Hard Road to Redemption

by Alex Ander

  He noticed and sent a knowing smile her way. “That’s what I thought.” He dipped his forehead toward the door. “That’ll be all, Agent Stockwell.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She spun on her heels and left the office. The butterflies that had been fluttering inside her belly were now gone. She allowed herself a slight grin. Dodged a bullet there.

  “You have that minute now, Deanna?”

  Stockwell faced the woman from earlier, let out a breath, and sat in the chair beside her fellow agent’s workstation. “You bet. What can I do for you?”

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 32

  Hard Road

  10:10 P.M.

  CLARKSTOWN, NEW YORK

  “Huh.” Jacob’s head and shoulders had rocked backward an inch when he said the word. Seated on the living room couch, he eyed Stockwell on his left. “I always knew Edgar was a stand-up guy, but what he did for you,” a beat, “just raises his stock to a whole new level.”

  Ten minutes ago, Jacob had shuffled into his house and found his woman stretched out on the couch. He had lowered his butt onto the middle cushion while she scooted back against an armrest and lifted her knees to make room for him. The couple had exchanged pleasantries before he then asked about the meeting with her boss.

  Having already muted the television, Stockwell picked up the remote, pressed the ‘power’ button, and set the clicker on a coffee table to her left. “So.” Hunching forward, she hugged her bent legs and grasped her left wrist.

  He ogled her, starting with her feet.

  Purple-painted toenails; long legs; loose-fitting black shorts that had slid down to expose most of her thighs; skin-tight, dark purple tank top that showed three inches of toned tummy muscles and a simple gold cross nestled in the northernmost end of the valley between her breasts.

  “So,” he eyeballed the religious symbol. That’s new. She must’ve just started wearing it. He blinked a few times. “So, what?”

  “Well, I did my part.” Almost as if she knew what he was thinking, she leaned back, hooked a forefinger over the delicate chain around her neck, and ran the digit back and forth along the gold links. “I settled things with my boss. Now it’s up to you to patch up your relationship with Higs. So, we can...”

  Letting out a low groan, Jacob turned toward the darkened television screen.

  “...keep this team together. You know he wasn’t trying to hurt you, right?”

  “He kept it from me, Stockwell.”

  “And you said he told you he had his reasons.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “Well,” she swung out her legs, went to her right hip, and pressed her ankles up against her butt, “don’t you think you should at least talk to him,” a tick, “without shouting and cursing at him?”

  Jacob lowered his head onto the cushion behind him, a twinge of guilt welling up inside his gut over what he had said to his boss, his friend. I do feel bad about that.

  “Just call him and calmly get his take on why he—”

  “Can we please not discuss this right now?” He rolled his head her way. “It’s been a long day...a great day, but a long day. I’m beat. And I just don’t want to talk about Higs. I promise, though. I’ll call him in a few days...after I’ve had time to cool off and process everything. Okay?”

  Stockwell pursed her lips and nodded. “Thank you.” She eyeballed him. “So, how’d it go with DD and Olivia?”

  A smile overtaking his sullenness, Jacob took the next few minutes to bring her up to speed while she asked follow-up questions.

  “And, while I was there, the hospital called. DD’s tests came back perfect...clean bill of health. They did say she could stand to gain a few pounds, but I have no doubt her mother will take care of that.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, Jake.”

  He gave Stockwell a sideways glance then eyed his clasped hands on his lap. “And she wasn’t sexually molested in any way, either.”

  “That’s terrific.”

  “Yes. It is.” A moment. “I didn’t have it in me to ask that question, but I think DD sensed something. She just suddenly looked at me and offered up the information.”

  Stockwell laid the back of her right upper arm on the upright cushion, rested her head on her palm, and touched his nearest arm. “Did you find out how she was taken in the first place?”

  He nodded slowly. “She said she had gone to an after-school study group...which I remembered she had that day. She said she left later than she had wanted to, so she took a shortcut and crossed paths with two guys. They,” Jacob pumped his curled fingers in front of his chest, “grabbed her and—” he made fists, set his jaw, and lowered his gaze.

  She took his left hand in hers and pried open his fingers. “It’s all right. The important thing is she’s back home.” She clinched palms with him and squeezed. “You brought her home, Jake.”

  “Did I? Did I, really? Because it kind of feels like I just got lucky.”

  “Luck had nothing to do with this.” She toyed with the cross around her neck. “I think God Himself led you to her.”

  “Yeah. God saved her,” he shook his head, “not me.”

  “Well, He may have done the guiding, but you were the one He used to do the saving.” She cozied up to her man, draped her right arm around his neck, and touched his chest.

  He felt her warm breath on his cheek while taking in the scent of fresh skin after a shower.

  “Just look at the way you were acting right before we found her. You were beside yourself. I’ve never seen you like that before. It was as if you could sense her, sense your own, I think.” A beat. “I believe God was there...speaking to you in some way, telling you not to leave that place.”

  For the next minute, Jacob pondered Stockwell’s words before twisting his neck and coming nose to nose with her.

  She noted his red, droopy eyes, and sagging cheek muscles, and her heart went out to him.

  He shut his eyes and laid his head on her chest. “These last three years,” he mumbled, “they’ve been,” a drawn-out sigh escaped his lungs, “it’s been a long...Hard Road to Redemption...getting her back, bringing her home again.”

  She cradled him in her arms. “Now it’s over.”

  Twenty seconds later, his shoulders shuddered.

  Feeling droplets tracing a path down her chest before snaking into her cleavage, she held him tighter and touched her lips to his hair for the next minute.

  Jacob mustered the courage to pull away and face her. “Sorry.” He wiped his hands across his flushed cheeks a couple times. “That wasn’t very manly of me, was it?”

  Cupping his face, “Jake, you’ve put a lot of bad guys in the ground today, but,” she ran her thumbs under his eyes to dry the rest of his tears, “this is the manliest I’ve ever seen you.”

  He managed a meager half smile.

  She leaned in and gave him a soft smooch.

  Her gentle touch brought back images of their first romantic embrace...

  Jacob laid hands on Stockwell’s waist and planted a soft, lingering kiss on her lips, tasting them. Strawberry. The back of his neck tingled, as he slid a hand around to her lower back and drew her closer.

  A few seconds later, he pulled away. “I couldn’t leave things like that…Deanna.”

  She beamed. “I’m glad you didn’t…Jacob.”

  That exchange had marked the first time each one had spoken the other’s first name; a seemingly insignificant act that would mark a momentous step forward in their relationship.

  Jacob regarded her. “Thanks, Deanna.”

  Stockwell smiled. “You’re welcome, Jake.”

  He pivoted his head an inch and stared.

  Five seconds passed.

  She looked at him. “You still with me?”

  He spied her then raised a finger while standing. “I know I made you a promise, but,” he pumped his finger toward her, “don’t go away. I’ll be right back.” He left.r />
  “Where are,” she pivoted her upper body to follow him, “where are you going?”

  Thirty ticks later, Jacob came back into the room and perched his left butt cheek on the edge of the couch cushion, his fingers interlaced on his left leg as if he were praying. “We’ve discussed this on several occasions now. And I’m in total agreement with you.” He tipped his head from side to side. “Okay. I was...until now.”

  She barely shook her head at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about,” keeping his fingers entwined, he spread apart his hands.

  Her heart thumping faster, Stockwell touched fingertips to her chest. Her eyes zoomed from his eyes to the black velvet box he was holding before settling on his face again. “Jake.” She did another back-and-forth. “What are you doing?”

  “I would hope it was obvious, but I can,” he slid off the couch and went to one knee, “do the bended-knee thing if you’d like.”

  “We’ve talked about this. We said we were going to wait...take time to date, get to know—”

  Jacob opened the box.

  Her words catching in her throat, she covered her nose and mouth with folded hands.

  “Do you remember that dinner we had at that restaurant—Joe Allen—where we decided to,” he rolled a hand her way, “as you just said...go slow and date each other for a while?”

  Stockwell never budged, never took her eyes off the rose gold ring’s teardrop diamond.

  “I had this in my pocket at the time. I was planning to propose to you that night,” a beat, “until you said,” he lifted a hand, “sorry...until we agreed we’d wait.”

  Taking her first breath in the last thirty seconds, she reached out and touched his arm. “Oh, Jake, I’m so sorry.”

  “No. No. I was okay with it then. Really.” He turned the box around and admired his purchase. “I actually bought this the same day I picked up those hockey tickets for you. I was,” he gestured, “passing by the jewelry store, saw this in the window, and honest to—” he swallowed and took a moment, “I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw this.” He looked up at Stockwell. “At that moment, I somehow knew I wanted to marry you.”

  “But,” she frowned, “but that would’ve been,” she looked away and came back to him, “before you showed up at my apartment for the first time...before we even had our first official date.”

  He held a shrug. “What can I say? I just knew.” He peeked at the purple stones flanking the main one then studied the piece’s diamond. “I realize it’s not that big, but I,” he paused, “I really thought you’d like the design, especially the amethyst stones,” he spied her, “because purple’s your favorite color.” He half closed an eye. “In fact, I think your exact words were...the deeper the better.”

  She recalled the conversation he had referenced, a conversation meant to pass the time, break the ice, while driving to their destination...

  “Well…my favorite color is purple, the deeper the better. I love to pair a dark purple dress with some black heels and stockings or leggings.”

  A thin smile forming on her lips, Stockwell regarded him. And he remembered what I said.

  Jacob resumed his spot on the sofa. “If you don’t like it, we can go pick out something el—”

  She pitched forward, gripped his shoulders, and slow kissed him into a prone position before pulling back a few heartbeats later and brushing the tip of her nose across his.

  On his back, his head on the armrest, his right hand on her lower back, he ran his other hand up her body. “I’m going to have to propose to you more often.”

  She giggled and admired his silver eyes while stroking the fingers of her left hand over his right cheek. “I love it...the ring, that is. It’s not going anywhere but on my finger.”

  He smiled. “So, I think I have my answer, Miss Stockwell, but just so the I’s are dotted, and the T’s are crossed...”

  She matched his expression, “Yes,” then gave him another long kiss. “Yes. I’ll marry you, Mr. St. Christopher.”

  “Now it’s official.”

  She laughed.

  He pecked her on the lips once more then shifted his position on the couch to get more comfortable.

  She put her back against the upright cushion, wiggled into place beside him, and laid her head and left arm on his chest.

  Embracing her, he drew her to himself before removing the ring from the box and taking her left hand. “May I?”

  “You most certainly may.”

  He slid the gold band onto the appropriate finger.

  She held out her hand to marvel at the jewelry. “It’s,” she held her breath for a moment, “it’s so beautiful.”

  “Not as beautiful as the owner, though.”

  A broad smile on her face, she looked up at him, gave him a quick smooch, and nuzzled her cheek deeper into him. “I love you, Jake.”

  He squeezed her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “I love you, too, Deanna.”

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  YOUR FREE BOOK…

  The London Operation is not for sale. The only way to get a copy is to click the image above. You’ll be taken to Bookfunnel to begin the download process. Or, you can send me an email at Alex@AlexAnderNovelist.com, and I’ll send you the link to Bookfunnel.

  NOTE: It is recommended you read at least one Aaron Hardy book (preferably The Unsanctioned Patriot – Book #1) to understand the backstory before starting The London Operation (Book #2.5).

  … … … … …

  .

  .

  The

  London

  Operation

  Patriotic

  Action & Adventure

  Alex Ander

  .

  Chapter 1: Self-Preservation

  July 30th; 3:55 p.m.

  London, England

  Three weeks after Hardy accepts the President’s job offer

  CROSSING KING’S ARMS Yard, Aaron Hardy walked south on Moorgate. There was nearly five hours of daylight left, but the tall buildings surrounding him blocked the sun and cast a faint shadow over the cityscape. The temperature was in the mid-sixties. The absence of direct sunlight, coupled with a gentle breeze, made Hardy glad he had grabbed his black leather jacket.

  Foot traffic on the streets was increasing. Having been trapped in office buildings for the workweek’s last eight hours, people were emerging and scurrying for a destination—home, the bar, a store, anywhere but where their employer had held them captive for five days.

  Hardy passed Basildon House and tilted his head to see around a well-dressed man, a few paces ahead. The man Hardy was most concerned with crossed Moorgate and continued south. The overcoat-clad banker jogged through the intersection at Lothbury, holding out his hand and impeding a car’s forward progress. His arrogance was rewarded with a blaring horn.

  Hardy stayed the course. Moorgate turned into Princess St. and the Bank of China passed him on the right. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and stared at the sidewalk, keeping one eye on Mahmoud Taziz, who strolled along the opposite side of Princess St., fifty yards further up the street.

  The intelligence on Taziz pointed to regular Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoon visits (four o’clock to be precise) to a five-star hotel for a rendezvous with his mistress. Impressive for a man of his advanced years, Hardy had thought, while reading the man’s dossier.

  Hardy eclipsed two more banks on the right, Isbank and Kookmin before approaching the Bank of London. As expected, on the other side of the street, Taziz turned left at Threadneedle St. Hardy shot a look over his shoulder, waited for a car to drive by and fell in step behind his mark.

  ... … … … …

  Her long, straight and dark hair flowing behind her, the tall woman—easily six-foot in her chunky two-inch high heels—rounded the corner at Princess St. and trailed the man in the black leather jacket and blue jeans. Their worlds had collided a few years ago. He seemed differe
nt now; his appearance for sure, but his persona was what grabbed her attention. He had been deadly back when they first met. Now, a stronger vibe resonated from him. Searching for the right word, her mind settled on pure lethality. To anyone else, he would have looked like a tourist, sightseeing in London. She knew better. He had a reason, a purpose for being here. In the past, violence had accompanied that objective. Whatever the motivation for his presence, she would find the answer.

  Reaching inside her knee-length overcoat, she wrapped a hand around the weapon dangling under her left armpit. Her strides lengthened and she drew nearer to the danger in front of her. The only way to fight violence is with more violence. Her thumb flicked a snap and she drew the pistol, but kept it concealed under the coat.

  Farther ahead, Taziz ducked into a hotel. The woman rotated the gun toward the man in black, her long legs making short work of the sidewalk between them.

  ... … … … …

  Hardy picked up his pace and closed to within twenty-five yards of his prey. Following someone from directly behind was more difficult. If Taziz made a detour, Hardy needed to know. Surprises were unwelcome in his line of work. They usually preceded something bad.

  Hardy passed by the beautiful columns of yet another bank, the Bank of England. Bartholomew Lane came and went and slowly London took on a more modern look, tall buildings with lots of glass. The stoic and cold appearance of stone and concrete reappeared once past Old Broad St. Up ahead, Taziz darted across the street and disappeared into one of the monolith structures. Hardy started to step off the sidewalk, but stopped when something hard jabbed him in the ribs and a female voice came from behind.

  “Don’t turn around.”

  Hardy raised his hands.

  “Put your hands down,” she commanded, “but keep them visible.”

  He complied.

  “Keep walking. And stay close…like two lovers going for a stroll.”

  Hardy and the woman ambled down Threadneedle St. He glanced left at a shop’s windows, hoping to get a glimpse of her. The muzzle pressed harder into his back.