“Oz,” Lance whispered over comms. “Send Petrov in.”
“Copy, sending him now.”
Now to keep Luka talking until Petrov got there. John hoped to hell he wasn’t going to turn on them. This could be a short mission, if he did.
“Are you sure they are going to be happy about this?” John asked. “Seems impulsive.”
Luka sneered. “Nothing I do is impulsive. I’ve planned this for months, making sure I was in Dr. Finch’s class. I established a rapport with her, so it would be easy to approach her when the time came. My plan is sheer brilliance.”
Yeah, that’s right…keep talking, you little shitbag…
“What about Petrov? Won’t he be upset that you killed his wife?”
“I don’t give a flying fuck whether he is upset or not. This is bigger than him and his precious little family. This is about the good of the cause—not the good of Peter Finch. I will be hailed a hero. He will be demoted and have to take orders from me.”
Petrov stepped into the sunlight. John had to hand it to the man—he was stealthy. John hadn’t realized he had come in.
Petrov opened his arms wide as he advanced on the young man. “Luka, why are you doing this?” His voice was as smooth as silk. “I thought we talked about this.”
In one swift motion, Petrov clamped his hands around the detonator, twisted Luka’s arm behind his back, and immobilized his hand. Luka dropped to his knees and cried out in pain. “And I thought I told you to leave my wife alone.” Petrov’s words came out through clenched teeth.
Luka struggled to regain control, stumbling as he got his legs back under him. But Petrov was too strong, and had the height advantage under his young protege. John held his breath. THe fear of loss swamped him. One slip, and the detonator could be activated.
And Charlee would be gone before he had a chance to tell her how he felt about her. That she was the first woman who had brought light and hope into his world.
And he was not ready for that light to be extinguished.
Petrov wrestled to get control of Luka. John glanced up at where Lucas had his rifle trained on the men.
“Birdman,” John said in a low voice over comms. “When you get a shot, take it.”
Petrov snapped Luka’s hand back at an unnatural angle. John could hear the snap of bone an second before Luka’s screams rang through the air. Then his body jerked twice as two of Lucas’s bullets pieced the young man’s chest, ripping his heart into several pieces. Petrov dropped to his knees as Luka’s dead weight dragged him down.
Mason and another Navy SEAL, Ben, were on top of Petrov, securing the detonator. John, Lance, Gabe the explosives expert, and their medic, Mick, advanced on Charlee.
“Okay, Charlee,” Lance said in a calm, steady voice. “I need you to be remain very still while we figure out how to get this vest off of you.”
She nodded but her gaze was glued to John. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, trying to convince himself as much as her.
“Ma’am, do you know if you have anything attached to your skin under the vest?” Gabe asked.
“No,” she said. “It’s just the vest.”
Gabe smiled at her, most likely to put her at ease. If she tensed and jerked the wrong way, the vest could blow. “Well, that’s good news. Let’s see if we can’t figure out how to get this off.”
Tears welled in her eyes and broke free from her lower lids, streaming down the tracks on her face. “John, please get back.”
“I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“Please,” she whispered. “I need you to take care of Connor for me. Get him help. Don’t let them just throw him in prison. Promise me you’ll help him.”
“Shh,” John soothed her. He wanted to gather her in his arms and kiss away the fear and pain. “I promise.”
“Tell him that I love him. Always. Even if I’m not here, I’m with him in his heart. Forever.” Tears flowed like a river down her face, dripping onto the floor at her feet. Her eyes pleaded with him. John felt his heart seize in his chest. He hadn’t felt this kind of pain since Grace drew her last breath.
He’d be damned if witnessed another woman he cared about die in front of him.
“Sir,” Gabe said to him over his shoulder. “You may want to back up.”
John shook his head. If his men were going to die trying to save Charlee, he was going to be right there with them—with her—to the very end. “Do what you need to do, Gabe. Let’s get this vest off her and go home.”
Gabe inhaled deeply, but didn’t attempt to counter him. “Okay, Charlee, we’re going to raise your arms over your head—very slowly—okay?”
Charlee’s eyes shot over to Gabe, wide and disbelieving, but she nodded her affirmation. Her arms slowly extended over her head. Gabe circled behind her and placed his hands on her hips. “Good—you’re doing great. Now, I’m going to help you kneel, okay?”
She nodded, but said nothing.
“Sir,” Gabe directed at John. “Once this vest comes off, the boys are going to throw it as far away from us as they can—” his eyes darted over to Mick and Lance, who nodded they understood—“and we’re going to try to get Charlee as far away from the blast as we can.”
John gave a quick nod of his head to indicate he understood the plan. “Riley,” he said into comms. “Have the PJ’s on the ready.”
Three of members of the team, including Mick, were Para-Jumpers and made up the Air Force contingent of The 13. PJ’s were special operations EMT’s, often entering warzones when others were fleeing, all in an effort to save as many lives as possible. They were the unsung heroes of the special operations world.
“Yes, sir, they are standing by,” Riley said.
Slowly, the vest rose over Charlee’s head. “Three, Two, One,” Gabe said. Lance and Mick tossed the vest as far behind the group as they could. Gabe shoved Charlee toward John. He wrapped his arms around her as a fireball exploded. The force lifted them off their feet. They crashed to the ground. John rolled to his side and caught sight of Charlee on the ground a few feet away from him.
Then the world went black.
Chapter Seventeen
John found Charlee wrapped in a blanket on his couch, her hands wrapped around of steaming mug of coffee. They had both come through the explosion with only minor cuts and bruises. They had been lucky.
Luka had not.
John dropped an overnight bag on the floor and sat on the couch net to her. With all the media coverage, the press was camped out in front of Charlee’s house. They had decided she would stay with John until the story died down, and she could return home. John, with the help of Sean and Mason, had been able to get and out of Charlee’s house without the press even realizing they had been there.
“I tried to get as much as possible,” he said. “If I missed something you need, just let me know and I can get whatever you want at the store.”
“Thanks.” She sipped her coffee. “Did you see Connor?”
Connor had been taken to a military psychiatric hospital that specialized in reversing the effects of brain-washing. Luckily for Charlee, the hospital was in Providence. Unfortunately, she was not allowed to visit Connor until he got through treatment.
“I did,” John said, taking her hand in his. He knew it had been difficult for her to accept that she couldn’t help her son. But Petrov had done a number on the kid, and Connor believed his mother was the root of all evil, and wanted nothing to do with her. “He looks good.”
“Did you get to talk to him?”
“Yeah, for a few minutes.”
“Did he—ask about me?”
The look in her eyes—hopeful, yet defeated and heartbroken—did a number on him. He wanted to protect her from everything that caused her pain. Even if the pain was a son who seemed to hate her.
“No, but we talked about this, baby. He’s been brainwashed into thinking you are the enemy. It’s going to take time for him to be reprogrammed, and wipe out all t
he lies he was made to believe.”
Everyday was a struggle to keep her sane in the face of insurmountable pain and insanity. What he wouldn’t do to have five minutes alone with Petrov and beat the living hell out of the man for what he did to Connor and Charlee. The kid may bounce back from this, but he would never be the same. And that broke John’s heart.
“So, what did Connor say?” she asked.
“Not much that made sense.” Connor had spent most of the time picking at the chopped formica on the tabletop where they sat. He didn’t look at John and never answered any questions. “He kept asking where his sister was? He said he had seen her with his dad, and wanted to know if she was okay.”
Charlee paled. Her hand shook nearly spilling coffee into her lap. “That can’t be.”
John took the mug from her and set it on the table.
“How does he know about her?” Charlee asked, but her gaze was fixed on something—or nothing—in front of her. “We never told him. He was never supposed to know.”
“What are you saying, Charlee?” John grasped both of her hands and tried to coax her to look at him. “Does Connor have a sister?”
“Yes.” She shut her eyes tight and shook her head. “No.” Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked at him. “She’s not alive.”
John stared at her, and once again, he realized he really knew very little about this woman.
Inhaling deeply through her nose, she release the breath and gazed at him for a moment, as if trying to figure out how to start the explanation he was wordlessly demanding. “I was pregnant with twins, a boy and a girl. There were complications with Shelby and she died during childbirth.”
“You didn’t have any issues with Connor?”
“No, he came out with any issues.” She shifted so that she faced him. “I always swore that I heard Shelby crying when she was born, but Peter and the doctor assured me I was mistaken. They said I was confusing hearing Connor’s cry because I couldn’t accept Shelby’s death.”
“That’s plausible, I guess.”
“Yeah, it was a really hard time, and I suffered severe postpartum depression on top of grieving for Shelby.” Her shoulders dropped, as if she was reliving the grief of losing her child. It had to feel like she had lost both of her children, and that reality was weighing heavy on her. “Why do you think Peter would’ve told Connor about Shelby? We agreed he didn’t need to know about her. Of all things, he tells him that his twin sister died before she had a chance to live. What could be gained by that?”
John had a few ideas. Petrov could’ve told Connor that his sister died due to some fault on Charlee’s part in an attempt to further alienate the boy from his mother. But Charlee didn’t need to hear that theory. She was struggling enough as it was. And he was regretting even bringing up Connor’s discussion about his sister. He hated causing Charlee more pain. “I don’t know, baby.”
She snuggled into his side and placed her head on his chest. “Thank you for taking care of me—and helping Connor. I’m so grateful you’re in my life.”
“There’s nothing I want more than for you to be happy and for Connor to get well.”
She lifted her head and smiled for the first time in a couple of days. The way her eyes lit up made his heart flip in his chest. She was gorgeous. And amazingly resilient, And so damn strong—stronger than any woman he had ever met.
“Be careful, John Holt. You keep this up, and I may just fall in love with you.”
He chuckled. “Feel free.”
I’m already halfway there.
Acknowledgments
Every book is a labor of love, but the best love stories have their share of ups and downs. What gets an author through the bumps and bruises of producing a story and characters people will fall in love with are the many helping hands, shoulders to cry on, and kicks in the asses along the way. Big thanks go to my sprinting buddies, Melinda, Selena, Jill, and Kendra, who motivate me to keep my behind in the chair and fingers on the keyboard. The team at Buoni Amici Press, who handle, well—everything that involves marketing my books and getting them into readers hands. A special shout out to Drue Hoffman, PA extraordinaire, who is also the best cover designer and artist out there. My covers are epic. My editor, MJ Price, who has stopped asking me how soon I need something back and assumes everything is in “rush” status. To my family and friends who continue to support me in my dreams. To all the bloggers and reviewers who read, review, and talk about my books, a big warm, fuzzy hug to you. Most of all, thanks to all the readers who buy my books. I am nothing without you.
About the Author
Born and raised in the Rocky Mountains, Anne L. Parks has spent the last 28 years moving all over the United States. Married to the Navy – well a Commander in the Navy – Parks has lived in various locales throughout the United States. She currently resides in the Washington D.C area. When not writing, she spends her time reading, doing yoga, mountain biking, and keeping track of four kids and a very spoiled rescue German Shepherd. And drinking wine.
Author of nine novels (Tri-Stone Trilogy, Return To Me series, and Strangers) and four novellas that have been published in anthologies, she loves to create stories with mystery, plenty of twists and turns, and loaded with suspense.
With a military husband, it was only a matter of time before she broke into the military romantic suspense genre, where she feels right at home amongst highly trained, somewhat jaded, ready to take out terrorists alpha males and the strong, brave women who love them. Parks first military romance, MIA, went to #1 on Amazon’s Kindle World. Thirteen more books will be released in her new series The 13. Two other series are being planned.
Find Anne At:
www.alparksauthor.com/
[email protected]
Also by Anne L. Parks
The 13 Series
Mia
Ritt
Mason
Ben
Lucas - Coming January 8, 2019
The Return Series
The Return
Return To Newport
Lauren’s Return
Returning Home
RSVP
The Tri-Stone Trilogy
Of Demons & Stones
Revenge
Vindication
Stand Alone’s & Anthologies
Conrad (Military Romance)
Strangers
Retribution, A Silent Cove Novel
Celebrate - A Love Brothers Anthology (No longer available)
Elementals (No longer available)
John (The 13 Book 5) Page 9
