Police cars swarm the area, helping the hostage-held passengers disembark the train. Some stumble out on their own—some need help. We walk past EMS workers who rush to help the injured. All in all, the area looks like a war zone.
The agents guide us toward a black suburban waiting past all the action.
Damn, even their vehicles are cliché.
An agent exits the front passenger side and opens the back door. One by one, the three of us squeeze into the back seat. The agent closes the door, and hops back in the front seat.
The driver hits the gas, and the vehicle flies forward. Once we’ve passed the blaring sirens and lights, Ava’s shoulders sag. She leans her head on my shoulder and begins to sob. Muffled at first, but once the dam bursts…it breaks my heart. I shift, placing my arm around her shoulders, and pull her close, letting her get it all out.
No civilian should have endured what we just went through—and she did it without complaint. She stayed calm and collected—more than I can say for some of my military brethren. Now, the shock is setting in.
I hold her this way for the entire ride to the FBI emergency management center they set up maybe a mile from where the train stopped.
We exit and are escorted to be debriefed. “Ava, these men are going to ask you some questions,” I whisper, cupping her face. “Just tell them what happened.”
“Will I see you again?” Her tired eyes are wide and full of hope.
“Try to stop me.” I press my lips to her forehead, lingering for a minute. Truth is, I don’t want to let her go.
I release her, and she’s escorted one way, while Dude and I are led in another.
I just hope they take it easy on her.
2:18 pm
FBI Emergency Management Center
Ava
I’m brought into a room with a table and chairs—three chairs on one side and one on the other. It reminds me of an interrogation room like you’d see on an episode of Law and Order. The agent who brought me in waves toward the single chair, and I sit.
Two other agents enter the room, and the three of them position themselves in front of me.
“I’m Special Agent Russo,” he informs me. “This is Special Agents Michaels and Stoker.” He lists them from left to right. “Your name?”
I swallow. “Ava Giordano.” Intertwining my fingers, I place them on the table.
Special Agent Russo leans in toward me. “Okay, Ava. Tell us what happened.”
I start from the beginning, telling them when I boarded, about the internet going out, and then about the uniforms. Special Agent Stoker is scribbling furiously, trying to keep up with my account. I then go on about Brian.
“Wait. You knew the terrorist?” Special Agent Michaels asks, his brows furrowing.
“He was my ex-fiancé.” All three of their faces go blank. They turn toward the wall behind them, and whisper words I cannot hear before twisting back around.
“Could you give us just a second, Ms. Giordano,” Special Agent Russo says, not as a question, but more of a command.
My legs begin to shake, so I place my hands on my knees to control it. “O-Okay,” I stutter. The temperature in the room drops to frigid, and a feeling of impending doom lands in the pit of my stomach.
The three agents exit, leaving me alone with my thought—like I’m never leaving this room.
Dalton
Typical debrief, although much faster than usual. I guess that’s because there isn’t that much to tell.
Terrorist has bomb.
Terrorist threatens to blow up Penn Station.
Terrorist dead.
They did ask, however, if I knew Ava knew him. I told them not until she said his name on the train, but the question itself worries me. Why would they ask, unless they think there’s some kind of connection?
Dude and I have one of the agents drive us into Manhattan to our hotel. Although the night isn’t getting any younger, we still have time to make it to the bar and meet up with the guys. I take a quick shower, then Dude goes after.
While he’s getting clean, I can’t help but think about the stupid question that agent asked. Since I have time, I decide to make a phone call—to a friend who happens to be pretty high up in the FBI. Picking up my phone from off the bed, I scroll through my contacts until I find her.
“Dalton! To what do I owe this pleasure,” she sings into the phone.
“Hey, Susan. I need a favor.” I don’t sugarcoat the question. We’re both the same in that respect. There’s a no bullshit rule between us—has been for years.
“Whatcha need?”
“Information on Ava Giordano, and I needed it yesterday.” Standing, I move to the window.
“New conquest?” she teases.
“Not exactly.” I explain the events of this afternoon, giving her a brief summary.
“Wow. Yeah, give me a sec,” she mutters. The clicking of nails against a keyboard echo through the phone. “Ava Giordano. Age thirty-one, hailing out of DC?” she asks.
“She works for Amtrak,” I add. Pulling open the blinds, I stare down at the cars trapped in grid-lock.
“Got her.” She taps a few more keys, then silence stretches across the line.
“What did you find?” I blurt. The bathroom door opens, and I spin away from the window. Dude rounds the corner with a towel around his waist. He sees me, and his eyebrows furrow. I mouth, “Recon,” then place my fingers over my lips. He nods and begins to get dressed.
“Ummm…well, she was engaged to a Brian Avery up until a few months ago.”
“Christ, what are the odds of her seeing her ex on the train—let alone him being the terrorist? I can only imagine the questions they’re throwing at her.” Wait, how does she know all of this? It’s not something you’d put on a job application. “Hold on. You guys monitor all that shit?” Dude raises his head, but I shake mine.
“Nah, I’m looking at her social media.”
“Of course, everything is shared on social media,” I say, rolling my eyes. Dude nods in agreement, then sits on the bed to put on his socks.
One of the reasons I don’t have a Facebook or Twitter or whatever they’re using these days. I don’t need my life on display.
“Looks as if she blocked him on all sites, except…” she trails off.
“What?”
“It appears as if he had another Facebook page—one dedicated to the rhetoric of the Taliban.”
I let all this information sink in. “That should help prove she didn’t know anything, right?”
“She’s still in custody?”
“As far as I know, yeah.”
“I’ll do a little digging and try to get them to speed up the process.”
“That would be fantastic. Thanks.”
3:03 am
FBI Emergency Management Center
Ava
I thought working wasn’t a way I wanted to spend the weekend, but I change my mind.
This.
I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.
I’m tired.
I’m hungry.
I’m pissed.
I’m pissed the only reason I’m still here is because of Brian.
Question after question. Did I know he was plotting to blow up half of Manhattan? My answers stay the same.
No.
Agents drift in and out of the small room—sometimes asking questions, other times just siting and staring. I was introduced to a couple of Homeland Security agents, who wanted to know how important my job at Amtrak was. Like I have some kind of security clearance. Give me a break.
I never work from home, I rarely work from the train, but I was behind. Not that I got much work done anyway.
Not with Cody sitting near me.
My mind drifts back to that moment on the train…that kiss.
My god, I’ve never been kissed like that before.
Ever.
I would relive that moment a million times if I could. If I never see Cody again, I�
��ll have that memory of him to take with me.
Hours tick by…or is it days. I don’t know.
More agents enter, more agents leave. It’s like a goddam carousel in here. I never know who’s getting on or off. Then, the room is empty. Not a soul in this prison, but me.
The door opens and Agent Stoker strolls in. Her face is stoic.
That’s it.
I’m going to prison.
Moving out of the entrance, she waves her arm. “You’re free to go.”
“But I didn’t do anything…wait. What?” I start to argue, my mouth moving faster than my brain, but her words finally register. “Did you just say—”
“We have nothing to hold you on.” She stands with her arms folded, lingering by the exit.
I stand and pause, just in case this is a sick, twisted joke. But no one rushes in to try to stop me.
I approach Agent Stoker, who side steps to her right, away from the open door. As I stagger out, she murmurs, “We’ll be in touch.”
An agent awaits my exit, and escorts me to the outside. I was hoping Cody would still be here, but I knew that was too much to ask for. He’s probably been gone for hours.
As my face hits the cool, night air, I start to shake. It isn’t until I’m placed in a cab that the tears start rolling down my cheeks. I try to keep them in check until I reach the hotel. Once I’m locked inside my room, I can’t hold my anxiety and fear inside any longer, and sob uncontrollably. This has been both the best and worst day of my entire life.
June 12th, 2017
10:10 am
Penn Station
I drag my tired ass down the stairs and through the crowded station. This weekend has been full of surprises, and I’m ready to go home. Dude was called back early—something about his team needing to exfiltrate a diplomat from Syria, so he jumped on a transport to California this morning. I would have joined him, but I keep hoping I’ll run into Ava. I haven’t seen her since she was taken to be debriefed on Friday, and I can’t think of anything else but her.
I was told she was detained over thirteen hours. They brought in Homeland Security, who ran a background check to prove or disprove their theory she was in on the attack. Susan made her phone call as promised and let the agents know they needed to either make an arrest or let her loose. Finding nothing they could hold her on, she was released early Saturday morning.
Shuffling through the hundreds of people waiting for their trains to Long Island, I cut through the center of the terminal in search of the Amtrak waiting area.
They announce the terminal number the train will be boarding at, and I approach the doorway leading downstairs to the platform.
Side-stepping families with luggage, I hop down the stairs and amble toward the café car. I glance around, hoping by some miracle I see her—but I don’t.
With a sigh, I board the train, my feet moving without thought. I stop at the concession stand, but it’s closed until we begin moving. I turn my head to search for an empty booth, and there she is, standing in the middle of the row.
Like she knew I’d be here.
She looks at me, and it’s as if every ounce of breath exits my lungs, floating into the air like fog.
It feels as though I’m falling off a cliff, yet I’m completely safe at the same time.
It’s overwhelming, but makes me feel complete.
“Cody.”
This beautiful woman standing before me, radiating nothing but grace, has me enthralled.
Her soft lips stretch into a smile, but don’t quite reach her worried eyes—eyes filled with doubt.
“Ava,” I breathe.
I move toward her, my fingers itching to touch her. It’s only been two days, but it feels like two years since we’ve seen each other.
“Cody, I swear—” she begins, but stops.
Placing my finger against her silky lips, I quiet her. “I know, beautiful. I never doubted it for a moment.”
“I didn’t think I’d see you again.” Her voice is music to my ears.
For so long, I didn’t want it, and now I can't bear to lose it—lose this thing that makes me feel so perfect. I tuck her auburn hair behind her ear. Cupping her chin, I pull her closer. I throw her own words back at her, but reverse the meaning. “Everything happens for a reason…we were meant to be.”
It’s terrifying how someone can go from being a stranger to becoming completely infatuated by her and wondering how it ever was I was able to live without her—because I sure as hell couldn’t imagine being without her now.
Leaning in, I press my lips to hers—a soft, unrushed kiss.
A kiss like this is a beginning, and a promise of so much more to come.
The End
About the Author
Jillian Anselmi resides on Long Island with her husband and teenage daughter. She studied pharmacy, but decided it wasn’t the right fit for her and instead pursued a degree in chemistry. After receiving her master’s in education, she pursued a career in teaching, but there was always something missing.
As a young girl, she read an incredible amount of books, devouring over a hundred during the summer of her third grade year. After that, she would write poetry or dabble in short stories. Now, she writes romantic fiction, with some small amount of truth hiding behind her words. If you want to make her happy, surprise her with dark chocolate, a Starbucks Caramel Macchiato, or a good Sauvignon Blanc.
Also by Jillian Anselmi
THE CHASING OLIVIA SERIES
Drawn to You
Lost Without You
THE TEMPEST SERIES
When the Storm Ends
Surviving the Storm
Surpassing the Storm (coming Summer 2018)
THE FIDELITY WORLD
Infiltration
Exfiltration
Acknowledgments
I read my first Susan Stoker book, and I was hooked. I’m so happy she let me into her world. Thank you, Susan, for believing in me.
My beta readers – Lg, Jaime, Angelina, Jen, Nicole, Jackie, Peggy—I’m making you guys work hard and you never complain. It’s you that make my story so much better. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedules to help me make this the best it can be. Thank you to Andie, who helped me in so many different ways.
KHMazz – you, my dear are a rock star. This cover is perfect! Thank you for all of your help with both the design and the formatting.
Monica – even though I needed this done fast, you didn’t disappoint – even when a storm knocks out power lines and ginormous trees. I couldn’t do this without you.
The readers – thank you for taking a chance on me. I hope you enjoyed my Navy SEALs as much as I enjoyed writing them.
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