Collateral Damage: Silent Warrior, Book 1

by J. L. Saint

  Roger opened his mouth several times then clamped it shut before he could demand to know what in the hell she was doing there. A loud banging vibrated the line followed by the most profane string of derogatory hate that Roger had ever heard and that was saying a lot. Mari cried out, “Please hurry.”

  “What the hell was that?” Roger demanded, unable to keep his cool any longer. He slid into his car and was pushing past the speed limit in six seconds, determined to make the ten minute drive in five.

  “Angry man. Wants to…kill me. I’m locked in the bathroom.”

  He didn’t know what was going on but the frustration of not being able to immediately help had him twisted onto a massive knot of seething rage. “I’m coming. I’ll call the police and call you back.”

  “I’ve called them.”

  “Okay. Then talk to me. Do you think he can break down the door? You have to arm yourself and hide if you can.” Roger hit Interstate 95, heading toward Highway 87, his speedometer past ninety.

  Nothing about his surroundings registered except if it blocked his path. He could hear the man yelling at Mari again but the phone crackled. Then he heard Mari gasp. “I think I hear a siren.”

  Roger sucked in air, realizing he’d forgotten to breathe. “Good. Tell me what happened.”

  “I needed food. I didn’t want to go any place where…where I’d been with Neil and just drove around then saw this place. I was fine until the Doritos.” She exhaled hard. “Then I couldn’t finish. I had to leave and I opened the door too fast and hit this man with the door. He went crazy. His friend tried to get him to leave, but he wouldn’t. Not until he punished me. He pushed the clerk into a pickle stand. I think the clerk was so upset that he had a heart attack. Then the man came after me…he…he…Allah help me. He tried to make me touch him, but I stabbed him with a piece of glass and ran in here.”

  It was a miracle the steering wheel didn’t crack beneath the force of Roger’s grip as he exited onto Highway 87 and floored the gas pedal. His gut and his heart were stuck somewhere in his throat, making it hard to breathe or speak. He forced the question through his clenched teeth. “Did he hurt you? Hurt the baby?”

  “No. Please. Not like before. I escaped this time. No shame. Please. They will not send me back, will they?”

  Before? Neil had mentioned that Mari had suffered a traumatic experience in Afghanistan, but hadn’t revealed what. Dear God. Had she been raped? “Nobody is going to send you anywhere. Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “But I hurt the man. Won’t they make me pay for that?”

  “You were defending yourself. Is the man still there?”

  “I think he left. The sirens are closer. He said he was going to kill me.”

  “He won’t get near you. I promise. I see the police pulling into the parking lot now. Just hold on.”

  The police were already out of the car with their Glock 22’s drawn when Roger pulled into the parking lot. Glass from the double doors to the food mart lay in a shattered pile on the sidewalk. One officer turned his pistol toward Roger and shouted something. Mari was still on the phone talking so Roger missed what the officer said.

  Roger shoved the car into park and held up his hands, showing the officer he was unarmed. He pointed at the phone then rolled down the window. “There’s a woman trapped in the bathroom. I have her on the phone. She’s the one who called 911.”

  The officer stepped closer, pistol at the ready, but barrel pointed to the side. “Who are you?”

  Delta didn’t wear uniforms or regulation haircuts. They did little to set them apart from any regular Joe on the street. He held up his Fort Bragg ID pass.

  “Her husband’s military commander, Officer Cain.” Roger noted the man’s name. Though young, the man seemed calm and in control. “There were two men involved and I’m sure the clerk inside needs an ambulance. I’ll wait here until you check the place out.”

  The cop nodded after a hard stare and rejoined his partner, who was plastered against the wall outside of the store. At the same time they rushed through the front door, one dropping low, the other high, then they disappeared inside.

  “Stay where you are,” Roger told Mari over the phone. “The police are checking the store out now.”

  “I can’t come out,” Mari said. “They can’t see me. I’m indecent.”

  “He ripped your clothes?” A dizzying rush of rage sliced through him. What had she been through?

  “My hijāb. He took it. He tried to choke me with it. It is improper to be seen in public without it.”

  Roger let his head fall back to the headrest and mentally counted to regain his equilibrium. He was one hundred percent positive that if Mari’s attacker walked out the door at that moment, Roger would strangle him with his bare hands, police or no police.

  “Are you there, Mr. Weston?”

  “Yeah.” His voice grated hoarsely. “Call me Roger, so the police know that you know me.” He glanced through his car for something she could use and produced a clean towel from his gym bag. He could hear a multitude of sirens growing closer. People were stopping on the street to look.

  “The police want me to come out,” Mari said. “I can’t.”

  “Hold on. I’ll be right there.” Roger exited and locked his car then slowly approached the front of the store and called out. The scent of pickles tickled his nose. “Officer Cain. Can you hear me? It’s Lt. Col. Weston.”

  “I hear you.”

  “Mari won’t come out until she has this towel. The bastard took her headscarf. He tried to choke her with it. She’s Muslim.”

  A moment of silence followed. “Don’t touch anything. You can bring it here.”

  Roger crossed the threshold, his eyes quickly adjusting to the lighting. The clean and orderly set up of the food mart was violated by the remnants of violence…and death, he thought as he ran his gaze over the elderly man lying in a bed of glass, pickles and blood. That it could have easily been Mari in the pile as well burned in his gut. He moved to the back of the store and storage room with a grim determination to nail the bastards responsible. He crossed the hazardous sea of nuts on the ground and joined the policemen.

  The officers had their guns drawn, and were situated outside the bathroom in defensive stances. They were still in full alert mode. Roger knew Mari wasn’t a threat, but they didn’t. Roger held up the towel and his hands to assure them he was unarmed. “Let me talk to her and give her this.”

  Officer Cain nodded. “Go ahead, but tell her to come out with her hands where we can see them. Until we know what went down here, we aren’t taking any chances.”

  “You can’t these days,” Roger agreed. He moved over to the door. “Mari, it’s Roger. I have a head covering for you. You can open the door. It’s safe now.”

  Roger heard a low moan then the clicking of a bolt. The door cracked open and, oh shit, a paper towel wrapped bloody hand stuck out. Several drops of blood plopped onto the floor. His stomach flipped.

  “You’re hurt! Move back.” Screw propriety. Sometimes there were more important things. “I’m coming in.” Roger glared at the cops, daring them to argue with him. They lowered their Glocks and nodded.

  Roger slid into the bathroom. Mari turned from him with a cry. She faced the wall with her head bowed as if shamed. He plopped the towel on her head, covering the thick mass of wavy, impossibly long hair the color of black lacquer. He was damn certain he should be wrapping her cut hands instead. He moved around to face her and crouched down to look into her haunted amber-gold eyes. “I don’t know what you have to do, or how you have to think of me in order for it to be acceptable with your beliefs for me to help you, but whatever it takes, do it or think it because that’s what’s going to happen. Understand?”

  His breath hitched. In the two years he’d known her, Mari had always been covered with only her eyes visible, and all too often her gaze had remained downcast during any short conversation. He’d never actually seen her bef
ore. Roger had supposed shyness and her religious upbringing dictated her interactions and he had always made sure he was as kind and as respectful as possible. Now as he looked at her and realized just how secluded and hidden she constantly lived, he found himself really questioning why. God didn’t create beauty and bury it in the dirt. Nor did God mean for the human heart and spirit to be hidden from the world. Lights were meant to shine in the darkness. Frightened out of her mind, disheveled, blood smeared on her honey-cream skin, she had to be the most stunning woman he’d ever seen.

  “The ambulance is here,” Officer Cain called out.

  Roger didn’t wait for Mari to answer; he swept her into his arms and carried her out to the paramedics. But the way she exhaled and let her head rest against his chest was answer enough.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Lauren released the steering wheel, her hands cramping from the intensity of her grip. She had just lived the longest, most agonizing ten minutes of her life, and now that she’d finally made it to Angie’s neighborhood, she realized her angst had only begun. Seeing Angie’s car in the driveway, parked exactly where it was sixty minutes ago was not a good sign. During the multiple unanswered calls Lauren had made on the drive over, she had desperately prayed that Angie had taken the boys out to eat and had forgotten her cell phone at home.

  So finding Angie’s car left Lauren facing the increasing possibility that her sons and her best friend were in danger. She’d made a grave mistake. She’d always abdicated the protection of herself and her family to someone else, something else, or the Shepherds. She knew absolutely nothing about self defense. She didn’t have a gun, didn’t know how to use one, had never even touched one. Not that she would go barreling into Angie’s house with a gun drawn like a TV show, but she fully realized 911 wouldn’t have done her a damn bit of good against the gunman at her house. 911 only helped if there was the time and the opportunity to call for help, and the police were able to arrive in time to do any good. What were the odds all of those elements would work that smoothly every time?

  She—

  The front passenger’s door opened and she barely stifled the scream rising in her throat as Jack slid into the seat. Her blind grab for the towel bar came up empty. It had fallen between the seat and the console. She made a mental note to get her hands on a better weapon.

  “I’m about ninety-five percent sure you weren’t followed,” he said. “But there’s an off chance I didn’t spot a tail, so stay alert. The traffic and the short distance didn’t work in our favor. Which house?”

  “The tan one with the red Camry in the driveway. The car is parked exactly where it was when I left. They should be there. They should be answering the phone.”

  Jack reached over and touched her hand. His fingers were warm, comforting. The summery day was hot, but she was cold, an icy fear had wrapped her in a chilling grip.

  “Hang in there. We’ll find your sons and we’ll keep them safe.” His calm assurance brushed soothingly over her knotted angst.

  She blinked back the moisture in her eyes and inhaled. She believed him. She had to.

  He scanned the neighborhood. “I’m going to circle around and check out the house from the back. You can’t stay here. You’re a sitting duck parked in this car, especially if he managed to follow us. Come with me, but when we get close to the house you have to stay hidden until I give the go ahead. Got it?”

  “Yeah.” She’d crawl through fire to get closer to her sons. She had feared he would leave her behind; insist she stay in the stifling car. The wait would have driven her crazy.

  “Bring the dogs with us. If your sons are being held hostage, the dogs might help.” He didn’t waste any more time. He checked the area again and exited the car.

  She clipped on Sasha’s and Sam’s leashes then, at Jack’s direction, she followed his lead, keeping to the shadows. The older neighborhood was lush with sprawling oaks, gleaming hedges and rolling lawns. Sunday afternoon in a populated city came at her, the drone of traffic and lawnmowers, a tinny radio, distant children shouting and laughing, a dog barking. Nothing sinister. Just an apple-pie-and-pass-the-grits normal day in the South, which made her situation even more surreal.

  Alarms should be going off.

  She should be screaming for help.

  The world should be at a standstill instead of marching along as if nothing were wrong.

  Even the fragrance of blooming tea roses and honeysuckle warmed by the afternoon sun were too cozy. The scent grated harshly over her nerves.

  She stumbled as Sasha and Sam plowed ahead, pulling hard against their leashes. Jack caught her elbow and then reined the Shepherds in with a quiet, firm command that had them moving stealthily at his side. Move over, Dog Whisperer, there was a new Alpha in town.

  Luckily there were only hedges to navigate through between this end of the block and Angie’s house. Farther down were the fences, likely enclosing swimming pools as required by law.

  In less than two minutes, they were one house away from Angie’s. Since the boys’ birthday party yesterday, the unfolding events had skewed Lauren’s perception of time, tilted it sickly on some warped, metaphysical axis in her mind. She wanted everything to happen instantly.

  Jack approached the house from the right side where a wealth of tree coverage went all the way to the windows of Angie’s three bedroom ranch. Angie often complained about the oak’s branches creaking during strong winds or a heavy rain, completely sure they’d land in her bed one day. Lauren waited one house away, beneath the dark overhang of a carport attached to a storage shed. Gardening tools and a lawn mower filled the space and she grabbed a trowel, figuring its sharp prongs could do some major damage. Jack silently moved to each window and peered inside then disappeared around the corner of the house.

  She held her breath as precious seconds ticked by.

  He came back looking grim. “The back door is ajar and the house is empty.”

  Lauren moaned, somewhere between a scream and a cry.

  He grabbed her arms. “Listen. There’re no signs of violence or a struggle, so don’t go jumping to conclusions yet.”

  “Let me look,” she whispered, her heart struggling to beat as her mind raced. Angie wouldn’t have left the door open. And if a gunman had taken either Matt or Mitch hostage, there would be no signs of a struggle. Angie would have cooperated.

  She might have left some sort of hint or clue, Lauren thought to herself and prayed to find something. How did mothers ever face this horror? Missing their child or children. Not knowing what was happening to them? If they were okay…hurt…oh God.

  Trowel clutched in hand, Lauren followed Jack as he again cautiously approached the house from the back. Her stomach churned. A cold sweat had her palms damp and her body shivered as she crossed the threshold.

  Silence, an ugly dark pit of it, surrounded her as she swept her gaze back and forth for any clue. The house—their stuff and Angie’s belongings—was exactly as Lauren had left it a short time ago. The TV was on and muted. Thomas the Tank Engine filled the screen. Tears blurred her eyes and she sucked in air, realizing she had barely breathed since entering the house.

  The scent of peanut butter smacked her. She went to the kitchen sink. “They ate PBJs.” She located two lunch plates with crusts and two almost empty glasses of milk in the sink. Jack touched the milk glass.

  “It’s still cold.” He marched over to the TV and paused the DVD. “How long ago did you leave here?”

  “About sixty minutes.”

  “This has only been running for twenty minutes.”

  Lauren’s eyes widened. “Which means that they were here and fine then.”

  Jack’s gaze dropped to the floor, his expression darkened, his body tensed. The dogs suddenly pawed at the now-closed back door. Lauren ran the few steps to the door. “That’s how they always greet the boys.”

  Jack’s sixth sense screamed. “Wait, Laur—” But she didn’t hear his
warning, the dogs’ barking had drowned him out.

  Lauren jerked open the door, expecting to see Angie and her sons, totally not registering Jack’s booming for her to stop until it was too late.

  Before she could blink, she found herself sandwiched against the wall with Jack plastered to her back. Her trowel clattered to the floor as surprise left her fingers nerveless. His heat and the deadly tension in his hard body were overwhelming. He had is gun in hand. No one was at the door and the dogs barreled out.

  “There’re fresh muddy prints on the kitchen mat,” Jack said harshly. “They’re about size twelve men’s shoe. My size, but they’re not mine. So Angie had a welcomed or unwelcomed guest here within the past hour. My guess is unwelcomed and that someone could have been at the door. Opening it could have been a fatal mistake.” She nodded, gulping for air. He continued, “You have to think before you react and remember EVERYTHING is suspect. The boys could have been outside with Angie and the muddy footprints could mean nothing at all, or the boys and Angie could have been being held at gunpoint. In which case, any edge that I might have had in sneaking around and surprising them from behind would have been lost when you opened the door. So look before you leap, or before you open a door in this case.”

  Lauren realized to her core that the world as she’d always known it was gone as effectively as if she had been transported to another planet. She looked at the mat by the sink Jack referred to. “The prints are new. They weren’t there when I left. I know because I swept up cornflakes after Matt dropped the box while climbing up to the top of the pantry. And Angie was not expecting anyone to come over.”

  “Then we’ll assume they’re in danger.” Sasha and Sam continued to bark and Jack grabbed her hand, pulling her with him as he slipped to the outside porch and scanned the area, his gun ready. “Stay close. Stay low, and do what I do. The Shepherds might be tracking your sons.” Jack kept to the shadows, knowing how to blend in with the scenery and using that skill like a master.

  Sasha and Sam went to a gate three houses away from Angie’s and pawed the wooden privacy fence, begging to get inside.