Promise Me

by Jack O. Daniel

  Promise Me

  Jack O. Daniel

  Published by Massachusetts Books, 2016.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  PROMISE ME

  First edition. June 20, 2016.

  Copyright © 2016 Jack O. Daniel.

  Written by Jack O. Daniel.

  Also by Jack O. Daniel

  The Archangel Series

  Scorched

  The Colour Series

  One Night Stand: Could this be the beginning of forever?

  Last Pursuit

  Standalone

  Promise Me

  Watch for more at Jack O. Daniel’s site.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By Jack O. Daniel

  Dedication

  1: The Woman at City Hall

  2: Four Hours Earlier

  3: Not Just another Day at the Office

  4: Quandary

  5: George Lee and the Dead Man’s Switch

  6: Profiling

  7: No Joy

  8: Tortured Soul

  9: Horror Day

  10: Tangled

  11: The Bomb

  12: OMG!

  13: The Priest

  14: The Eloquence of Silence

  15: Discoveries and Misgivings

  16: Months Later

  Author’s Note

  A Gentle Plea

  Bonus Previews

  One Night Stand

  1: An Extraordinary Night

  2: She’s Home

  3: Missed Connection

  Last Pursuit

  1: She wasn’t on the School Bus

  2: The Shape of Nightmares to Come

  3: Painfully Separated

  Scorched

  1: The Honeymoon

  Sign up for Jack O. Daniel's Mailing List

  Further Reading: Lifesaver in a Bikini

  About the Author

  For

  Jann Miller

  Jennifer Connor

  Margo McKern

  Joanne Cecere

  You ladies rock!

  1: The Woman at City Hall

  THE SIREN SOUNDED AT the New York State Police’s Bomb Disposal Unit (BDU) headquarters. The sound every bomb disposal expert secretly liked to hear, but dreaded at the same time.

  They trained every day on disarming and disposing of bombs so were keen to show their mettle. Earn their battle scars. Show what they’re made of and prove themselves. But then, it’s the sort of job where one wrong move could mean disablement or death.

  Members of the Bomb Squad quickly dropped everything and gathered around the front desk. ‘This is not an exercise, people.’ The State Police’s Deputy Superintendent himself was there to address them. A Colonel in the NYSP, Edgar Holleran was a twenty-year veteran of the Force. His demeanour as he stood in the middle of the room waiting for everyone’s full attention indicated there was serious trouble brewing.

  ‘There’s a bomb strapped to the chest of a woman, wearing a wedding gown, outside City Hall,’ he said.

  ‘Is there a Thomas Steel here?’

  Someone raised his hand, ‘That’s me,’ he said.

  Holleran cast an eye on the Explosive Ordnance Disposal expert. Thomas ‘Easy’ Steel’s reputation preceded him. His nickname, Easy, was bestowed on him by fellow cadets at bomb school. According to legend, he was so easy going, he was almost horizontal even when defusing a live bomb. They often joked that he had no pulse.

  But to his wife he was and would always be ‘Tommy.’ To old friends and acquaintances, and people who knew him outside of the Force, he was ‘Thomas’ or ‘Tom.’

  ‘The call came into my office two minutes ago. The caller said, and I quote, “Thomas Steel must attend to it.” You were named specifically with the additional threat that if someone else tries to disarm the bomb, he’ll trigger it. That’s it for now. Go! Save that woman.’

  The BDU is responsible for disarming improvised explosive devices, recovered military ordnance and commercial explosives and overseeing fireworks throughout the upstate area, the portion lying north of New York City.

  This particular incident should, technically, be a job for NYPD Bomb Squad, since it was occurring on their patch, but as the bomber was specific in his demand, NYSP would take the lead in this case. In saving lives, jurisdiction played second fiddle, as it should.

  The Colonel passed the baton on to Sergeant Dylan Lane, who said snappily, ‘Let’s go, guys.’ His men and two women were already getting into their bullet-proof bomb squad vans, ready to rock and roll.

  THE THREAT WAS A SERIOUS worry for all. Just three minutes had elapsed since the drama unfolded and already the world's eyes were on New York City and this unfortunate woman.

  The iconic New York City Hall is in one of the busiest places on earth. The area around it is referred to as the Civic Center, which is smack bang in the middle of Lower Manhattan, between Broadway, Park Row, and Chambers Street.

  Most of the Civic Center consists of government offices, City, State and Federal. There are also many upscale residential dwellings converted from old buildings, not to mention architectural landmarks like St. Paul’s Chapel, St. Peter’s Church, the Woolworth Building, the Tweed Courthouse, the Manhattan Municipal Building, and the Park Row Building. The list goes on!

  The bomber couldn't have picked a more visible location to make his point.

  THEY ARRIVED AT CITY Hall in a scene that resembled the start of a parade. People were four to five-deep in sections. They looked up and saw people practically clinging off roofs’ overhangs. They could only shake their heads.

  Uniformed police had managed to secure a wide perimeter to get the many nosy parkers with selfie sticks from harm’s way. Evacuation of surrounding buildings was still in progress, but this was not their concern; this was where NYPD came in, and they would do a quick job of it.

  Members of the Bomb Squad stood from a safe distance quietly observing. A uniformed officer gave them a short briefing, ‘She hasn’t moved an inch in fifteen minutes. We’re not sure if she can’t or won’t.’

  ‘Who phoned it in?’ said Steel.

  ‘It was an anonymous caller, who said a woman was strapped with a chest bomb, and he demanded Thomas Steel defuse it. I was sent to confirm whether it was a genuine threat or a hoax. I think it’s genuine.’

  ‘You think?’ asked Steel, his brow furrowing in uncharacteristic contempt.

  ‘She wouldn’t let me come near, kept repeating, “Don’t. He’ll detonate the bomb.” She’s absolutely terrified.’

  Steel patted the officer on the shoulder, ‘Thanks, buddy. Looks like this job is cut out for me.’

  He put on his Kevlar vest, then took a deep breath. The other paraphernalia could wait; first, he had to determine the type of bomb the lowlife had attached to the poor woman; whatever he put on next would depend on what it was.

  He walked towards her confidently but felt his knees buckle when he came face-to-face with his wife. She was wearing her wedding gown. Made to wear it.

  Bianca’s face was streaked with tears, mascara staining her fair skin. She tried to smile at him, raised her hands from her side. They were shaking. He took hold of them, caressed and kissed them. Sweat was pouring out of her although it was a cool day, leaving a dark, wet patch on her white satin and lace gown.

  People at the scene were riveted at what they were witnessing, until Lane said, ‘It’s Bianca.’

  ‘Who’s Bianca?’ asked one of the forensic technicians.

  ‘His wife.’

  STEEL WAS SHOCKED. Who could do this to her?

  He was determined not to be beaten by fear, but fear was so overwhelming, it
threatened his belief in himself. For once, he feared that he might fail to defuse this bomb.

  The first thing Bianca said to him was, ‘I love you, Thomas Steel.’

  ‘I love you Bianca Florentine Steel.’

  Then, she said, ‘Whatever happens, promise me you’ll live. If you can’t defuse it, promise me you’ll walk away. Promise me.’

  He couldn’t speak. Sweat and tears rolled down his face.

  2: Four Hours Earlier

  BIANCA PLAYFULLY KICKED her husband under the blanket. ‘Your turn,’ she said in a whisper.

  He let out a sleepy ‘Hmm?’ He was pretending to be asleep, but he wasn’t fooling her.

  ‘Your turn,’ she said again, this time, she pulled the blanket off him.

  It generated a reaction, he turned around and looked at her with squinty eyes, ‘My turn to do what?’

  ‘Feed the dogs.’

  April and May, named after the months they were adopted, were outside their bedroom door making a fuss. He was silent for a minute wondering how on earth these two still slept inside the house when he, at great expense and considerable effort, built them a dog mansion. It was out there in the backyard, a barren symbol of his love and devotion to them.

  He turned to Bianca, ‘I have a better idea,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘let’s get rid of them.’

  She pouted. ‘I’d get rid of you before I get rid of them,’ she said.

  ‘What did you just say?’.

  ‘Nothing.’ She rolled out of bed, looking alluringly bedraggled if there was such a thing. She was about to head for the door when she felt a sharp tug on the edge of her night dress, his old T-shirt, and heard him say, ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  She fell back on the bed; he quickly straddled her, ‘You’re not getting rid of me, ever.’

  Upon hearing his voice, April, the German-Shepherd, and May, the Yorkshire terrier, got all excited. Turning towards the closed door, he shouted, ‘Shut up’ which excited the dogs even more. She laughed at him, and he smiled at her.

  ‘What will I get if I feed them?’ He asked. She played with strands of his curly hair, glanced at the time and suggestively said, ‘Tonight.’

  Losing the smile, he said, ‘What’s wrong with now?’

  ‘It’s six. You need to be out of here by seven or else...’

  He tilted his head back and groaned, struggling to contain his arousal. Just to torture him, Bianca pulled him towards her and licked his lips. ‘That’s very naughty, Mrs. Steel.’

  She laughed and pushed him off. ‘Go, have a cold shower. I’ll feed them.’

  Half an hour later, he joined her in the kitchen and helped himself to a bowl of cereal, which he drowned in a quarter litre of milk. ‘What are you up to, today Munchkin?’

  Her eyes twinkled. ‘I’ve been invited to a reception at City Hall. The City is honouring some of the best forensic scientists in the State.’

  He stared at her. Reading his mind, she smiled, ‘No silly... not me. But Imogen Suzuki, my boss. I’m just a tag-along.’

  ‘And a beautiful one,’ he said as he kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I better get going. Need to set a good example for the kids.’ Steel was referring to the three newbies in his team. Not the dogs.

  3: Not Just another Day at the Office

  HE ARRIVED AT HQ AT eight in the morning for a 09:00 start. Sergeant Dylan Lane was already in, no surprises there. All along, it had been suspected that the Fearless Leader had a hidey hole somewhere in the building. ‘Coffee, Sarge?’

  ‘That would be nice,’ Lane replied with a smirk.

  From behind, Steel produced a cup of Starbucks’ cappuccino. Lane smiled, genuinely, this time. ‘Sit down,’ he said.

  Steel sat, stretched his long legs out, and clasped his hands behind his head. Evidently, he was grateful for a chance to have a relaxed chinwag with the Boss.

  Lane fired the first question, ‘You’ve been a Team Leader for three months now. So, what do you think?’

  Steel leaned forward to tap the table with his long fingers before answering. ‘I like it. Don’t know why I didn’t fight to get it years ago. I’d have been promoted to your position by now,’ he said, his trademark grin stretching his face.

  ‘Don’t get too ambitious, Easy,’ Lane said, adding, with a poker-face, ‘I just finished writing a report on your first quarter performance. Just wrote here that you have no idea. No idea at all.’

  Steel gaped at Lane, not daring to draw breath.

  His superior continued, ‘Seriously, you have no idea how good you are.’

  He laughed and shook his head.

  Lane tapped his hand, ‘There’s your team. I want them running on the treadmill until they pass out.’

  AT PRECISELY NINE IN the morning, Bianca arrived at City Hall and quickly found her way to the reception hall. She’d been a government employee for seven years, but had never set foot in the famous landmark. She had no reason to visit until today.

  She heard someone call out her name and knew from the sophisticated French accent it could only be her manager, ‘Hey, Boss.’

  The head of her division was American-French Canadian, born in Montreal, raised in New York.

  ‘How many times must I tell you my name is Imogen, not Boss. Boss Suzuki just sounds ugly.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Imogen’ she said with a smile, ‘well, look who’s here?’ She let him peck her on the cheek. Takashi Suzuki, Imogen’s husband, was another one of the six honourees. The husband and wife team were formidable bright minds and advocates of medico-legal approach to crime solving and policing.

  AT TEN TO TEN, AN ANONYMOUS caller phoned 911 to let them know a woman was standing outside City Hall with a bomb strapped to her chest.

  Fifteen minutes after that call, Thomas ‘Easy’ Steel stood face-to-face with that woman; his wife.

  He closed his eyes as he gripped Bianca’s trembling hands; she was unable to stop the tears.

  ‘Sit-rep,’ murmured Lane, almost hesitant to intrude but must.

  Steel heard his radio crackle and forced himself to focus on the voice in his ears asking for an update. He confirmed what they already knew, so just for the record, he said, ‘It’s Bianca.’

  The fact he had stated it categorically made them all stop what they were doing, frozen on the spot. Their blood ran cold.

  ‘What the fuck?’ said Frank Knight, one of the three newbies in his Team.

  ‘Shit,’ said Lea Kearns, one of the rare breed of women who was into dismantling bombs.

  With the Team Leader otherwise occupied, the Bomb Squad Boss, Dylan Lane stepped to the plate. ‘Yamamoto, I need you in the Command Truck. Kearns, stay close, you’re my second. Knight, I need you to coordinate with the patrol officers. Make sure everyone’s been evacuated, and the perimeter is tight.’

  ‘Copy,’ he said.

  ‘Martin, find out what Bianca was doing here at City Hall.’

  ‘Copy.’

  THIS BOMB SQUAD UNIT was a microcosm of the racial diversity that was quintessentially New York. Jean Martin, a dual citizen, was formerly of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police until he switched sides. He was nicknamed ‘Traitor’ for this reason. ‘It’s okay,’ they often teased, ‘he’s our Traitor.’

  French by ethnicity, but Canadian and American by citizenship, Martin was multilingual. Aside from his proficiency with bomb disposal, he was also a trained sniper, martial arts instructor; not to mention tall and drop dead gorgeous.

  Aiza Yamamoto was second generation Japanese-American. Also, multilingual, computer whiz kid, gymnast, parkour practitioner, and cute as a button.

  Frank Knight. According to his résumé, also multilingual (British English, American English, Australian English, New Zealand English and Irish English), dive specialist, frustrated comedian, and cool as a cucumber.

  Lee (short for Leandra Rose) Kearns was African-American and a force to be reckoned with. A former Marine, she was second-in-command to Thomas Steel. He often said, ‘
She’s the one, and she’s got my back.’

  TEN MINUTES LATER, Martin returned. He was with Tack and Imogen Suzuki. ‘Sarge, this is Imogen Suzuki, Bianca’s Boss. Tack Suzuki, her husband.’

  Lane smiled, ‘I know them.’ He and Tack studied at the Police Academy about the same time.

  Tack said as they shook hands, ‘Long time, no see, my friend. I just wish we were meeting under better circumstances. Imogen works with Bianca, so I’ll get out of the way, but I’ll catch you later.’

  He turned to his wife, ‘I’ll be outside, hon.’

  Lane got down to brass tacks, ‘Can you tell me what happened in there?’ he asked.

  They had gathered around Imogen; she looked at their concerned faces.

  ‘Six forensic scientists, myself and Tack included were being honoured for our work. Bianca is my guest. We were in the reception hall around nine. We caught up for a little bit, then we were ushered to our seats.

  ‘Around 9:30, she excused herself to go to the ladies. When she didn’t return after some time, I went to look for her. She wasn’t in there but her purse...,’ she gave it to Lane, ‘...was. I found it lying next to the sink.

  ‘I told Tack what happened; we decided it was so unlike Bianca to disappear like that, so we alerted security. Not long after that, the building was being evacuated.’

  Lane consulted a clipboard, ‘HQ received the anonymous call at around 9:50.’

  ‘Sarge,’ interjected Yamamoto, ‘the bomb maker has to be close. Around 9:30 Bianca left to go to the toilet. At 9:50 we got a bomb call. That’s just twenty minutes to abduct Bianca, put her in her wedding gown and strap a bomb to her. The subject has to be here, maybe in that building.’

  ‘DID YOU HEAR THAT, Easy?’ Lane asked.

  ‘Copy,’ he said as he wiped Bianca’s tears away.