Badass: Deadly Target (Complete): Military Romantic Suspense

by Leslie Johnson

  Badass: Jungle Fever (Complete)

  Tate Rodgers is a bad ass ex Green Beret billionaire, and Link Duffy’s best friend. Camille Duffy is Link’s sister, a billionaire heiress.

  When Camille ignores his advice in Colombia, Tate is minutes behind. Will he be able to save her or will the jungle take them both.

  Sneak Peek - Stoking the Embers

  Chapter 1—Stephanie

  Turning onto Sunset, my hands are like lead weights on the steering wheel. I’m so tired; it’s bone deep. I could cry, knowing I still have hours of studying to complete before bed. I can’t continue this schedule much longer, something’s got to give. But I don’t know what that could be… job: gotta have it to eat; school: gotta have it for a better future; boyfriend: gotta have him for…

  For what? I don’t know how to answer that question. Support? Love? Neither of those words feel right.

  The sports car flying past me rocks me from my reverie. He’s so fast my car shakes from the wind shear he leaves in his wake. Where did he come from? I check my mirror, looks like he’s the only one driving at breakneck speed.

  I speed up too, wanting to be home and put this shitty day behind me. I have to focus on my studies, I have to do well on Donovan’s exam. Plus, I have to work tomorrow, the morning shift from six a.m. to noon.

  Bath first. Study second. Dinner somewhere in between—probably ramen noodles, again.

  Although my windows are up and the air conditioner is on full blast in relief of this hot Vegas day, I hear it. Metal on metal, the bams and pops of a wreck. Glass exploding, steel wrenching and then quiet.

  I drive forward, trying to see the damage. Oh my god. One. No two. No three cars are involved.

  Even though the radio is still playing, the stupid red sports car is unrecognizable. It now resembles a piece of the term paper I have so many times wadded in my hand. It’s under a white van—oh no, it’s a small church van—the kind that seats eight or sometimes twelve. There’s also a convertible involved. It’s lying on its side, girls hanging from their belts.

  This is bad. This is very bad. I’ve got to do something to help.

  Pulling as close as I dare, I look around and see two people talking on their phone. Good. They’re calling 911 I’m assuming. Now onto step two.

  I grab the stethoscope I keep in my backpack for nursing clinicals and pop open the glove box and pull out the pathetically small first-aid kit I keep in the car. I jump out, running to the trunk and snatch two towels and a ‘just in case’ sweater I always keep in there. Looking back at the wreck, I know there’s nothing in my car that can treat the injuries I’m about to witness.

  There is no time to think, I run to the wreckage. I smell smoke and gasoline… blood. I run toward it anyway. The sports car is first and so badly damaged I can’t see inside. The driver must be dead. This can’t be survivable. I run to the van that the car rammed into from behind.

  It is a church bus, oh God, filled with elderly men and women who appear to have been going on a field trip. I pull at the door handle on the sliding side door, knowing it won’t open, but I try anyway. The impact has crumpled it and it’s stuck. I couldn’t have opened it if I had super strength. The passenger side door opens and I jump inside and check the driver. His face is bloody, but he appears relatively okay despite the dash crumpled back on his legs.

  “Can you move? Can you get out?” I yell at him and he shakes his head.

  “My leg’s stuck.” He pulls on his leg as if to prove his point and his face contorts with pain.

  The sports car had hit the van in the back, pushing it into the convertible of girls coming through the intersection. Through the shattered front window, I see people trying to help the girls, who are bleeding but conscious, to get out. Good thing they were all buckled. If not they would have been laying on the street, most likely dead.

  Focus.

  “Help is coming,” I tell the driver and cross between the seats and to the front row of the van. There is a mixture of injuries, cries and moans. I ignore those who are conscious and aware and try to make my way to the back, where the scene becomes more and more ghastly with each hunched over step I take.

  Two dead, a man and a woman in the backseat, holding hands. The woman had fallen over into his lap. Tears fill my eyes. I’m not ready for this. I’ve never seen death this fresh, this brutal.

  The two people in the seat just before them are seriously hurt. Blood’s everywhere. I pull on gloves from the kit and do my best to assess the injuries. I tear apart the towel, pressing the cloth to the most grievous of wounds.

  My heart beats in my throat and the smoke makes my eyes tear, but I say as calmly as I am able, “Everyone who can, get out. Hurry.”

  The smell of plastic burning is horrendous. I glance and see no one is moving. I see people milling around outside, unsure what to do. I scramble to the front of the van and yell, “Help me get the less injured out of here.”

  Taking a deep breath of fresh air, I turn back into the gore and hurry past the hands that are reaching out to me, trying to make me stop to help their wounds. I say, “I’m sorry, let’s get you out of here.” I don’t stop for them. I know time is running out for the man and woman I was previously trying to help.

  Once again in the back, I cut the sleeve off the sweater I’d brought with me and use it as a tourniquet on the man’s heavily bleeding leg. I’m just a student. I’m not ready for this. Their lives couldn’t have been in less capable hands.

  Focus.

  I’m worried about the woman’s neck and yank off the scrub jacket I was wearing for clinicals. Folding it, I create a neck brace of sorts and use the tape in the kit to secure it around her neck.

  Pulses. They both have pulses, but both are weak and thready. They need a hospital. Surgery. Oxygen. Oh God, we all need oxygen, the smoke in the van is getting worse. I yank off my t-shirt, leaving me in my tank top, and tie it around my face, a feeble barrier against the smoke.

  Having done all I can do for these two, it’s time to save the others. Everyone will die if the van catches on fire, or worse, explodes. People are trying to help the frail passengers navigate between the front seats and out the passenger door. They’re going too slow, not one person has made it out. The passenger seat… is there a way to remove it?

  I scramble forward, searching for a release that might possibly allow the seat to be removed. Mom’s van had them, all but the driver’s seat could be taken out. I see nothing.

  “Can this seat be removed?” I yell at the driver, who is still trying to pull himself from under the dash.

  “No,” he yells back, coughing from the smoke and I nearly collapse with disappointment. We’ll have to do this the hard way. Turning, I help the elderly lady next to me navigate the small opening and climb out of the van. Two pairs of hands lift her the rest of the way out and I turn to the man who’s next.

  “Take her,” the elderly man yells at me, pointing to the lady sitting behind him. “Women and children first.” He gives me a snappy little salute and I almost smile for the first time.

  “Yes, Sir.” Turning, I help the woman scoot through the opening between the seats and the crunched door. She’s so frail, I’m afraid of holding her too tightly. Slow. So slow. I scoop her up, my back screaming in protest, and duck-walk her to the front seat where the men pull her out.

  There’s one other woman on board, besides the dead and dying in the back. I go to her and do the same, scooping her up and duck-walk to the front.

  “Children next,” I yell, holding out my hand to the man. He laughs at me and shakes a finger, but he’s much more capable of getting out on his own. He’s out in only a few seconds.

  Two more men are left, but the dark gray smoke is nearly overwhelming. Where is the ambulance? The fire department? I look at my watch, only seven minutes have passed since I first stepped into this van.

  I hear them. The most beautiful sounds—sirens.

  I grab the hand of the next man. It’s
so frail, he’s having trouble standing, his knees not wanting to lift him. I pull, the strain screaming through my arms. He’s not a little man. There’s no way I can lift him or carry him. Should I leave him? Or, help the last man still conscious? He seems more mobile.

  Oh someone help me; the choices I’m having to make seize through me. I’m not God. I can’t choose who lives and who dies.

  I pull harder and the more mobile man helps. Finally, the heavy one is on his feet. I scramble onto a seat and out of their way and they lumber slowly… so very slowly… to freedom and fresh air.

  Turning, I head back into the worst of the smoke, to where my patients need me. This does it… obstetrics it is… where life bursts into the world instead of slipping away. I see past my patients, to the ones still slumped together in the back. I wonder how long they’d been married and if it’s a blessing for them to have died so quickly together. How many children did they have? How many grandchildren? Did their family consider them a blessing, or had their presence became a burden?

  Focus.

  There is no help for them. The tears sliding down my face need to stop.

  Thump. Looking up, I see firemen running to the scene, a fire hose pointing at the van, putting out the source of the smoke I’m experiencing.

  “How many?”

  I jump at the voice, turn toward the front and see a fireman climbing inside.

  “The driver is stuck. Two back here barely alive. Two DOA. I can’t get them out.”

  “Paramedics are here, we’re going to break the glass, get some O2 in here as soon as the fire’s out. We’re going to pop this door,” he motions to the sliding door to his left, “then cut the driver out.”

  I nod, unsure what to do. The relief of having help, of having someone take the responsibility away is so great, I feel as if I will melt into a puddle the moment I try to stand.

  “Are you a nurse?”

  ”Nursing student. Senior year. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  A fist slams into the window next to us, causing me to jump again. “Clear,” another fireman yells and the one next to me pulls open a metal-colored blanket I hadn’t noticed he’d tossed in.

  “You did an excellent job, but you need to get out of here.” He’s talking to me while covering the couple with the blanket. “You’ve been in the smoke too long, let one of the guys check you out.”

  When I hesitate, he says, “No one could have done better.” His eyes, a most beautiful chocolate brown, hold a mixture of kindness and urgency. “Now go.”

  Climbing across the seats for the last time, I hear glass crash and look back to see him knocking out the window beside him. Paramedics rush up, passing oxygen masks to him, which he quickly places on the man and woman’s faces.

  Outside the van, in the burning heat of the day, a rumble of thunder penetrates the cacophony of noise. Turning, I see black clouds drawing closer and a streak of lightning pierce the sky.

  A paramedic rushes to me, slinging a blanket around my already heated shoulders. I want to fling it off, but instead hold it closer, pulling it to me for needed security.

  Like a scene in the movies, I watch the door being popped open and the front of the van cut off. The bench seats in the van are pulled out too, giving the paramedics room to work. I watch the driver being removed, his leg at a mercilessly awkward angle. And the couple… the sweet couple I’d taken care of… are finally lifted out, rushed to an ambulance and driven out of sight.

  The rain begins to fall, fat drops beating onto me from the heavens, but I still can’t leave. It’s the fireman, the one with the kind chocolate eyes who pulls me from my trance. I’m watching the bodies of the dead couple being removed when he steps in front of me, blocking the view. I close my eyes when they finally extricate the man from the sports car. At least I think he was a man.

  “You okay? Did the guys check you out?” I nod, but can’t speak. The fireman places a hand on my shoulder and gives me a squeeze.

  “Can someone come get you? Give me a number and I’ll call.”

  I shake my head and my mouth decides to work. “It’s okay. I have my car.” I nod toward my little Mazda, the driver door and trunk still open wide. The fireman stays at my side as I begin to walk toward it.

  “You saved lives today,” he says. “You’ll make a wonderful nurse. The profession is lucky to have you.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper, just as a torrent of water falls so hard the raindrops bounce knee high off the pavement. He helps me into my car, closes the door and slams down my trunk.

  Watching him run back to the wreckage, I take a few deep breaths to calm myself. I flip the policeman’s card, the one who had taken my witness statement, onto my dash.

  I can’t believe all of this just happened. One moment I’m driving home, worried about passing a stupid exam. The next, I’m watching life fade away. It sure does put life in perspective.

  With trembling fingers, I start my car and navigate my way around the metal carnage.

  Chapter 2—Stephanie

  “But…”

  “No buts Stephanie,” my manager interrupts me. “We need you tomorrow. I’m already a cashier short. I’m sorry, honey. I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through, how terrible it was to be part of an accident like that. If there was any way I could let you off, I would. We’ll need all hands on deck for the Fourth of July crowd and all.

  After assuring Diane I’d be there, I sink further into the tub. Everything hurts, most especially my back. Now that my adrenaline rush is over, all I feel is weak and beat up from helping out. Bruises on my arms and thighs are already showing and the pain in my torn fingernails pulse with each heartbeat. I don’t even remember them ripping. I don’t remember hitting things hard enough to bruise. But the evidence is here, in literal black and white. Karma should be nicer to good Samaritans.

  Ding Dong.

  Really? The very sound of my doorbell fills me with despair. I can’t handle another thing today. Not one. Maybe they’ll go away.

  Ding Dong.

  I still don’t move and then nearly curse when my phone begins to ring. There’s no increase in excitement when I see it’s my boyfriend, Jerome.

  “Hi there,” I answer.

  “Hey babe, where are you? I’m at your front door and your car is in the lot.”

  “In the tub, didn’t know you were planning on coming over. I’ve had a hellish day and need to relax and then study.”

  There was a long pause, then, “Are you saying I have to go? Is that it? Come on, babe. Open up. I can help you relax. Plus, I’ve got big news.”

  I sigh. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll be right there.” I heave myself from the tub, towel off and slip into my robe. I keep waiting for excitement, for longing, for something to wash over me at the thought of being in Jerome’s arms. Nothing. Nothing but dread. I sigh again. That isn’t fair. It’s not his fault I’m dead on my feet.

  “Hey babe.” The moment I open the door I’m glad I didn’t turn him away. It’s impossible not to smile back when Jerome looks at me like that. He can be such a charmer, so irresistible sometimes. The broad grin he’s giving me now is why I fell in love with him to begin with.

  “Come on in.” Accepting his kiss, I’m suddenly glad he’s here, glad to not be alone.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, touching my face, pushing back my wet hair. His gentleness undoes me and I break down in his arms.

  “Shhhh,” he soothes. “It’ll all be okay. I’m here. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll take care of you.”

  Long minutes pass as I sob out my grief, three people dead—the sweet old couple. The other couple could be too for all I know. Life isn’t fair. It’s snuffed out too quickly. I think back to my dad, his automobile accident, the respirators, the months of therapy. He never walked again, hardly ever spoke, was in constant pain from the spinal cord injury. Then, he was gone, choosing death over his nightmare of pain. I’ll never forgive myself for leaving the bottle o
f pain medication so close to his bed.

  “Are you done yet?” Jerome asks and breaks me from desolation. I’m not, but nod anyway. Sitting up, I blow my nose, feeling feverish and cold at the same time. I glance at the clock. It’s nine-fifteen in the evening and I’ve not studied for my exam tomorrow.

  “Yes, I’m done. Thank you for being a shoulder.”

  “Yeah, well. My shoulder is available anytime. But that’s not why I came by. I wanted to share some exciting news I received today…”

  And he was off, regaling me about his business, the new alliance, the contract he signed late this afternoon. While I was pulling people out of a smoking van, he was, “Signing myself into the lap of luxury. Three million, Stephanie. ComNet is giving me three million for my technology, can you believe it? Plus, the merger guarantees me a position within the company for ten years, and a six figure salary. Mid six figures, babe.”

  I’m thrilled for him, knowing first-hand how hard he’s worked on patenting the tech software he began working on, even before I met him three years ago. The software had something to do with how cell phones and computers worked, how they connect and upload to the cloud. Although he’d tried to explain the complexities of the technology many times, I’d thrown my hands up, everything going over my head.

  We met at UNLV, while he was a senior and I, a freshman. It was during Christmas break and I was living in student housing at the time. I had no home to go to for the holidays, so I was one of the few still on campus. Although we were in different fields—he in engineering and computer science; me getting my bachelor of science in nursing—we were both in the rec center the day after the New Year.

  He was a loner, the solitary book worm who always looked like he was brooding. Handsome and remote, he appealed to a lot of the girls on campus, who wanted to be the one to draw him out of his shell. Instead, he drew me out of mine.

  I loved how attentive he had been at first, doting and concerned. I’d been a virgin and he’d been my first. With hearts in my eyes, I thought he would be my forever only. Sex with him had been exciting, always something new. I’d been a willing student, enthusiastic in trying something different and unique.