by Myla Jackson
He grabbed her hand before she could put fingerprints all over the shiny medal. “Ma’am, I’m on duty.” Wyatt set her aside, gently but firmly.
“My apologies. My name is Brigitte.” The woman held out her hand as if to shake his.
Reluctantly he took hers and she deposited a keycard in his palm, leaned close and whispered, “Room two-eleven.”
“Ma’am, you don’t want to lose this.” He handed it back to her and stepped back.
When the blonde frowned and opened her mouth to say something, Joe loosened his grip on Bacchus’s lead and the dog pressed his nose to the woman’s crotch.
She squealed and jumped back. “Get that filthy creature away from me!”
“Sorry, ma’am. Bacchus, like some people, forgets his manners on occasion.”
Her cheeks reddened and she sputtered. “Well, I never.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Joe smiled. “I’m sure you never.”
The woman pulled herself up to her full height. “Come on, Meredith.”
The brunette giggled. “I seem to have dropped my lipstick tube. I’ll be with you in a minute, Brigitte.”
When Brigitte had gone into the hotel, Meredith smiled. “Bacchus is a rascal.” She bent to scratch the dog’s ears. “Or is it his master who’s the rascal?” She glanced up, her smile remaining firm, her brows raised in question.
Joe shrugged. “Can’t say. I don’t speak dog.”
Meredith winked. “I think you understand Bacchus better than you let on.” She held out her hand. He took it, tentatively. “Nice to meet you.”
Meredith grinned up at Wyatt and followed the blonde into the hotel.
Joe bent to pat Bacchus head. “He’s a better judge of character than most people.”
Wyatt laughed. “You can say that again.” He glanced at the brunette as she disappeared into the lobby. “You could have had her number by just asking.”
His friend shook his head. “Not sure I’m ready.”
Wyatt understood exactly what Joe was saying. “Do you think we’ll ever be ready again?”
Joe scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I hope so. That one caught my interest enough to think about it. I suppose that’s heading in the right direction.”
An image of Fiona standing naked in the shower flashed in Wyatt’s mind and he pushed it firmly back. “How’s it going out here?”
“So far so good. Only had to turn away one drunk and one salesman.”
Wyatt glanced around. “I thought Preston was going to man the front with you.”
“He only stuck around for the first hour. I haven’t seen him since. Said something about checking out the east entrance.”
“I was just there and didn’t see him.”
Joe touched his radio. “Try him on the box?”
Wyatt nodded. “Twice. No answer.”
Tapping the side of his handheld radio, Joe shook his head. “That’s the one thing we could count on in the army, good radios.”
“These aren’t bad. I tested them thoroughly earlier today, before Fiona issued them to us. They were working fine then and they have fresh batteries.”
“Guess you’ll have to find him without technology.” Joe jerked his head toward the door. “How’s it going inside?”
“So far no major incidents.”
“I caught a glimpse of Fiona.” Joe’s mouth quirked at the corners. “Just tell me you’re not interested and I’ll be all over her like a dog on a bone.”
Wyatt’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed in a glare. “I thought you weren’t ready for a relationship?”
Joe raised his hands. “Just sayin’. She’s a looker, that one.”
Wyatt knew. She looked good in her evening gown with her hair piled high on her head. Fiona looked even better naked, wet and panting in the middle of hot and heavy sex.
His cock twitched and he had to remind himself not to get too stirred up while in uniform. His trousers were tailor-made with no pleats to allow for sudden expansion of parts farther south.
“Would love to be a fly on the wall in there. I hear there are several dignitaries not too proud to pick a fight.”
“You want to take a turn around the ballroom?” Wyatt asked, knowing the answer before he asked the question. Joe had a distinct aversion to formal events. The black slacks, shirt and tie were his only concessions to being strapped into a monkey suit for hours.
“Hell no. That kind of stuff gives me the willies.” Joe nodded toward Wyatt. “You trying to impress Fiona with that chest full of medals?”
Heat rose up Wyatt’s neck. “Not really. It was the closest thing I had to a tuxedo. And I only wear it once a year. Didn’t see spending good money on tuxedo rental.”
Joe shivered. “Can’t see how you wear it. Too confining for me. Reminds me of wearing flack vests in Fallujah. Couldn’t breathe in all that equipment, much less maneuver fast enough to keep from being shot.”
They’d been together in the fight to capture Fallujah, taking one building at a time. The tension had been palpable and they’d all been on their toes. This situation didn’t call for an enemy around every corner, but it had its moments of tension. Though nothing like what they’d experienced in Iraq or Afghanistan. And nothing at all like what he’d endured in Somalia. Yeah, it was good to be back in the States for a while.
Glancing around once more at the relative calm of the activities at the entrance, Wyatt nodded. “I’m going to find Preston, then I’m headed back into the ballroom.”
“Better you than me and Bacchus. Although Bacchus likes the music.” Joe’s lips twisted. “When someone leaves the door open long enough, his tail starts twitching to the beat.”
As if on cue, a guest passed through the entrance and paused. The music from the ballroom drifted out to where they stood and Bacchus’s tail swished back and forth in rhythm.
A brief smile slipped across Wyatt’s face. He was glad his buddy Joe had Bacchus and his dog training business. Without it, he’d have fallen victim to PTSD, alcohol and possibly drug addiction.
For once, Wyatt was really happy to be in San Antonio instead of back in Somalia. And he realized much of his relief was due to his focus on Fiona. He was also glad that the danger here seemed limited to cat fights between delegates, versus hard to find and uproot Somali militants and Al-Qaeda terrorists.
Ducking back through the front door, he headed for the elevator, stepped in and punched the down button for the parking garage, the last place he planned to check anyway. Perhaps Preston was making his rounds and had ended up there.
When Wyatt stepped out of the elevator into the echoing, concrete walls of the parking garage, he was struck first by the lack of a guard on the elevator. His instincts perked and he loosened the button on his jacket to make it easier for him to reach for the gun nestled in the shoulder holster beneath.
There were two sub-levels to the parking garage. As he moved through the bays filled with vehicles, he didn’t spot even one guest. But something strange caught his attention on one of the concrete support pillars in a dark corner of the garage. A flashing red light blinked at him. As he neared it, he noted the creamy white clay-like substance, wrapped in black electrical tape, a mechanical box settled in the middle with wires poking out of it.
Wyatt’s gut clenched. He knew exactly what it was, having worked with it on many operations in Iraq, Afghanistan and Somalia.
C-4 explosives equipped to be remotely detonated.
Not knowing how many of the devices there could be in the building or when whoever had set them planned to detonate, he did the only thing he could think of, and yanked the wires out of the detonator, disabling the unit.
He got on his radio. “Joe, we have a problem.”
“Tell me,” Joe responded.
“C-4 in the parking garage, wired for remote detonation. I t
hink Preston set them.”
“Fuck. I’ll start the evacuation up here. You better get out while you can.”
“Make it quiet. If Preston is still down here, he has a detonator. I don’t want him alerted that we’re on to him.” Wyatt’s jaw hardened. Why hadn’t Preston set off the explosions? The man had issues. Perhaps he could be talked out of destroying the hotel and the people in it. “I’m going to see if I can stop this.”
“Wyatt, this world doesn’t need another hero.”
“Just get them all out. And make sure Fiona is one of those evacuated, will ya?”
“Got it. Once the evacuation is underway, I’ll bring Bacchus down. He’s trained to sniff out C-4.”
“Deal.”
His heart pounding against his ribs, Wyatt raced through the garage, spotting two more of the lumps of clay-like charges, pulling the detonators from those as well. He couldn’t be sure he had them all and in the meantime, he had to get the people out of the building.
A car had just pulled into a parking space and the driver got out, spotting Wyatt coming toward him, he asked, “Is the hotel for the International Trade Convention social?”
Wyatt hurried up to the driver. When he was close enough to whisper, he told him, “Get out of the garage. Now.”
“But we just got here,” the man replied. “Is something wrong?”
Wyatt snorted. He didn’t have time to stop and explain. “There are bombs planted all over this garage. If you want to live, get your date and get the hell out, quietly. The man responsible might still be down here.”
The woman in the passenger seat cried out, jerked the door open and got to her feet.
The man grabbed the woman’s hand and hustled her back out the ramp to the exit, hurrying her along in her high heels.
After disarming the charges he could find, Wyatt circled around the ramp heading into the bottom level of the parking garage. At first it appeared empty.
When he stepped out into the open, a shot rang out, nicking his arm. Wyatt dove behind a vehicle as another bang echoed against the walls.
“You can’t stop this,” a voice called out, one Wyatt recognized as Preston.
“Preston, whatever your issues are, we can get you help.” Wyatt moved to the opposite end of the vehicle and eased around it.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Wyatt dropped to his chest and peered beneath the chassis of the Cadillac he was using for cover. He spotted Preston’s legs moving toward the stairwell. “Try me, Preston. I’m listening.”
“It’s too late. I have to set these off before they evacuate.”
“No, you don’t. These people don’t have to die. There are always solutions. Give yourself a chance.”
“No. I’m done and all those people who’ve pretended to be our friends, the countries who say they’re on our side and then kill us every chance they get, tonight, they’ll know.”
“What will they know, Preston?” Wyatt worked his way around one car, then another.
“The world will know that they all lie. We try to help them and they kill us. They killed every one of the men in my unit. And we were fucking trying to help them.”
“Preston, I’ve been there,” Wyatt called out softly. “I’ve seen my friends die in a battle we seem destined to lose. If we don’t try, if we don’t keep fighting for right, they win.”
“That’s just it. They’ve already won. Our government is too stupid to figure it out, and they want to keep giving the enemy money, keep educating them and building their fucking buildings for them. It’s got to stop.”
“This isn’t the way to do it, Preston. Killing innocent people isn’t the way to stop them.”
“Maybe it’ll make our enemies think before coming to our country and pretending they’re on our side. I’m tired of diplomacy. It doesn’t work.”
While Preston had been talking, Wyatt worked his way around the ends of half a dozen cars. He could see Preston pushing more C-4 into place with the detonator already strapped to it.
Wyatt started to stand. A loud bang exploded close by and a bullet pinged off the car beside him.
“Get back, Magnus. I don’t have a beef with you. If you want to live, get out now.” He fired at him again and ran for the staircase.
Wyatt raced after him, but didn’t reach him before the door closed and a bullet fired into the lock disabled it. He couldn’t follow Preston using that route, so he ran to the elevator, and punched the up arrow, speaking into his handheld radio. “Joe.”
“Wyatt, where are you?”
The door opened and he stepped in. “Coming up from the garage. It is Preston. He’s got some bone to pick with foreign countries and has set C-4 charges in the parking garage. He got away from me and is headed up. I don’t know where. And he’s also armed and has already fired at me several times.”
“Damn. I should have known he was a loose cannon when Bacchus growled at him. Look, they’re taking all the delegates from the ballroom out into the side alley,” Joe informed him. “I’m at the front entrance, monitoring progress.”
“Do you have a visual on Fiona and Maddie?”
“I saw Maddie out front, but not Fiona.” Joe cut out for a moment. “Sorry, someone bumped into me. Place is crazy. But I’ll let you know when I see them.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Don’t worry, Magnus, I’ll keep an eye out for your girl.”
“Gotta go. I’m on my way up to the lobby.” Wyatt burst through the door into the richly carpeted reception area on the lobby level. Women dressed in ball gowns and men in tuxedos or black suits hurried toward the exit. Some of the hotel guests wore bathrobes and bedroom slippers as if they’d just gone to bed when the evacuation had begun.
Hotel staff apologized for the inconvenience as they assured the guests they’d get to the bottom of the problem as soon as possible, while they ushered them out the door.
A child whimpered, a man called out to his wife and everyone was talking at once. But all in all it was more of a controlled chaos with the mass of people moving steadily outside.
They just weren’t moving fast enough. If Preston set off the charges…
Wyatt exited through the side door, searching the crowd of faces for Fiona, the darkness and people standing around hampering his efforts.
His radio chirped and he held it to his mouth. “Find her?” he barked.
“No. She’s not out the front of the building, nor is she answering her radio. I’m headed around the side.”
“Fuck. I’m here on the side of the building. She’s not here either.”
Sirens sounded in the distance, headed their way.
Wyatt pushed his way back to the door. “I’m going back in.”
“The staff is blocking the exits, waiting for the fire department to arrive. They’re only allowing people out. No one is going in.”
“Bullshit.” When Wyatt reached the exit door he’d come out of, he tried the handle. It was locked.
Damn. He was turning toward the front of the building when the door opened and the man he recognized as the Brazilian delegate pushed through with a beautiful woman clinging to his arm, her makeup smeared from tears. She spoke in rapid Portuguese and a fresh round of tears erupted.
Wyatt dove for the door before it swung shut and reentered the hotel.
“Sir, no one is allowed back inside.”
“It’s okay, I’m head of the security staff,” Wyatt said.
“We were under strict instructions to get everyone out. The bomb squad is on its way. You can’t go inside.”
The man blocked Wyatt’s path.
His heartbeat hammering in his chest, every combat instinct sprang to life. Wyatt’s eyes narrowed and he had to remind himself the staff member was not his enemy. “Move out of my way, or I’ll move you
out of my way. And trust me, you won’t like the way I move you.”
Something in the steely tone of his voice got through to the man because he stepped to the side. “You’re on your own, buddy. I’m not taking responsibility for your life if this building explodes.” The man pushed past him and exited through the door he’d been guarding.
Wyatt raced for the ballroom.
The room was empty, the picked-over tables of food standing as a reminder of the festivities that only a few minutes before had been underway. No one had stayed.
If she wasn’t out front or at the side entrance, where could Fiona have gone?
Surely she hadn’t tried to go up to their rooms or to one of the floors to help someone else get out of the hotel?
Someone had turned off the elevators. Wyatt headed for the stairwell and ran up the flights of stairs stopping at every floor to check the hallways. “Fiona!” he yelled. No one stirred on the first or second floors. When he reached the third floor, he hurried down the hallway to the room he’d shared with Fiona and swiped his key through the card reader.
She wasn’t in the bedroom or bathroom touching up her makeup. Nor was she in the hallway or at either entrance to the entire building. How had he missed her?
His pulse pounding, Wyatt ran back down to the lobby level and stood for a moment in the empty space. Even the hotel staff had left. The faint sound of emergency vehicles heralded the arrival of the fire department and police.
So far he didn’t smell any smoke and nothing had exploded. He didn’t like that the hotel guests had all been herded out into the open where any fool could take a shot at them. Including Preston. Hopefully, with police and firemen surrounding the area, nothing would happen to the guests. He prayed they all got out safely, Fiona with them. He’d only known her for a little more than twenty-four hours. From pulling her out of the river to making love to her twice to waltzing with her in his mess dress uniform, he’d packed a lot of getting to know her into the short time they’d been together. Damned if he didn’t like her drive, determination and gumption. Yeah, he liked her a lot. Too much to walk away, which would be the smartest thing to do for both him and her.