by Jeff Gunhus
He took a wild swing at her with his other hand, but she dodged it and swept his leg. As he dropped to the ground, she kept the pressure on his wrist and elbow.
Gerty’s arm broke with a sickening crack.
His scream filled the courtyard, and four thousand midshipmen turned to watch.
Allison yanked harder on the broken arm, grinding the bones together. Gerty screamed again, tears coming down his cheeks. Allison put one foot on his neck and leaned in so only he could hear her.
“Who’s the bitch now, Gerty? Look around. They all know it’s you. Don’t you ever forget it, or I’ll come back . . . and next time I swear to God I’ll kill you.”
She threw Gerty’s arm down and it flopped uselessly on the ground. He used his other hand to cradle it to his chest.
Allison looked all around her, at the entire Mother Brigade staring back at her. From somewhere in the back came a soft sound, barely discernible at first.
A single person clapping.
Then another joined in. And another.
Allison picked them out of the crowd now.
It was the women. They knew what Gerty was. And, somehow, they seemed to understand why the public beat-down they just witnessed had happened.
Soon, there were dozens clapping. Then hundreds.
Finally, the entire brigade cheered. Men and women. Allison looked back at the main entrance to Dahlgren and saw the lieutenant and the commandant standing in the doorway. They didn’t look happy.
Allison waved and smiled.
Now she was satisfied.
An hour later she was at Anne Arundel Medical Center in Annapolis. Even though she wasn’t family, a quick flash of her FBI badge gave her admittance to the room she wanted.
The patient was asleep and, according to the nurses, resting well. One of them told her he must be getting better, because he’d made not one, not two, but three passes at her that day.
Allison smiled. Yep, Charlie was definitely on the mend.
Allison knew the real healing he would need wasn’t going to come from physical therapy. The psychological effects of being held prisoner, tortured, and coming so close to death would take years of work. He had responded to the pressure of the situation by being a hero. Without him, she would have died that night. She owed Charlie her life, and she hoped that would help his healing process. If nothing else, she had a sneaking suspicion he was going to milk that for more than a few free beers.
She made herself as comfortable as possible in the hospital chair and closed her eyes.
“Hey, good lookin’,” Charlie said.
Allison smiled, got up, and crossed the room to the edge of the bed.
“Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?” she asked.
“I’ve been worse. Once I had this crazy woman karate chop me on the beach and then get me in a car wreck.”
“Sounds like you should stay away from her.”
Charlie laughed but quickly grimaced and pressed the button that released his pain meds.
“Can I get you anything?” Allison asked.
“A pint of Guinness would be nice.”
“I’ll work on it.”
A comfortable silence filled the room while Allison held Charlie’s hand. His expression relaxed as his meds did their work.
He rolled his head toward her. “How about you? Are you all right?”
Allison thought about it, taking the question seriously. “Yeah,” she replied. “Actually, I am.”
For the first time in more years than she could remember, she felt the comfort of those words as she realized they were the truth. “I’m all right,” she said confidently, letting the words fill her.
Charlie nodded, his eyelids growing heavy, his voice slurring slightly. “Good. Good. You deserve to be all right.”
Allison let go of his hand long enough to pull up a chair next to the bed. Then she took his hand again. “Go ahead and sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
Charlie was already out. Allison patted his hand and smiled, thankful he had survived. She leaned against his bed and whispered a prayer for him. She prayed for Richard and felt the pang of loss all over again. She asked that Jason receive protection and comfort. She even said a small prayer for Arnie Milhouse, asking that his tormented soul find peace.
She left Craig Gerty off the list.
Fuck that guy.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Dear Reader,
Thank you three times.
First, thank you for supporting a fellow human being’s passion. I think it makes you a good person and makes up for that one thing you did in high school. (You know what I’m talking about.)
Second, thank you for being part of the community of readers. Each time you write a review, recommend a book to friend, or share a new novel through social media, you help keep the fire for books alive. Those of us who scribble stories late into the night are completely in your debt.
Last, thank you for your time. As a father of five and an avid reader (labels that can seem mutually exclusive at times), I recognize every book you open represents a hard choice among thousands of options. I’m awed and humbled that you chose to spend your valuable time within these pages. I hope that I proved to be worthy of your trust.
With appreciation,
Jeff Gunhus
PS: If you would like to support this book, the best way is to share it with a friend and then share it with the world with a review. Even a sentence or two would be great. Thank you in advance for your help; it means more than you could imagine.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I love to write. I can’t help it and I can’t do without it. When meeting a friend’s sister at a restaurant recently, I saw her eyes narrow as she put together who I was. She shook her head in sympathy and said, “Oh, you’re the compulsive writer-guy.” Yep, guilty as charged.
I’ve been this this way since I first lost myself in good books, when I discovered that writers like Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, and Frank Herbert had carved out vast worlds that I could visit simply by cracking open a book. It was long before I tried my own hand at the business of creating lives out of ink and paper. It was exciting and liberating and I loved it. I knew that when I grew up, I would be a paid writer. Only that didn’t happen . . . until it did.
Instead, I started and grew a business, married a perfect woman, and became a father . . . five times over. But along the way, I kept writing when I could. Late at night. Before work. During lunch. Novel after novel. Then screenplays. Then novels again. Never selling a thing.
Winston Churchill said, “Success is going from failure to failure without the loss of enthusiasm.” It’s a handy quote, but hard to pull off. There were definitely times of self-doubt, of wanting to pack it in on this writing thing and take up golf. But my wife, Nicole, refused that as an option. Whether it was her Midwestern work ethic or her slightly misguided trust in my writing ability, her enthusiasm and her confidence in me never waned. Every person should have a cheerleader clapping for you even when you fumble the ball. Nicole is mine and I couldn’t be more thankful.
A thank-you to my kids, Jackson, William, Daniel, Caroline, and Owen. It never ceases to amaze me how so much noise can come from such little bodies. But I know someday soon I’ll sulk around an empty house, willing to pay any amount to have it filled again with your young voices. Every message about morality and ethics in my books are really just me talking to the five of you. I hope you look at those as a piece of your dad . . . as opposed to just the cuss words and torture scenes.
Special thanks to my business partners Jay Reid, Matt Stewart, Spencer Pepe, and Tracy Meneses for supporting this other side of my life. Especially Jay, who is always one of the first five people to read anything I write and who pulls no punches in his feedback. Thanks to Blake Crouch for taking my call to discuss his experience with Thom
as & Mercer and for offering sage advice to a newbie writer. Thanks to Stephen King for his book On Writing that I read twice a year and quote endlessly in Q&As with new writers.
Special thanks to Mandy Schoen who did the very first developmental edit on this book and kicked it into shape. Emily Mitchell, an amazing local photographer, who supplied the photo on the original cover. Thanks to my talented brother, Eric, who did the original cover and who has been so supportive and instrumental in all of my books. Thanks to Mom and Dad, who always told to me to stop whining and get to work. Pretty damn good advice.
I originally self-published this book, loving the freedom that came with owning my own rights. Then Kjersti Egerdahl from Thomas & Mercer called and suggested I work with her and her team to bring the book to a wider audience. I was leery, but her positive attitude and enthusiasm were impossible to resist. The experience with T&M has been everything she promised. Fun, professional, and inclusive.
She brought in David Drummond, who created the inspired cover you see today, the perfect image for a book where nothing is what it seems. Bryon Quertermous who got a front row seat to see how hardheaded I am and yet still managed to improve the book through his developmental edit. Donald Weise worked his deft touch on the copyedit, not only as a guru of grammar, but catching tone and story issues at the last hour that made all the difference. Lauren Bailey swooped in at the final hour and used her fine-tooth comb to catch the last few details that needed attention. As an indie author, I’m used to doing things on my own. This time around I’m excited to have Tiffany Pokorny (author relations) and Jacque Ben-Zekry (marketing) on my side. It only took one meeting to know I was in good, capable hands that would treat this book with care and love.
My last acknowledgment is to my readers. I’ve been humbled and overwhelmed by the positive response to my books. Writing fiction is a very personal endeavor that strips you bare, leaving you naked and exposed to the world. Your reviews, encouraging e-mails, and support on social media have meant more to me than you know. Your acceptance of my work, even when it’s a bit out there, has encouraged me to push the envelope and dig deeper to give you something unexpected. I hope Killer Within meets with your approval and that we ride this train together for years to come. If you’re ever in Annapolis, stop by City Dock Café, look in the back corner, and if you see someone with earbuds rocking out while he pounds away at his laptop, it’s probably me. Come say hello. This compulsive writer-guy would love to buy you a cup of coffee and thank you in person.
With gratitude,
Jeff Gunhus
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2014 Connie Groah
Jeff Gunhus is the author of the Amazon bestselling novels Night Chill, Night Terror, and the middle-grade/YA series The Templar Chronicles. The first book of this series, Jack Templar Monster Hunter, was written in an effort to get his reluctant reader eleven-year-old son excited about reading, a journey shared in his book, Reaching Your Reluctant Reader, and featured on Amazon’s main home page. In his spare time, Jeff runs a national company with more than three thousand employees, chases his five kids all over Maryland, and constantly wonders why his wife puts up with him. After his experience with his own kids, he is passionate about helping parents reach young, reluctant readers and is active in child literacy issues. In rare moments of quiet, he can be found in the back of the City Dock Café in Annapolis working on his next novel. He loves to hear from his readers and can be contacted on social media or at www.JeffGunhus.com.
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