door. She almost turned around to go back to the apartment, but changed her mind as the elevator doors opened.
She flipped the key card back and forth in her palm. The conversation with Zak was troubling, but she knew why he wanted to have it. His brief time in the military made him wary of all sorts of dangerous situations. That was a good thing. One couldn’t be too careful, she thought.
Zak’s being present had a levitating mood on her spirit. She was sure he was as into her as she was into him. This morning and early afternoon had opened up a new phase in their relationship, something she wanted to explore fully. Sure, the passion and the fire was still there, but now there was something else. Something—
She heard noises on the other side of the doors leading to the guard station in the lobby. Just as she opened the door, she heard a scream. A woman was jammed in the glass doorway of the building, halfway inside, halfway outside. She’d dropped her purse and her eyes were wide as she looked in panic at Amy’s face. She screamed again.
Then Amy noticed that at her side was a man, the same man she’d seen in the doors yesterday, wearing the same green khaki clothes, although his appearance had changed. But there was no mistaking the murderous stare he fixed on Amy as he held something up to the woman’s neck. A wide ribbon of dark red blood was trailing down her neck, over the man’s hand, onto her shirt, and spilling onto the floor. Her legs were pumping back and forth, slipping in the red goo as she struggled to stand up.
The lone security guard was on the phone before the man dropped the woman on the floor with a loud thud, ran over to him and yanked the phone from the guard with his bloody hands. Another man rattled the glass doors and began to shout.
Amy turned and ran. Luckily, the elevator was still at the bottom floor and as she pushed the button, she noted the stairs and swore under her breath, instead wishing she’d made that choice. As the doors closed, she gasped in relief.
She tried to text Zak, but her lack of cell reception made that impossible. The elevator stopped on the fifth floor, with a couple wanting to get inside.
“Call 911. There’s a break-in down at the security office,” she shouted to the older couple who jumped at her words.
As the elevator headed to her floor, she heard the security alarm system sound, asking residents to evacuate the building. It took forever for the elevator to make it to the tenth, and she ran down the hall to her door, pounding against it.
“Zak!” she shouted. No one answered. She inserted her card and stormed into the room. Zak wasn’t anywhere. His duffel bag still sat at the foot of the bed. Dishes were still in the sink. She called out for him several more times, even going out onto the deck. Adrenaline was pumping through her so fast, she thought her heart would burst.
Out on the balcony, she dialed him. The line was busy.
She continued to call but knew the rapid busy signal was probably generated from multiple people trying to call out. At the kitchen she stopped. The hook that hosted her key cards was now empty. She had one. That meant Zak had the other. He’d taken the card and gone after her.
“Fuck!” she screamed. Outside she heard a siren. She dialed 911 and got another busy signal.
All of a sudden she remembered their conversation this afternoon. Opening the door, she glanced down the empty passageway with the door to the exit stairs four doors down. Several residents were beginning to come out of their rooms. She carefully closed her door, leaving her flip-flops in the hall. She didn’t want them slowing her down or making slapping noises while she ran.
Barefoot, she slipped past a cluster of residents waiting for the elevator. She quietly opened the heavy metal door to the stairwell getting the attention of a couple other residents who began to follow her. She quietly ran down the metal grids until she got to the entrance of Floor 9. The doorway was closed, but unlocked. She could hear other residents heading down the stairs from below and someone running up, pushing past other people moving opposite.
She poked her head over the railing, hoping perhaps it was Zak, and came face to face with the shooter, staring up at her from two landings below. Immediately she ran through the Floor Nine entrance, nearly toppling as she banged against the walls. She passed utility and equipment room signs, as well as a unisex bathroom, until she found the glass doors of the gym. Quickly scanning her key card, she went inside the cool studio dotted with weight equipment and matting. As the glass closed behind her she heard the stairwell door burst open, followed by footsteps.
Amy chose to run into the men’s rest room, thinking he’d not expect that. She stood on the black seat of the toilet, trying to keep the metal stall opening from swinging back and forth, and held her breath. She was gripping the key card so tight it nearly cut into her palm, so she quickly inserted it inside her bra.
Listening for every sound, she heard someone swipe the key card and walk inside the gym. Their deliberate steps were calm, unhurried.
“I have captured you. It is of no use to run,” the man shouted. She could hear him chatter prayers while he searched. “Your days of living a filthy life in a filthy country are over forever. It is no use holding out for a chance at what you call redemption. This is your fate.”
Amy heard chanting as the man began to sing a prayer, repeating a stanza several times over and over again. That’s when she realized he wasn’t going to come after her, but was going to do something else instead.
She tried to recall what the news reports had said. The first shooter had with him several small explosive devices which had been undetonated, indicating he’d been stopped before they could achieve their original goals.
She looked at the metal walls of the lavatory stall and hoped it could save something of her—enough so she might survive a blast. She put her head below her outstretched arms, resting her chin on her knees as she attempted to squat and balance on the flange of the toilet, and held her breath.
She thought about her dad and mentally told him he was right, telling him she was sorry she hadn’t listened. She thought about Zak, his kisses, the way he’d loved her body for hours throughout the middle of the day.
If there ever was a perfect time to die, let it be on a day like today. A beautiful day, full of love. Loving someone who loves me back completely.
She felt the hot tears form at the tops of her cheeks at the injustice of it all, knowing Zak would do what he could to avenge her. She prayed that he didn’t wind up being too bitter and angry, that he keep working for the good and decent people of the world.
She took one last, long breath and then heard the sound of a key card on glass, the doors pushed open, and a struggle on the mats in the other room. Something metal hit the ground. Someone grunted.
Amy jumped off the toilet, picking up a wooden plunger she found sitting on the granite tiled floor next to a waste basket. As she rounded the corner she saw Zak wrestling with the shooter as they rolled over the mats in a life and death struggle. Running up to the clutch of arms and legs, teeth and blood from bites and scratches, she raised the plunger and with all her might forced it down on the shaved head of the shooter, breaking the wooden stick in splinters.
Zak looked up at her stunned, his eyes round with fear. He grabbed the sharp stump end in her hands, and stabbed the shooter in the chest, forcing the wood through a crunching of ribs and bone. Blood spurted up like a fountain, covering them all. Zak pointed to the corner.
“IED.”
The little metal tube was still rolling until it hit the outer wall, near a large plate glass window. In slow motion, Amy felt the tug on her arm as Zak pulled her through the glass doors and began running down the hall. A second or two later, a huge explosion blew out the glass doors, sending large shattered plate glass like a wave over the whole floor.
Zak tackled her, covering her completely and they slid to the furthest corner away from the
gym doors just as another larger explosion sent a fireball that ignited the carpet and the walls and caused the metal light fixtures to melt and drop like candy syrup.
As things began to pop, explode and drop all around them like a mechanical rain, she listened for signs of life coming from the body shielding her. Smoke in the air made her cough. Sprinklers began hissing and attempting to shoot water in uneven sprays over everything. She was lying on her stomach and something was beneath her, pressing against her abdomen. And then it moved. One of Zak’s arms was slowly trying to move to the side as another arm held her forehead from pressing into the floor. She felt his warm breath in her ear and heard the delicious sound of his voice, “Are you okay, baby?”
“Yes. How about you?”
He groaned and said through parched lips, “I think I broke a couple of ribs, but I’ll live.”
She started to lift herself up onto her elbows, as Zak sat up, pulling her up with him. “Does that hurt, sweetheart? Can you sit?”
Turning her body, Amy saw his roughed up face, including a couple of head wounds. His blue eyes sparkled back at her, dancing in the light of the small fires surrounding them. She gingerly kissed his cut lips as water streamed down his face.
“Amy, I think this is what you’d call explosive chemistry,” his voice husky.
She laughed, hugging him until he seized up again, knees coming up to his chest when she squeezed too hard.
“Sorry. Sorry, Zak. I forgot.”
“Sure you did, kid. You’ve always been the one to get me into trouble. Look at this place. You think they’ll fire you?”
She laughed again. “Ask me if I care.”
“Anything hurt?”
“My head,” she reached behind and felt a knot Zak found as well.” Her hands were covered in cuts, and she was beginning to show signs of bruising. Zak helped her up to standing position.
Another light fixture crashed to the ground, and she started. She could hear sirens and the blare of large rescue vehicles and possibly fire trucks sounding a long ways down below. Wind whipped through the hallway tunnel, blowing fabric, and pieces of miniblinds that bundled up looking like metallic bunches of grapes.
Zak had a trickle of blood falling down below his ear. His lips were cut and chapped, and he squinted. A large purple welt was forming on the right side of his forehead.
“The shooter?” she asked.
“Oh, they’ll find bits and pieces of him all over this floor, probably scrape some of him off the side of the building too when the window washers come.” Zak coughed. “We should get out of here. Can you walk?”
She tried a step, her arms around his waist. “I’m good.”
“Let’s get out of Dodge,” he whispered, leading her toward the stairwell entrance. He pushed her behind him as they walked past the nonexistent doors to the gym and found the windows had completely blown out, the force of the blast overturning equipment. The mirror-covered walls covered in blood spray looked like a contemporary painting. Several rags of clothing remnants soaked in deep red puddles against the walls. There was a large crater blasted in the center of the room with splinters of flooring scattered everywhere like toothpicks.
Opening the stairwell door, they could hear heavy boots running up the steps, carrying equipment. “Anybody up there injured?”
“We’re fine. Not sure about anyone else, but I think your shooter has become one with the source,” Zak barked.
FIFTEEN
The oyster bar at the Ferry Plaza he had on good authority was a good place to have a special occasion. His new LPO for SEAL Team 3, Kyle Lansdowne, had told Zak all about it, told him to say his goodbyes and then get his butt back to San Diego for the workup.
“You don’t want to start out on this team as a slacker. We don’t really get time off, so while it’s nice to get all cozy with the girlfriend and get her head on straight, we’ve got a mission to work up for.”
“Roger that, sir.”
“We can’t always come home. Most of us miss holidays, anniversaries, kid’s birthdays, and even our kid’s births on a regular basis. That’s just the way it is. Don’t cry over it.”
“I get you, sir.”
“But damn, I gotta say for a little tadpole, a newbie frog, you sure handled yourself well, sailor. Way to get that little punk to give it up and not take any more people with him.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Mighty proud. And your lady, I hear tell she held up quite well. You got a keeper there, son.”
“I think so too, sir.”
“So what the fuck you waiting around for? Ask the girl to marry you, and get her little ass down to San Diego where you can keep an eye on her.”
“I intend to, sir.”
“I’m gonna ask you first thing when I see you next. Don’t complain and cry on my shoulder telling me you screwed all night long and forgot to ask her, okay? Make an honest frog princess outta her, son.”
“I get your message loud and clear, Chief Petty Officer Lansdowne.”
Amy was returning from the ladies room, so he signed off and took a sip of his beer. She sat next to him. Except for the fact that the two of them looked like they’d gotten into a fight, Zak thought they made a pretty good looking couple as he stared across the bar to the large wavy mirror. The waiter brought them six barbequed oysters from Marin County. The hot spicy tomato flavor wafted up in the steam that blew in their faces as they hovered over them.
“Those look wonderful.” Amy’s eyes were bright, her face illuminated by soft candlelight.
Zak squeezed a lemon wedge over the hot mixture. He held one shell up to Amy’s mouth. “Yours. These are supposed to be the best in the bay.”
Amy swallowed the mixture, shutting her eyes as a little part of the sauce dribbled out the right side of her lips. Zak kissed it away.
“Your turn,” she said and held up another shell, tipping it so the hot oyster mixture slid onto his tongue.
“Hog Island is famous to SEAL Team 3, or at least to our LPO.”
“LPO? What does that mean?”
“Leading Petty Officer. He’s like in charge of our platoon. You’ll get to meet him soon, I hope. Maybe there will be time before we deploy, but for sure when I get back.”
“So what are your dates?” She asked, taking another oyster.
“Well, that kinda depends on you, Amy.”
“On me?”
“When I come home next time, I’d like to ask your father permission to marry you, if you’ll have me.”
Her smile started slow, and for a second Zak panicked. But when her lips turned up and she winked at him, he relaxed. He’d been nervous all day, knowing he wanted to ask her, and not knowing exactly how to do it, until Kyle told him about this place. And it seemed fitting to do it here, near where all the violence had happened, where their lives had changed forever.
“If you can’t answer, I’d totally understand. You don’t even know about the community, and it’s not an easy life. Hell, I’m just getting used to it myself, getting to know all the guys. But these are special guys, unlike anyone else I’ve ever met. I think you’d fit right in, if you’re willing.”
“Of course I’m willing. You sure, though?”
“Completely. You wanted to be the girl I came back to. I want that too.”
She looped her arm through his and leaned into him, rubbing her chest against his elbow. “So did you ever think of a Plan B? I mean, what if I said no?”
“Well, I was going to go look for a golf course.”
The End
CONNECT WITH ME
If you enjoyed this novella, please read the revised and expanded full length version of Zak and Amy’s story, coming out in November 2015, Book 1 of the True Blue SEALs Series, True Navy Blue.
For other information about all of Sharon Hamilton’s other books in her SEAL Brotherhood Series, or her other books, please go to her website: authorsharonhamilton.com. You can find out about her schedule, new releases, her
audio books, as well as sign up for her newsletter or join her street team. She likes to stay in touch with readers, so feel free to leave her an email at: [email protected].
REBEL
(A MEN OF THE UNDERGROUND NOVELLA)
By
Amity Cross
ONE
CHARLOTTE
This had to be either the best or worst idea I’d ever had.
The jury was still out on which it was going to be.
I sat in my car, watching the stream of people coming and going from the warehouse that was ablaze with light and sound. Usually, it was illegal raves I came to bust up with an army of cops at my side, not a highly organized underground fighting racket.
In the daylight, I went by the name Detective Charlotte Croft, but out here in the wilds of Melbourne’s seedy underbelly, I was just Charlotte or Charlie for short. If anyone in that building found out I was a cop, I’d be gutted from head to toe. Cops were not welcome in a place like this.
What had brought me here, then? Truthfully, it was part insanity and part desperation. I needed a big break to get my stalled career moving again or just give up and drown.
I’d joined the Victorian Police right out of high school at eighteen and had excelled through the ranks…all the way to detective by twenty-five. It was young, but I’d earned it—an impressive feat considering the whole force was one big boys club. I’d endured my fair share of crap from drunken idiots during my time on the beat and more than a fair chunk of it at the station. Making detective hadn’t stopped any of it. In fact, it had just gotten worse. I constantly had to prove myself or fall behind into irrelevance, and irrelevant cops got the shit cases. The hypochondriacs and the crazies that wore tinfoil hats. The high profile drug busts and murder investigations were handed to the men with the biggest balls and being a chick…apparently I didn’t have any. Not even any of the metaphoric ones.
Being a female detective was harder than walking the streets on a Saturday night, which is how I found myself outside of the most notorious underground fighting racket in the whole of Melbourne. Hell, the whole of Australia. The Underground was dripping in bad news. Busting this open would be the best thing my career had ever seen. Fuck, it would be the best thing to happen to anyone’s career.