by Trisha Telep
Of course, he’d left the camera on purpose, so he’d have an excuse to run back and check her cell phone. Not that it really mattered that her brother was calling her. There was no way in hell Daren Granger could ever guess who his sister’s boyfriend really was, not unless he saw a picture. He wouldn’t learn the truth till it was too late.
The stiff breeze caught the driver’s door, jerking it open. Mark groped behind his seat, grabbing the camera first then dragging Libby’s purse nearer. Finding her phone, he powered it on and waited impatiently for her missed calls to pop up.
There were three of them, all from the same number.
If this was Daren calling, he was certainly persistent. With his curiosity peaked, Mark hit reply and called the number back.
“Libby,” said an urgent male voice. “Where are you? Did you get away?”
With a jab of his thumb, Mark silenced the voice, powered off the phone and dropped it thoughtfully back in her purse.
Had that been Daren’s voice? It hadn’t sounded like him. And why would he be telling Libby to get away?
No one could possibly know of his intentions.
But she’d been nervous, he recalled. She’d been feigning a headache, asking to be returned home. Someone had clearly been filling her with doubts.
Denial ripped through Mark like shrapnel. Who and how, when he’d been so careful to cover his tracks? The only person who knew he’d changed his name was Sheila, the woman at the rental agency. He’d paid her extra to keep her quiet.
Maybe Libby had done it inadvertently. Maybe she’d taken a picture of Bruce with her cell phone and forwarded it to Daren, who’d recognized him.
Either way, the seeds of his revenge had been disturbed. He couldn’t risk carrying out his plot as planned, in case someone were going to interfere.
Turning from the Jeep, Mark Earnest glared across the parking lot to where Libby stood in the shadow of the lighthouse, gripping herself against the blustery chill. Already he’d sensed a change in her, a distancing that made him suspect.
Between the phone call and her cool, new demeanour, it became apparent that he needed to move up his timeline. This was not how he’d planned her demise. His gaze slid up the elegant striped shaft of the lighthouse. But there was beauty in the drama he envisioned – not to mention poetic justice.
What was the saying he so enjoyed? Ah, yes. There was more than one way to skin a cat.
“I don’t think I can make it,” Libby protested, eying the endless spiral staircase. Over the course of her lifetime, she’d climbed these wrought-iron steps several times, but today her knees trembled weakly and her legs felt leaden. She couldn’t shake the cold foreboding that sat like a lump of ice in the pit of her stomach.
“Sure you can. I’ll be right behind you.” Bruce’s – or rather, Mark’s – smooth assurance left no room for argument.
Surely, with other visitors touring the lighthouse, he wouldn’t try something violent, she reasoned. But Todd Lawson’s warning to distance herself echoed like a death knell in her mind.
A handful of sightseers passed them on their way down. Libby made eye contact, but propriety kept her from speaking her fears. What could she say that wouldn’t make her sound like a lunatic. Save me? They would think she’d lost her mind.
Yet the closer they came to the wind howling at the exit to the balcony, the more Libby’s agitation stirred. “It sounds too windy,” she pointed out.
“Oh, come on, Libs. Those other people did it. We’ll just take a couple of pictures and head down.”
He steered her out the door ahead of him, on to the elevated metal platform, 200 feet off the ground. The wind buffeted her, and she staggered against him. Throwing an arm over her shoulders, he drew her away from a visiting couple and towards the other side of the tower. “Check out the view, Libs.” The wind snatched his voice into the sky.
She’d seen the view before. As a child she’d sat up here for hours, hoping to glimpse the legendary ghost ship of Diamond Shoals. Today the volatile sky, the craggy treetops and the fitful ocean, a thousand yards distant, struck her as hostile. All she wanted was to head back down.
“Stand right here,” said Mark, abandoning her at the railing. She seized the cold wrought iron to steady herself. “Let’s take some pictures for your brother,” he suggested, fiddling with his lens. “Smile, Libs.”
Considering his words, she sent him a strained smile. He snapped off several shots then slipped his camera back into its casing and looped the strap over his head. As he moved towards her again, a dark glitter entered his eyes. She searched for the second couple, only to realize they had just left.
“Poor Libs,” Mark commented, pinning her between the railing and his breadth. Powerful fingers caught her chin and angled her face upwards. “You don’t have a clue, do you?”
“About what?” Her apprehension abruptly resurfaced. Given the cruel strength in his fingers, he struck her as suddenly ruthless and unpredictable.
“You think lighthouses are so romantic. You think I brought you here because I love you,” he accused, mocking her naivety.
Words that should have hurt her sat like a bitter pill on her tongue. “That’s not true,” she retorted. “I know more than you think.” Instinct urged her to reveal what she knew, to limit his sense of power.
“Oh, really?” he derided, his mouth curling with scorn. “Tell me then, Libs. Tell me why I brought you here.” He gloated over her helplessness as he gripped her arm.
“Let me go,” she pleaded, unable to break away from him.
“Tell me why first, if you’re so smart.”
“Because of my brother,” she guessed.
His nostrils flared and his eyes flashed. “What about your brother?”
“I know you knew him and you never told me,” she admitted, praying someone else would join them and bear witness to his bullying. “I also know your name is really Mark Earnest,” she added, tossing it out, praying the truth would sober him to reality. “I know you’re not a Navy SEAL.”
“Shut up!” he snarled, shaking with sudden violence. “You don’t know any more than your brother knew.” His eyes narrowed into slits of rage as he pressed her back against the railing. “He discredited me in front of the entire ship’s crew,” he hissed on a note that raised goosebumps. “He told every sailor at muster that I’d washed out of BUD/s.”
A vein bulged on Mark’s forehead. “That was none of their fucking business! The instructors had it out for me, OK? I could have made it. I could’ve gone back and made it, no problem, if your brother hadn’t pissed me off. The son of a bitch ruined my whole fucking life!”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean to discredit you,” she reasoned, terrified of his instability.
“Oh, yes, he did,” he insisted. “He rubbed my face in it, Libs. He goaded me so that I’d get kicked out and never have the chance to go back.”
Releasing one arm, he caught her face again, forcing her to hold his wild, reckless gaze. “Sweet Libs. Daren loves you so much. You were all he ever talked about.” Glittering eyes roamed her face, taking in the disgust and terror she couldn’t hide from him. “I’ll send him the pictures. He’ll know I did this. I want him to know he fucked with the wrong guy.” With that warning, he snatched her off her feet and set her on the railing.
“No!” Libby threw her arms around him, fighting to keep her weight inside the balcony. “Stop! Please,” she cried as he steadily prised her fingers loose. “Bruce! Mark! Don’t do this!”
“Don’t fight me,” he crooned on a strangely soothing note. “Just let go, Libs. Let go.”
“Hold it right there!”
Mark’s head swivelled. Rage contorted his features as two men appeared on either side of the tower bearing pistols pointed at his chest. With a cry of relief, Libby recognized Todd Lawson. Oh, thank you, God, she silently prayed. Thank God!
“FBI!” shouted the second man. In a glance, she noted he was swarthier and stouter than Todd
. It was Todd’s dark gaze she clung to like a lifeline. Save me! she silently begged him, her throat too closed with fear to make a sound.
“Put the woman down and back away slowly,” he commanded. There was an authority in his voice, a focus that stirred her admiration, causing her heart to thunder with hope.
He would save her, he would!
“The charade’s over, Mr Earnest.” Todd’s black trench coat flapped against his thighs as he drew nearer. “Put the woman down,” he repeated, calmly, “and we’ll end it here.”
Her terror was just beginning to subside when Mark turned his glittering gaze on her and smiled.
To Libby’s horror, she realized exactly what he intended.
“No!” she screamed as he jumped over the railing and into thin air, dragging her down in his wake.
Three
Todd lunged for the rail, reaching for Libby as she fell with a hoarse scream. His extended fingers brushed her clothing but closed over nothing. Too late! Suddenly, with a cry, she stopped falling. She had caught the lip of a wrought-iron skirt on the outside of the lighthouse. She clung to it, momentarily, her hands white-knuckled as she dangled in the air, Mark Earnest hanging on her waist like a heavy anchor.
“Hold on!” Todd cried. Without a thought for his own safety, he hurtled the railing, dropped to a knee on the narrow outer ledge, and reached for her. Don’t let go!
Libby’s face was a reflection of stark horror.
He lunged for her, managing to seize her wrist like a manacle. In the next instant, her fingers slipped. Todd’s grip tightened reflexively, but the tremendous weight tugging at him was too much. He groaned, knowing he could not sustain it.
A triumphant smirk split Earnest’s face. The bastard knew he’d won.
“Belli, shoot him!” Todd roared, confident of his friend’s marksmanship.
Crack! Belli fired and Earnest twitched, but did not let go. Libby’s cry of terror swelled in Todd’s brain. “Again!” he shouted and Belli, shifting to his right, fired another shot. With a strangled cry, Earnest let go, and dropped.
Without his weight, Libby seemed suddenly as light as a feather. Confidently, Todd pulled her up next to him. As she clutched the railing, he swung out around her, cradling her from behind to prevent an accidental slip. Together they dragged themselves upright. Then Belli took over, drawing Libby to safety over the railing. With his adrenaline receding, Todd clambered after her.
Libby, enfolded in Belli’s arms, turned to look at Todd. He realized she had lost her glasses in the tumble. As he stepped forwards, Belli immediately relinquished her.
Todd escorted her into the shelter where they collapsed on the grooved flooring, their backs to the tower wall. Opening his trench coat, he invited her to join him inside it to ward off the chill that left her shuddering. She fell against him. With a silent groan, he revelled in her softness and scent. “It’s over,” he reassured her.
To his dismay, she buried her face in his chest and burst into quiet sobs. “Shhh,” he soothed, running a hand up and down her spine as she shuddered against him.
She lifted her tear-streaked face to look at him. “You risked your life to save me,” she marvelled.
Satisfaction surged through him. “I’d do it again, if I had to,” he admitted gruffly.
With a cry of gratitude, she kissed him, right on the mouth, her lips ice cold but exquisitely soft. “Thank you!” she breathed, and her eyes glimmered with admiration.
No one had ever shown him gratitude like that, he thought, wanting nothing more than to warm those lips up.
He couldn’t have been more pleased when she kissed him again, this time with even more fervour. She was just beginning to warm up in his embrace when she made a sound of need in her throat and parted her lips invitingly.
She needed confirmation, he realized – confirmation that she was still flesh and blood, not dead like the body lying in a twisted heap at the base of the lighthouse. Call him an opportunist, but Todd was pleased to give her all the confirmation she needed.
All she had to do was ask.
As a piercing nautical whistle signalled its arrival in port, sailors aboard the USS Monterey scurried to secure the CG-61 to its berthing. Squinting against the sun, Libby sought the familiar figure of her older brother standing on the bridge in his dress whites. As the executive officer, he was easy to spot, standing adjacent to the captain, on a deck five full storeys above the marina where Libby stood waving her flag. Sunlight glanced off the ripples of the Elizabeth River, the conduit to Norfolk Naval Base, homeport of the US Atlantic Fleet. With the sky a flawless blue, it was a perfect day for a homecoming.
“There he is!” she cried, pointing Daren out to Todd as she leaned lovingly against him. Fluttering her flag with patriotic fervour, she managed to catch Daren’s eye a moment later. From a distance, she could see his gaze narrow under the brim of his cap. He studied Todd for a critical moment then inclined his head in a gesture of acceptance and thanks.
To think he might have looked down from the bridge and seen a familiar but unwelcome face gloating up at him.
Libby shuddered. Daren had been horrified to hear that Mark Earnest, the lieutenant he’d seen ousted from the navy, had plotted an elaborate scheme to avenge himself. A thorough search of Earnest’s condo had revealed chilling evidence that he’d intended to murder Libby today, when the USS Monterey pulled into Norfolk.
Only, thanks to Todd, Earnest’s deceit had been exposed, his plans foiled. Tipping her head back, Libby regarded her prince. To think that a Navy SEAL could seem so deceptively ordinary, she marveled – not too tall, not too handsome, except in the eye of the beholder.
She had learned since Earnest’s demise that there were less than 2,500 active duty SEALs in the service, and only 325 reservists like Todd. It made sense that the most heroic men in the world would also be the most rare.
Mark Earnest might have looked like a Navy SEAL, but he could never have become one, regardless of how many times he might have attempted BUD/s. His instructors had noted character flaws in him – arrogance and narcissism. They would have ensured his failure, every time.
To be a SEAL, you had to be a team player. You had to be humble, open to the idea that there was always more to learn. Evidently, you also had to be an extraordinary lover, Libby mused, with a slow, satisfied smile.
Shoot to Thrill
Charlene Teglia
One
Gabe was used to the truism that no plan survives contact with the enemy. But no plan surviving contact with a hostage, that was new.
“Houston, we have a problem,” he transmitted. He uploaded the digital photo he’d snapped of the slender dark-eyed, light-haired woman who wasn’t supposed to be there, and waited for identification.
It didn’t take long for the satellite uplink to give him what he needed. Name: Dr Miranda Gray. Missing from an international volunteer relief organization for a month. The doctor specialized in nasty viruses. If she’d been grabbed for her expertise that would explain her presence at his target, a suspected bioterrorism site held by a radical terrorist group deep in Central America.
He didn’t have to wonder if she’d cooperated. The way she’d just rendered her guard unconscious as he watched said it all. Dr Gray had an interesting bedside manner. The guard outweighed her by probably eighty pounds and had the advantage of both reach and height on her. Her knowledge of anatomy more than compensated.
“You’re not supposed to take on the bad guys,” Gabe muttered, more to himself than to the woman he had under surveillance from his vantage point outside the building. “That’s my job.” More specifically, his current job was to destroy the target. The doctor’s presence threw a very large monkey wrench into the works. He’d have to extract her first, get them both a safe distance away before triggering detonation, and do it all without alerting unfriendlies to his presence.
Gabe was running through possible approaches when the doctor’s actions demanded his full atten
tion. What was she doing? Running from the now unconscious guard, almost frantic but with hands that stayed rock steady, she seemed to be measuring out and mixing something in a beaker. It looked like charcoal and . . .
“Tell me that isn’t what I think it is,” he hissed. Was she insane? If that was black powder, stirring it wrong could blow her sky-high. He hoped to God she wouldn’t sneeze.
Conclusion: Dr Gray knew exactly what her captors had in mind, and she was hell-bent on stopping them. Getting out alive didn’t appear to be part of her plan, either. Then again, the very careful way she mixed the ingredients told him she wasn’t suicidal. Just desperate and determined.
Gabe abandoned his careful planning and raced into action.
Miranda focused on the task at hand with fierce concentration. It was just lab work. She was used to that. She had to be precise and careful, follow protocol. The rules were the rules, whether you were dealing with vaccine samples or blood work. Or mixing gunpowder a step ahead of the goons who were likely planning to dispose of her sometime in the very near future.
She’d been safe as long as they needed her. She wasn’t safe now. As the days slipped by, she’d given up the slim hope that some embassy official, or reporter or former co-worker was campaigning for her rescue.
She’d probably been given up for dead. She might even be dead before the night ended. But it’d be on her terms.
Her terms did not include surviving just so she could live with the guilt of countless deaths on her conscience. Deaths she could prevent if she was fast enough, strong enough, brave enough. Careful enough.
Monks had killed themselves mixing gunpowder by hand like she was doing. If she blew herself up before she finished her task, it’d be for nothing. So she was going to be very, very careful.