by D. L. Line
Synopsis
Haunted by nightmares of losing everything dear to her, Special Agent Terri McKinnon takes on a new case that just might prove to be more than she ever bargained for. With the help of her FBI partner, Agent Bobby Kraft, and Dr. Jen Rosenberg, Terri finds herself facing a dangerous new foe that could shake her foundation to the core. The sequel to On Dangerous Ground.
Paradox
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Paradox
© 2014 By D.L. Line. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-038-6
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: January 2014
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Cindy Cresap
Production Design: Bold Strokes Graphics
Cover Design By Lee Ligon
By the Author
On Dangerous Ground
Head Trip
Paradox
Dedication
For everyone who continues to help and support me, especially Christina.
Chapter One
Terri watched through the second-story window, fighting hard against her own panic and the almost blinding pain to keep her weapon trained on the psychotic killer who was holding Jen against the doorframe of her own bedroom with a loaded gun up her nose. She adjusted her grip on her sweat-slick weapon, squeezed her left eye closed to line up the sights on the slide of the gun, and pulled the trigger.
Nothing.
Terri pulled it again. A shot rang out, but she quickly realized, from the lack of recoil, that the blast hadn’t come from her own SIG Sauer P-228 handgun. She stared at her weapon, until now always so reliable, and her hand began to shake. She looked up to the second floor window and the source of the shot. No matter how much she wanted to look away, she was drawn to the gory, bright red spray of blood splashed across the unbroken white of the drywall. Her ears registered the sound of a small body as it hit the landing of the stairway, impacting with a dull thud.
Oh, God, no.
Terri struggled to breathe against the racing of her own heart as it threatened to explode from her chest, and her brain struggled to make sense of the carnage that she’d just witnessed. She became dimly aware, through the intense mix of sensation and emotion, of the ring tone of a cell phone.
Her phone.
She fought toward consciousness while the phone rang a second time. Heart still pounding, Terri felt around blindly for the offending piece of technology as she tried to awaken and calm herself. She flipped the phone open with her thumb.
“Hello?”
“Terri, where are you? I thought you were meeting us at the bar. We were getting worried about you.”
She pulled herself fully awake, pulse still racing, and looked around the darkened media room of her own Dupont Circle townhouse. No white farmhouse, no dew-dampened lawn, just her own leather couch. Home. “Sorry, Bobby. I fell asleep on the sofa. Give me a few minutes. I’ll be right there.”
“Well, Agent McKinnon, you’d better put a wiggle on it and get over here to claim your girlfriend. She’s getting a lot of attention from these college kids.”
Terri finally relaxed enough to laugh. “Yes, sir, Agent Kraft. Keep an eye on her for me. I’ll be right there.”
Attempting to will away the last images of the extremely vivid nightmare that had broken the peace of her nap, Terri closed the phone after Bobby said his good-byes. Still shaking, she dragged herself up off the sofa and headed for the bathroom to freshen up and get out the door.
Six months.
It had been six months since that fateful night, somewhere in the mountainous, rural farmlands of western Virginia. So much had changed since then.
She pulled her hair back in a loose ponytail and splashed some cold water on her face. Jen was alive and happy, the bad guy was dead, and Terri had spent many uncomfortable hours during the last six months trying to figure out what to do about her continuing nightmares. Yes, the bad guy was dead, but only because Terri had killed him. She knew she should draw comfort from the fact that her actions had been necessary. If she hadn’t pulled the trigger, Jen would be dead. However, the nightmares continued, and though they came with less frequency, they were just as horrific. The gory details remained undiluted by the passage of time.
The late September night was warm, and the outside air helped her to clear the last vestiges of the nightmare as she walked the four blocks down Connecticut Avenue. She heard the music before she even rounded the corner. The evening was filled with the sounds of the busy Dupont Circle neighborhood of Washington, DC, augmented by the driving dance beat of the nearby bar. Terri braced herself for the volume of the club as she pulled the door open and walked inside.
She searched the large, smoke-filled room until her eyes met with the dark brown ones of her partner Bobby, who waved her over as he took a swig of beer and continued cruising the club’s patrons. As she picked her way through the frenzied dancers, Terri laughed a little to herself. She knew exactly what he was looking for. She was here for a different reason. Well, not exactly different. He was in the club to hook up with a yet unnamed boy in tight jeans. She was here to hook up with the bartender. The really cute little bartender with auburn hair, decked in Levi’s 501 jeans and a tight black T-shirt that advertised the American University Gay/Straight Student Alliance, who also happened to be Jen, her girlfriend and assistant professor of the American University Department of Information Technology.
Terri squeezed her way past the last couple of androgynous college students, lost in the music, and landed in front of Bobby. He pulled her close in order to talk over the noise of the club, and pointed to Jen. “I didn’t know she could do that. She’s really good at it.”
“Yeah, she is. She told me that she worked at a bar for extra cash while she was in grad school at MIT, so she was pretty excited about working for the Alliance fundraiser.”
“How’s that going to work?”
Terri watched Jen as she shouted over the noise to answer Bobby’s question. “The Alliance provides the bartenders. They get to keep the cover charge and any tips that they get before ten p.m. After that, the regular staff takes over...”
“And you get to go home with the cute bartender.”
“Yeah, I get to go home with the cute bartender. It helps that she’s the faculty advisor for the Alliance.”
Bobby laughed. “And those 501s don’t hurt either.”
“No, Bobby, they don’t hurt in the least.”
Terri checked her watch, noting that it was almost time for the regular staff to take over the bartending duties. The crowd was thick with boisterous college students and the denizens of the Circle, but Terri saw no one but Jen, as she set up glasses, filled them with ice, and began upending bottles with a practiced ease that Terri found to be frankly sexy. And she again noted that Bobby was absolutely right about the button fly jeans. She checked her watch again and realized that she’d been so mesmerized by Jen’s bar skills and hot back pockets that she hadn’t even bothered to approach and order a drink. Well, that situation needed to be rectified. She patted Bobby o
n the arm, wished him “happy hunting,” and edged her way through the crowd toward the other end of the bar.
Climbing onto a recently vacated barstool, Terri caught Jen’s attention and was treated with a smile that lit a special place in her soul every time she saw it. Jen turned and pulled a bottle of Bombay Sapphire Gin from the back bar and pointed to it, silently asking Terri if she’d like her usual drink. Terri acknowledged the offer and watched Jen reach for a tall highball glass, fill it with ice, pour a generous amount of the top-shelf liquor over it, and use the soda gun to fill the glass with tonic water. Jen slid the glass across the bar and hollered over the noise, “Hey, baby.”
“Hey, you. How’s it going?” Terri pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of her pocket and slid it across the bar. Jen attempted to wave it off, but Terri insisted. “Ring it up and put the change in the bucket for the Alliance. Are you almost finished?”
Jen checked the Budweiser clock over the bar. “Ten minutes, then we do the money thing with the manager, and I’m out of here. Just sit tight and I’ll check back in when I’m done.”
Terri raised her glass and swiveled the barstool. She spotted Bobby in the corner, stalking his prey, and decided to leave him to his activities for the evening. Time passed quickly while Terri watched people dance and mingle. Before she knew it, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and heard Jen’s voice in her ear. “I’m all done. Do you want to stay?”
Terri was feeling overwhelmed by the crowd and the noise, so she shook her head, drained the last bit of her drink, and allowed herself to be led by the hand through the busy club and out the door. As they headed out into the clear night air, Terri relaxed a little and decided to properly greet Jen by dragging her around the corner to the end of the alley, wrapping her arms around her waist, and pulling her close for a warm, wet kiss. Jen melted into the kiss, leaning forward until Terri’s back was pressed against the brick wall. A mutual need for air forced them to stop.
Jen repeated her greeting from earlier, “Hey, baby.”
“Hey, you. Did you have a good night?”
Jen stayed close, hanging onto Terri’s belt loops. “It’s better now. You were late. I was worried about you.”
“Sorry, I kind of fell asleep on the sofa. It’s been a long week.”
“Yeah, it has been, but it’s Friday and we have the whole weekend to relax. Whatever shall we do with ourselves?”
Terri slid her hands into the back pockets of the blue jeans that had held her interest for so much of the evening, pulled Jen closer, and answered, “Actually, I have some ideas about what I’d like to do to you.”
“My, my, Agent McKinnon, care to share?”
Terri nuzzled in under Jen’s chin, nipping lightly around her neck, as Jen closed her eyes and allowed her head to roll back. “Well, I thought maybe I could—”
“Dr. Rosenberg?”
Terri stopped mid-nuzzle, surprised by the sound of an unfamiliar voice. She felt Jen’s attempt to back away. Evidently, she was surprised as well by the fact that they weren’t as alone as they had assumed. She removed her hands from Jen’s pockets and also attempted to back away but was stopped by the brick wall behind her.
The unfamiliar voice said, “Wow, Dr. Rosenberg. Way to go.”
A red glow crawled up Jen’s face, and Terri processed that the comment had not come from a stranger, but from someone that Jen knew. Jen’s response confirmed it. “Umm, hi, Denny. Here for the fundraiser?”
Terri was now in full agent mode, watching as Denny answered.
“Um, yeah, but I’m kind of late.” Terri was well aware of the fact that she was being studied as well, but relaxed a little as Jen remembered her manners and began the introductions.
“Terri, this is Denise Robertson, but everyone calls her Denny. You know, my new graduate assistant.” Remembering her own manners, Terri extended her hand to the woman. “Denny, this is my girlfriend, Terri McKinnon. Sorry, I forgot that you two haven’t met yet.” Terri felt the strong grip as her handshake was returned, and they exchanged a friendly nod and smile.
Denny backed away, motioning toward the door of the club with both thumbs. “Well, I should probably go inside. Besides, I think I was interrupting. You two have a good evening.” Before she left, she grinned at Terri again. “It was nice to meet you.” She shot a cheeky wink toward Jen. “I’ll see you Monday, Dr. Rosenberg.”
Denny rounded the corner and disappeared from view. Turning her attention toward Jen, Terri noted the reappearance of a slight blush on the freckled cheeks. “And where did she play softball?”
It was apparent that Terri’s assumption was correct as the tinge of red turned to flame. “She was a shortstop at James Madison and was in a couple of my classes there last year. She’s really bright, so when I spotted her records on the top of the pile, I thought she’d be a great assistant.”
Terri could only laugh as she recalled Jen’s history with softball players.
“Agent McKinnon, I am fully aware of exactly where and how my bread gets buttered, so you have nothing to worry about. Besides, Denny was right. She was interrupting. I believe you were about to tell me about something really interesting that you wanted to do this weekend.”
Terri gave her one last nip to the neck. “I think I’d rather show you.” She took Jen by the hand and led her down the alley back toward Connecticut Avenue. “C’mon. Let’s go home.”
Chapter Two
A thunderous wall of sound echoed through the desert as the weapons facility was obliterated in a fiery ball of destruction. Smoke rolled across the unbroken stretch of sun-baked earth, engulfing everything in its path, cactus and Gila monster alike. A second blast erupted, followed quickly by a third and a fourth, as the fireball reached the all-terrain vehicles parked around the flaming hulk of exploded timber and cinderblock, igniting their gas tanks in a booming celebration of carnage.
Then silence.
A deafening quiet followed the sound, as the cacophony of smoke and noise was carried away by the prevailing winds. Nothing moved. Nothing with the exception of a lone figure, clad from top to toe in black, from the wide straps of a tank top to the roomy functionality of a pair of well-fitting cargo pants to the tightly wrapped laces of a pair of hard-worn combat boots. As the figure emerged from the smoke, details became more distinct. Handguns, a matched set of Desert Eagle Mark XIX automatics, unused but ready if necessary, strapped securely to the thighs of the figure. A crossbelt of black military webbing, loaded with extra 9-round clips and a rather large, deadly-looking Dark Ops fighting knife, nestled neatly between the shapely breasts of the commando. Chocolate brown hair, pulled back into a loose ponytail framed the figure’s face, eyes hidden by a pair of Ray-Ban Flight Extreme sunglasses.
A rhythmic, insistent tapping sound drew the attention of the deadly commando. She threw the electronic detonator gripped tightly in her right hand to the side, its necessity gone with the fireball that had consumed the squat concrete building. Turning her attention to the source of the sound, the commando pulled a Mossberg 590 Compact Cruiser shotgun around from its back strap, snapped it quickly up and then back down, and chambered the round with a smooth, one-handed move. Firing once at the noise, she pulled the powerful weapon up again; muscles rippling as another one-handed pump chambered the next round. She fired again as the rapping sound continued, now accompanied by a voice. A very insistent voice. She pumped the shotgun one last time, but did not fire, as the indistinct voice formed itself into actual words.
“Dr. Rosenberg?”
The beautiful, yet lethal commando lowered the hot, smoking barrel of her shotgun and reached up to remove her sunglasses. Her deep blue eyes bore straight ahead. Her voice was husky and crackled with humor.
“Hey, Rosenberg, snap out of it. You’re at work.”
Startled, Jen shook her head, attempting to clear the vivid images of the fantasy as she became fully aware that the disembodied voice in the desert was actually attached to a person who was now kno
cking at her door, requesting her attention for a second time.
“Dr. Rosenberg, are you okay?”
Jen blinked stupidly as her eyes met those of her graduate assistant Denny,standing in the open door of Jen’s office. More than slightly embarrassed at being caught in the middle of a daydream instead of working, she shoved the sensations of the fantasy aside, waved Denny into her office, and attempted to apologize.
“Sorry, Denny. I was just, umm, working out a program for debugging class. I get kind of lost in that. Come in and have a seat.”
Denny sat and dropped her backpack to the floor. “Wow, that must be some program to make you blush like that. I can’t wait to see it.”
Denny quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, seemingly surprised at her own words. Jen decided that diversion was the best plan, so she cleared her throat and changed the subject.
“So, Denny, how are things going? Do you have those lesson plans for basic programming ready?” Jen sat back and crossed her legs, attempting to ignore the last bit of the fantasy that had gathered in the crotch of her stylish, charcoal-gray pinstriped trousers.
“Umm, yeah.” Denny retrieved the lesson plans from her backpack and handed them across the desk.
Jen scanned the papers quickly before setting them aside on the cluttered surface of her desk. “Thanks, I’ll look those over when we’re done here. How is everything else going? Are you finding your way around the city, meeting new folks, all that kind of thing?”
Denny nodded. “Yeah. My apartment is nice, and the neighbors are too. Classes are going well, and the freshmen seem to think I know what I’m talking about, so it’s all good. It’s really different from Harrisonburg, but I can handle it.”