by CW Browning
Angela lowered her hands and sucked in a deep, shuddering breath before turning to stumble back down the hallway to her bedroom. She went straight to her bedside table and grabbed her cell phone. Her hands were shaking and tears blurred her vision as it took three tries before she managed to successfully dial 911.
Stephanie jumped out of the car as soon as Blake came to a stop, slamming the door closed behind her. She ran across the road, ignoring the rain pelting down as the storm erupted. Flashing police lights lit up the street and the front door to Angela’s townhouse was guarded by a uniformed sentry. She pulled out her badge as she ran, holding it up as she ran up the few steps to the door.
“Special Agent Walker!” she barked at the police officer.
He glanced at her badge and nodded.
“Ok,” he said quickly, opening the door for her. “She’s inside.”
Stephanie nodded and went into the house. Angela was sitting on the couch with a fleece blanket wrapped around her shoulders, a ball of orange fur clutched on her lap.
“Angie!” Stephanie crossed the living room, ignoring the police officer standing near her friend for the moment. “Are you ok?”
Angela raised a tear-stained face.
“I don’t know,” she confessed, her bottom lips trembling.
Stephanie looked at the policewoman questioningly. The woman nodded to her.
“She’s fine,” she said reassuringly. “She’s had a fright, but she’s physically fine.”
“Thank you.”
Stephanie turned her attention back to her friend and sank down next to her on the sofa. She put an arm around Angela’s shoulders and Angela leaned against her. The orange ball of fur stirred and two wide green eyes peeked up at Stephanie.
“What happened?” Stephanie demanded gently. “Where were you?”
“In bed,” Angela said, taking a deep shuddering breath. She paused as the front door opened again and Blake stepped into the house, looking around. “Who’s that?”
“Blake. He drove over with me.”
“He’s good-looking!” Angela whispered loudly. “Is he single?”
“Oh my God, Angie!” Stephanie hissed, wishing the couch could just swallow her up. “Shush!”
“What? He didn’t hear me.”
“Yes, he did.” Blake’s deep voice was filled with amusement and Stephanie didn’t need to look to know he had crossed the room to the sofa. “I am.”
“You are what? Good-looking or single?” Angela demanded, looking up at him.
Blake grinned.
“Both,” he answered promptly, eliciting a chuckle from the policewoman. “I’m Blake Hanover. You must be Angela.”
He held out his hand and Angela shook it.
“Nice to meet you.”
“I wish it was under better circumstances,” he said, releasing her hand. “How are you?”
“I’ve seen better days,” Angela replied. She looked at Stephanie. “He hurt Anabelle. Knocked her right out.”
“What?!” Stephanie dropped her gaze to the cat curled up in Angela’s lap. “How?”
“I don’t know. When I came downstairs she was just lying there.” Angela’s lips trembled again. “I thought...I thought...”
“Ok, it’s alright,” Stephanie said soothingly, glancing at Blake. His eyes were dark and somber, his lips pressed together in a grim line. “I think you need some caffeine. Do you have any coffee or tea?”
“There’s coffee in the cabinet in the kitchen,” Angela said tiredly.
Blake met Stephanie's look and nodded.
“I’ll make it,” he offered.
“Thank you.” Angela watched him turn and go toward the kitchen. “The cabinet above the sink,” she called after him.
Blake nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Mallory!” a voice called from the back of the house. “Can you give me a hand?”
The policewoman glanced at Stephanie.
“You’ll be here for a few minutes?” she asked her.
Stephanie nodded.
“Yes, go. It’s fine,” she said. “He came in through the back?”
“Yes. The lock was forced,” the policewoman answered, turning to walk down the short hallway to the back of the house.
“You were asleep?” Stephanie asked, turning her attention back to Angela.
“Yes.” Angela sighed and leaned back against the cushions tiredly. “Something woke me up. I thought it was a dream at first, but then I realized Anabelle wasn’t in the room. I called her, but she didn’t come. I heard a crash and I heard her cry...” Angela’s voice cracked and Stephanie waited while her friend composed herself. “Steph, I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
“I can believe it,” Stephanie murmured, shaking her head. “Did you see him?”
“See him?” Angela looked at her. “I fought him off!”
Stephanie stared at her, speechless.
“You...what?”
Angela nodded.
“He came upstairs. I had no choice. I was trapped in the bedroom.”
“He made it all the way upstairs?!” Stephanie heard her voice rising but couldn’t seem to help herself. “He was in your bedroom?!”
“When you say it like that, it sounds a hundred times worse,” Angela decided, visibly shuddering. “Oh my God, what if I hadn’t woken up?”
Her eyes widened at the thought and Stephanie reached out to rub her shoulder comfortingly as what color was left in her friend’s face drained away.
“You did, so don’t think about what-ifs,” she said hastily. “Tell me what happened. You said you fought him off. How?”
Angela rubbed her hand over her eyes.
“I...sorry. I told the police officer everything, and now I can’t seem to think straight,” she murmured. “Just give me a minute to get my thoughts together. I’m still thinking about what could have happened if I didn’t wake up.”
Stephanie looked up as Blake came back into the living room. He met her glance and smiled faintly.
“Coffee’s brewing,” he said, coming over and perching on the edge of the coffee table. “What did I miss? I heard someone raise their voice.”
“That was me,” Stephanie said ruefully. “Apparently, the guy made it all the way to the bedroom.”
Blake’s eyebrows snapped together in a scowl and he looked at Angela.
“Are you alright?” he demanded.
“I’m fine,” she assured him, flushing faintly. “I did more damage to him.”
Blake crooked an eyebrow and looked at Stephanie in question.
“I don’t know any more than you do,” she answered dryly. “She was just about to tell me.”
“Something woke me up,” Angela began hesitantly. “I called Anabelle and heard the crash downstairs. When I heard the crash, I knew someone was in the house. It wasn’t the kind of sound Bella makes when she knocks something over. It was bigger. Turns out it was the hall stand near the back door where I keep umbrellas and snow brooms. He must have knocked it over when he came in...or when Bella showed up.”
“You said you heard her cry?” Stephanie asked suddenly. “Was it before or after the crash?”
Angela thought for a moment.
“After?” she said doubtfully. “I think? Yes, it was after the crash because it suddenly stopped mid-cry, like she’d been...silenced. Then everything was dead silent. I didn’t know what to do. I don’t have anything to use as a weapon. Steph, I kept thinking about how you’ve always said I should get a gun and learn how to shoot. I wish I’d listened now.”
Stephanie’s lips twisted into a humorless smile.
“I’ll teach you,” she promised. “I told you I would.”
“You don’t have anything?” Blake asked. “Baseball bat? Hockey stick? Nothing?”
Angela looked at him.
“No. I don’t play sports,” she told him. “Although, I like the idea of a baseball bat. Maybe I’ll buy one until I learn how to shoot,” she
added thoughtfully.
“Then...what did you do?” Blake demanded.
“I used a shoe.”
Stephanie and Blake both stared at her.
“A...a shoe?” Stephanie repeated dumbly.
Angela nodded.
“And hairspray,” she added.
Blake’s eyebrows soared into his forehead.
“Hairspray?”
Stephanie felt a grin pulling at her lips.
“Please don’t tell me...Aquanet?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
Angela looked at her as if she had grown a second head.
“Sebastian,” she said, affronted. “Do they even still make Aquanet? Please.”
“Sorry.”
“Can we get back to the hairspray and the shoe?” Blake asked. “What did you do?”
Angela took a deep breath and began petting Anabelle.
“I hid behind the door. When he was in the doorway, I kicked the door closed so it would hit him. While he was still seeing stars, I sprayed him in the face with the hairspray. It’s an aerosol can, so I just pointed and held the nozzle down.”
Blake blinked.
“That would do it.”
“What about the shoe?” Stephanie demanded.
“I hit him with it.”
“You hit him? You mean, you threw it?”
“Not exactly.” Angela looked up to find both Stephanie and Blake staring at her expectantly. She shrugged. “I...you know...hit him with it.”
“You mean...” Stephanie wondered if she looked as stunned as she felt. “You mean, you used a shoe like a...a...”
“Hammer?” Blake offered helpfully.
“Yes.”
Stephanie looked at her, shocked.
“You used it like a hammer?!?!” she shrieked.
“What else was I supposed to do?” Angela demanded. “A man was in my bedroom! Uninvited! Was I supposed to just let him in?!”
“No, of course not!” Stephanie exclaimed. “But...what kind of shoe was it?”
Angela’s face suddenly darkened and storm clouds gathered on her brow.
“A new one,” she muttered. “I only wore them once. Now it’s ruined and I’m down a pair of Jimmy Choo’s.”
Stephanie's mouth dropped open.
“You used one of your Jimmy Choo’s?”
Blake looked from one woman to the other.
“Care to loop in the schmuck who has no idea what a Jimmy Choo is?” he asked.
“They’re heels,” Stephanie explained. “Very expensive, designer heels.”
“You clocked the dude with a high heel?” Blake demanded, impressed. “Good for you!”
“Good for me maybe, but not for the shoe,” Angela retorted. “It got stuck in his neck and now it’s gone.”
Stephanie sputtered and Blake opened his mouth, then closed it again silently. For a long moment, they both simply gazed at Angela speechlessly.
“What?” she asked. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
Blake found his voice first.
“Let me get this straight,” he said, his voice shaking. “You nailed the guy with a door, sprayed his eyes with hairspray, and then drove a high-heel into his neck?”
“Well, it was a stiletto,” Angela clarified after a few seconds thought. “It’s not like it was a block heel.”
“When you say it got stuck and now it’s gone, are you speaking metaphorically?” Stephanie asked, trying to avoid looking in Blake’s direction.
“No. It got stuck in his neck and he left. Well, after I pushed him down the stairs.”
“After you...well of course. Naturally.” Blake couldn’t control his face any longer and his lips trembled with laughter. “You didn’t happen to douse him in gasoline and toss a match his way, did you?”
It was Angela’s turn to stare at him.
“Of course not!” she exclaimed. “Why would I do that?”
He shook his head, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
“No reason,” he choked out.
Stephanie shot him a look filled with reproach even as her own eyes were dancing with amusement.
“I think I missed the part where you pushed him down the stairs,” she said. “How did that happen?”
“After I hit him he stumbled down the hallway toward the stairs, trying to leave,” Angela told her.
“Smart man,” Blake interjected.
“But when he got to the top of the stairs, he stopped and turned back,” Angela continued. “I panicked. I just wanted him out of my house.”
“So you pushed him.”
“Yes. He caught himself halfway down and slid the rest of the way. Then he left.”
Stephanie nodded, absorbing it all, and her lips twitched. Then twitched again. Angela watched her suspiciously.
“Are you laughing?” she demanded.
Stephanie started to shake her head, but her resolve failed her.
“Yes.”
As soon as the word popped out, Stephanie burst into laughter. Blake joined her and Angela looked from one to the other, frowning in consternation. Stephanie tried to tamp down the laughter, but only succeeded in laughing harder.
“I can’t...hairspray and a shoe...” Blake gasped.
“Well, it was the closest thing I had,” Angela protested. “What is so funny?”
Stephanie choked her laughter down and shook her head helplessly.
“It’s just so...so...you!”
“Well I know it wasn’t all professional like you and your law enforcement training, or Alina with her military training, but it was the best I could do,” Angela muttered. “It worked. He left.”
Stephanie reached out and hugged her old friend, her shoulders still shaking.
“It did work, and I’m so very glad it did,” she said, squeezing her tight before letting her go.
“Then why are you laughing?”
“Because it’s so refreshing,” Blake told her, getting his amusement under control. His eyes were warm and still filled with laughter as they met hers. “That’s the best self-defense story I’ve ever heard.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he affirmed.
Stephanie nodded in agreement.
“Honestly, Ang, I’m amazed,” she said, her voice shaking. “For someone who has no weapons in her house, you were outstandingly efficient.”
“I was terrified, that’s what I was.”
A loud tone from the kitchen indicated the coffee was finished and Blake stood up.
“I’ll get the coffee,” he said over his shoulder, a grin still playing on his lips.
Angela watched him go and looked at Stephanie.
“Did I really do good?” she asked.
Stephanie met her look and smiled.
“Yes. You did very good.”
Angela nodded. Before she could say anything else the policewoman returned, striding down the short hall and through the living room with a plastic evidence bag in her hand.
“Excuse me,” she said, approaching the couch. “You said you hit the intruder with a shoe. Was it this one?”
She held out the clear plastic bag. Inside was a pastel pink Jimmy Choo, the stiletto heel soaked in blood about halfway up the four-inch spike. Angela nodded.
“Yes.”
“We found it in the back. You said it was stuck in his neck?”
“Yes.”
“That had to hurt like hell,” she said, a grin cracking her face. “Good for you!”
Chapter Fourteen
September 21 - Iraq
Hi John,
Hope all is well. I got a letter from Lina yesterday. She says you’re not acting right and you barely talk to her. What’s going on? Don’t make me come back there and kick some sense into you. Relationships are hard, and sometimes they suck, but it’s always worth it, so get your shit in line.
Now that’s out of the way...Last letter I told you about the missing crates from the ambushed convoy showing up. The next day, I w
ent back to the town on another recon sweep. One of the guys with me, Murphy, acts as an interpreter when needed. He’s fluent and could pass for one of them if it weren’t for the uniform. We went through the block where I saw the crates getting loaded onto the truck, but the house the crates came out of was gone. My buddy talked to a couple of the locals and translated for me. The house caught fire in the night and two men inside died in the flames. I walked away convinced my only leads to the crates were dead.
On the way back to base, Murphy asked why I was so interested in the house. I brushed it off, but I don’t think he bought it. He knows something’s going on, especially after I slammed on the brakes halfway back to base. There’s a road that leads into the mountains there, and damned if I didn’t see that same pickup truck and one of the men who supposedly burned to death the night before turning onto it. I swear it was the same guy, alive and heading into the mountains.
I’ll write more later. Keep these letters safe. Things are getting crazy here.
Give Lina my love,
Dave
The low hum of the server was the only sound in the command center as Viper scrolled through another military record. She reached the end of the file and closed it with a sigh, moving it into her cleared folder. One by one, she was eliminating possibilities as one factor or another excluded them from her search.
Stretching her arms over her head, she leaned back tiredly. Her eyes fell on a photo, partially hidden behind the monitor, and her lips tightened briefly. It was taken a lifetime ago, when she was much younger and had no idea what the future held in store for her. Alina stared at the photo and a wave of melancholy swept over her. She was standing on the boardwalk at the shore, between her older brother and her then-fiancé, laughing and carefree. Alina suddenly remembered the scent of the ocean and warm breeze on her hair as if she were there again. She had been perfectly content, surrounded by the men she loved, safe and innocent.
Now, twelve years later, she was the only one still living, and she had taken more lives than she cared to count.
She shifted her gaze to the smiling face of Dave, her brother. He was killed a few months after the photo was taken. She had been devastated at the time. Now she was furious. Through pure chance, last week she had come across the emails Dave sent to John in the two weeks before his death. Now she knew Dave’s death wasn’t as simple as a shot taken from an insurgent.