“This lady said a man tried to grab her,” the bartender told him.
“What was he wearing?” the bouncer asked.
She shook her head. “Dark clothes and a baseball cap, I think. I don’t know. I was running too fast to notice.”
The bouncer nodded and left the pub. He was back a minute later, shaking his head. “No one out there fitting your description. In fact, there was no one out there at all. I walked a block in both directions.”
Anne let go of the breath she’d been holding. Even if the man wasn’t within a block either direction, he might be lying in wait for her to continue her progress to the Metro stop. Anne couldn’t bring herself to step outside the pub.
“We’re closing early tonight for kitchen renovations, lady. You got about thirty minutes until we lock up. Is there anyone I could call for you?” the bartender asked, his expression worried.
Anne shook her head. She didn’t have any close friends. She had acquaintances from work. That was it. They had their own lives and she had her solitary existence. Then she remembered John Halverson giving her his phone number and telling her if ever she needed anything, she should call that number.
But he was dead.
Would anyone answer at the number? Did he still have a staff of people working for the same things he had?
Anne pulled her phone out of her purse and stared down at the icon for her text messages. She didn’t want to look at them. Everything had been fine until she’d started receiving the texts.
She pulled up her contacts list and dialed the number Halverson had given her, not knowing if anyone would actually answer.
The line rang several times.
Anne was about to give up when the ringing stopped and a woman answered, “Hello?”
Not knowing what to say, Anne blurted, “I know John Halverson is dead, but I need help. He gave me this number and said to call if I ever needed anything. Please tell me you can help.” She stopped and waited for a response, her heart thudding, her gut clenched.
“This is John’s wife. Are you in a safe place?”
Anne nodded and then said, “For the moment, but this place closes in thirty minutes. I was being followed and I’m afraid to leave.”
“Stay there. I’ll have someone come to collect you.”
“But you don’t even know me.”
“You’re a human being in need of assistance. I don’t care who you are. I’ll have someone see you to your home or the police station. Wherever you need to go.”
“Thank you,” Anne said, sagging with relief. “I’m sorry for what happened to your husband. He was a good man.”
“Me, too. If he gave you his number, he would have wanted me to help you. Rest assured, I’m sending someone. Give me the address.”
Anne had to ask the bartender for the address. Once she’d relayed it to Mrs. Halverson, the widow insisted she stay on the phone until the person she sent arrived.
“That won’t be necessary. As long as I can remain in the pub, I’ll be all right,” Anne said.
“Then I’ll get right on it,” Mrs. Halverson said. “I’ll text with an expected time of arrival as soon as I have one.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Halverson.”
“Don’t call me Mrs. Halverson. I go by Charlie,” the woman said.
“Thank you, Charlie,” Anne said, correcting herself, and rang off.
A moment later, a text came across.
Jack will be there in twenty minutes.
That was a text Anne could live with, though she wondered who Jack was, what he looked like and what he’d be driving.
* * *
JACK SNOW HAD left his apartment in Arlington an hour earlier, too wound up to sit in front of a television and watch mindless shows or even more mindless news reports.
Much too jittery to find a bar and drink away the anxious feeling he got all too often since returning from deployment and exiting his Marine Force Recon unit, he climbed onto his Harley and went for a ride around the cities. He ended up in the Capitol Hill area near the war memorials. After the sun set, the crowds thinned and the lights illuminating the Lincoln Memorial made the white marble stand out against the backdrop of the black, starless night.
He’d ridden to the Korean War Memorial, parked his bike and stood near the nineteen steel statues of soldiers in full combat gear and waterproof ponchos. They appeared as ghosts, emerging from the shadows. Haunting.
They reminded him of so many operations he and his team had conducted at night, moving silently across rough terrain, like the ghosts of the men the statues had been modeled after.
His heart pinched tightly in his chest. It was as if he were looking at the friends he’d lost in battle, the men he’d carried out only to send home in body bags.
No matter how long he’d been separated from active duty, the images of his friends never faded. Often they appeared in his dreams, waking him from a dead sleep in cold sweat as he relived the operations that had claimed their lives.
He’d get out of his bed, dress and go for a ride on his motorcycle in the stillness of night, letting the wind in his face blow the cobwebs from his memories.
Tonight was different. He’d dreaded even going to bed. Tonight was the anniversary of the death of his high school sweetheart. Yet another reason to lose sleep.
He’d met Kylie in the eighth grade. They’d been together throughout high school and had big plans to go to the same college after graduation.
Though Jack had made it to graduation, Kylie had not. The weekend before the big event, they’d gone to the local mall. Kylie wanted a special dress to wear beneath her cap and gown. Jack had gone with her to help her choose.
That day, a man who’d been dumped by his fiancée days before their wedding had entered the mall, bearing an AR-15 semiautomatic rifle with a thirty-round magazine locked and loaded. Tucked into his jacket pocket was a .45 caliber pistol with a ten-round magazine. He’d come to take out his anger on his ex-fiancée working in a department store. But he didn’t end there. Once he started firing, he didn’t stop until he ran out of bullets in the rifle’s magazine.
Jack and Kylie had just left an upscale dress shop when the bullets started flying. Before they could duck back into the shop or even drop to the ground, the gunman turned the barrel of his AR-15 on them, firing indiscriminatingly.
Jack grabbed Kylie and shoved her to the ground, covering her body with his.
When the first volley of bullets slowed to silence, he looked up.
The rifleman fumbled with another magazine for the AR-15, dropped it and bent to retrieve it.
Jack didn’t stop to think about what he was doing. He lunged to his feet and charged the man before he could reload, hitting him with his best linebacker tackle, knocking him to the ground. The rifle flew from the gunman’s hands, skittering to a stop several yards away.
The man tried to reach for the handgun in his jacket pocket but couldn’t get to it with Jack lying on top of him, pinning him to the hard tile floor.
The mall security cop had dashed to the scene but hadn’t wanted Jack to move for fear the shooter would manage to get to his feet and regain control of his weapon.
The police had arrived shortly after, taking over from Jack.
That was when he’d turned to find Kylie still lying where he’d left her, facedown and unmoving.
She’d taken a bullet straight to her heart and died instantly.
Jack had been devastated.
Her death was the main reason he’d chosen to join the Marines rather than go on to college like many of his classmates. He needed the physical challenge to burn away his anger and the feeling he should have gotten her to safety sooner. He should have done more to save her.
Those deployment nightmares, combined with the traumatic one from his school days, had kept him moving, afraid t
o stand still for a moment. If he did, the memories overwhelmed him.
He stared at the shadowy figures of the steel soldiers. They were so lifelike Jack felt as if he could fall in step with them and complete the mission.
His heartbeat quickened. As he took a step forward, a vibration against his side brought him back to reality, making him stop.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. The name on the screen read Declan O’Neill.
Jack didn’t hesitate. He pressed the talk button and pressed the phone to his ear. “Yeah.”
“Dude, where are you?” Declan asked, his tone crisp.
“Downtown DC near the war memorials. What’s up?”
“Got a mission for you.”
“Give it to me.” He needed action. Anything to take his mind off the anniversary of Kylie’s death and the loss of his friends in battle. Declan’s call was a lifeline thrown to him in troubled waters. A reminder that he was still among the living, and he had a team of friends to work with.
Declan gave him the address of a pub not far from where he was. “There’s a female there who’s afraid to leave. Someone tried to grab her on her way to the Metro station.”
“What does she look like?” Jack asked.
“Long, straight black hair, blue eyes. Wearing a business suit. Tell her Mrs. Halverson sent you.”
“Got it. I can be there in less than ten minutes.”
“Make it five. The pub is closing. Let us know when you get her to safety.” Declan ended the call.
Slipping his helmet over his head, Jack left the steel soldiers to their mission, mounted his motorcycle and commenced with his own mission. He’d hoped for something more than escorting a damsel in distress home for the evening, but at least it gave him a purpose and something else to think about besides Kylie and dead comrades.
Ignoring the speed limit signs and only slowing for the occasional light, Jack made it to the pub in four minutes. A few men straggled through the door, laughing and shaking hands.
Jack scanned the surrounding area for anyone lurking in the shadows, waiting for a lone woman to step out of the pub and into his path. When he didn’t see anyone or any movement in the shadows, he parked his bike on the curb and entered the pub, passing by a large man standing near the door.
“Sorry, we’re closed,” someone called out from the bar.
“I’m not here for a drink. I’m here to pick up a lady.”
The bartender snorted. “Sorry, we’re closed for that, too. Always. Unless the lady wishes to be picked up.” The man chuckled at his own humor.
A black-haired woman in a dark blazer and skirt slid off a bar stool and faced Jack. Her blue eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed into a thin line. She stood stiff, and silently maintained her distance, looking as if she’d bolt if he made a move toward her.
This had to be the woman he’d been tasked to collect. “Mrs. Halverson sent me,” Jack said.
The woman drew in a deep breath and the stiffness seemed to melt from her frame. “Oh, thank God.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and nodded. “Let’s go.”
“Hey, lady,” the bartender called out. “You gonna be okay?”
She turned toward the man. “I think so.” She smiled. “Thanks.”
Before they left the building, the woman stopped and frowned. “I guess I should know your full name.”
With a half smile, Jack held out his hand. “Jack Snow.”
She took his hand in her smaller, softer one and said quietly, “Anne Bellamy.”
“You want to tell me what happened?”
She handed him her cell phone with an image of a map with the directions painted in a bright blue line. “Not here. Not now. I just want to go home. That map will get you there.”
He shrugged. “Have it your way. My ride is outside.”
When she started to go through the door, he placed his hand on her arm. “Me first.”
Anne nodded and let him go through the door ahead of her.
He stopped on the other side and glanced in both directions, taking his time to be thorough in his perusal of the buildings, alleys and every shadow. When he was fairly certain they were alone, he held out his hand.
Anne placed hers in his and let him guide her to the curb, where his motorcycle was parked.
The big guy who’d been lurking near the entrance followed them outside.
Jack shot a narrowed glance his way as he fitted Anne’s cell phone into a holder on his handle bar. “Is this the guy who tried to grab you?”
“No. That’s the bar’s bouncer. He’s just making sure we aren’t attacked,” Anne said. She faced the motorcycle, a frown drawing her eyebrows together. “This is your ride?” The frown deepened. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.”
“Well, tonight must be your lucky night. Unless you want to wait another thirty minutes to an hour for one of my buddies to come get you, you’ll have to take your chances.” He swung his leg over the bike and patted the cushioned seat behind him. “Don’t wait too long. You’ll only be giving your attacker the opportunity to make another attempt to grab you.”
Copyright © 2019 by Mary Jernigan
ISBN-13: 9781488063589
A Threat to His Family
Copyright © 2019 by Delores Fossen
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