A pair of police units raced past, sirens blaring as they turned into the hotel.
“Listen, don’t evacuate through the front,” he told her.
“What? Why not?”
“I don’t think it’s in the ballroom. The explosive isn’t there yet. It’s still in the van. Remember the flak vests? I think these guys are going to show up looking like the bomb squad and barge their way in while everything’s in chaos and then abandon the van and detonate the device.”
“But—”
“What’s your ETA?”
“Five minutes. We’ve got a SWAT team en route.”
“Stay away from the black van, Lexie. You hear me?”
But she was gone.
Jake cursed. He stuffed his phone into his pocket and jumped from his truck. Noise surrounded him as a pair of fire trucks screamed past. This whole thing was a potential horror show. Besides all the VIPs and civilians, an explosion now would take out a slew of first responders, too, and Jake had no doubt that was part of the goal.
He looked around, distressed to see people stepping from the condominium to see what the commotion was about. Meanwhile, hotel guests were streaming through the Willoughby’s front doors, gawking at all the emergency vehicles. The bystanders wore white bathrobes, workout gear, business attire. It was a mix of people, from conference attendees to tourists.
Amid all the confusion, Jake spotted a trio of black Suburbans. This would be the vice president’s motorcade. The Secret Service had obviously hustled him inside one of the vehicles and was ready to move out.
Jake looked around desperately for SWAT. He glanced at the sky, hoping a helo would swoop down and a team would fast-rope in to disrupt the attack, but the sky above him was blue and empty.
As if on cue, the black van started to move.
Jake was out of time. He readied his SIG in his hand and darted to a tall hedge, keeping himself out of sight as he watched the van. He stayed close to the hedge, moving briskly until he ran out of cover. Then he sprinted for the van, staying behind it to avoid being seen. It worked for a second or two, and then Jake caught the driver’s eye in the side mirror.
Jerome.
The van door opened, and Jake caught a flash of muzzle fire.
Rat-tat-tat.
He ran straight toward the gun, leaping onto the back bumper and grabbing the swinging door as he muscled his way into the van. A rifle barrel swung in his direction. Jake blocked it with his forearm and lifted his pistol.
Pop! Pop!
A man in black lunged toward him, tackling him to the floor of the van. John Ocampo. He recognized him from the driver’s license photo. Jake struggled to get his weapon up, but his arm was pinned. With his left fist, he smashed the man across the face and heard the sickly sound of a bone breaking. Kicking his legs out, he brought down a second attacker.
Rat-tat-tat-tat.
Bullets pinged around him as everyone fired at once. The man on top of Jake was heavy and lifeless, and Jake figured one of his shots had landed. He heaved the guy off him and jumped to his feet, taking a swing at the second attacker.
The van screeched to a halt, and everything lurched forward. Jake smacked his head on something hard, then got to his feet and tried to get his bearings.
Two men down, both in black flak vests. Jake set his sights on the driver.
Pain seared his side. He spun toward the attacker behind him and saw the glint of a knife. Ocampo was gut-shot but not yet dead. Jake jabbed him in the throat and grabbed his weapon.
As the attacker crumpled again, Jake’s gaze landed on the hard thing he’d hit his head on. It was a homemade bomb strapped to the side of the cargo space. Jake’s stomach clenched. The device was on a timer, which meant he probably needed a code to disarm it.
Jake lunged for the driver, shoving the gearshift into park as he thrust his pistol into the man’s neck.
“What’s the code?” Jake yelled.
Jerome reached for a gun under his leg, and Jake grabbed it.
“The code, or I blow your head off!”
Jake glanced at the bomb behind him as the digital numbers ticked down: 1:58 . . . 1:57 . . . 1:56.
Jake smacked Jerome’s cheek with his pistol. “Two seconds, or you’re dead!”
A slow, diabolical smile spread across his face. Suddenly, he thrust open the door and leaped from the truck.
The clock ticked down. Everywhere Jake looked were civilians and first responders. A pair of uniforms had noticed the man tumbling from the van and were rushing over now, guns drawn.
Jake jumped into the driver’s seat. He glanced behind him to make sure the other two attackers were really down, then threw the truck into drive. He blasted the horn and stomped on the gas.
He had to get out of here. The whole area was jammed with people, and he had to get somewhere less populated. He envisioned the map in his head. There was only one place within miles of here that would work, and he had probably ninety seconds to get there.
Jake plowed through a flower bed, then swerved around the cop racing toward him across the lawn. Jake jumped the curb and maneuvered around a fire truck. The street was clogged with cars. Jake veered into the oncoming lane, which was clear somehow—probably because the other side of the street had been blocked off to traffic. He pulled a U-turn and headed back the way he’d come. Jake glanced around frantically, scanning all the cop cars and emergency vehicles. No sign of Alexa, and he prayed she’d stay away.
Lexie screeched to a halt beside a fire truck. She jumped out, scanning all the chaos, and spied a man on the ground.
“Hey!” Jerking her gun from her holster, she raced toward him. “FBI! Don’t move!”
A uniformed cop held his hand up. “He’s with us, ma’am.”
As soon as he said it, the man got up and barreled into the police officer, knocking him off his feet and grabbing his gun.
“Drop it!” she screamed.
He turned and ran, and Lexie aimed her weapon.
Pop!
He dropped to the ground, and she raced over. Other cops converged on the subject, guns drawn, looking confused.
“He’s with SWAT!” one guy yelled.
“No, he’s the suspect!” she said.
The man writhed on the ground, clutching his leg. Lexie whipped out her handcuffs.
“Cover me!” she ordered, slapping the bracelets on as the man groaned and snarled. Flipping him onto his back, she saw that it was Jerome. His face was flushed with pain and fury as he squirmed on the ground, clutching his leg.
“Where’s the van?” she demanded.
The sign for the country club came into view. Jake took the turn without slowing, and the tires squealed. Up ahead was a white gatehouse with a wooden arm blocking the driveway. An attendant with a clipboard stepped out, looking alarmed.
Jake sped through the barrier, sending splinters flying. He raced up a curved drive, skimming the landscape. The clubhouse looked like a plantation perched on a sloping green lawn. Beyond it was a golf course. Jake stomped on the gas, scanning the ponds and trees and sand traps. A paved golf-cart path snaked through the property, and Jake veered onto it.
He had half a minute left. Maybe less. Sweat streamed down his face, and his heart hammered. He had to get to the middle of the course, as far away from crowds as possible. But what about people and golf carts?
Jake sped past a barricade, then slammed on the brakes and reversed. A sign hooked to the barrier read CLOSED FOR RENOVATION. Beyond it were a yellow bulldozer and a pair of workers in orange vests and hard hats.
Jake turned left and stomped the gas, plowing through the barricade. The workers stopped to gape at him as he raced past them and swerved onto the fairway. It was a long green strip, and Jake careened down it, bumping and lurching over the dips and rises.
He was almost out of time. He couldn’t see the clock, but with every second that ticked by, he knew he was getting closer to zero.
He slammed on the brakes, thrust
the van into park, and shoved open the door. He leaped from the van and sprinted away. The guys in hard hats were walking toward him, lifting their arms in confusion.
“Go, go, go!” Jake yelled, waving them off. He caught up to them and grabbed their vests. “Take cover!”
Hauling them with him, he took a flying leap into a sand trap, and they landed in a heap.
Boom!
The concussion rocked him. He cupped his arms over his head as clumps of dirt rained down. Beside him, the workers cursed and choked.
Jake’s ears rang. When the debris settled, he pushed up, coughing and spitting sand. The workers beside him were covered in dirt.
“You okay?”
Both men stared back at him, wide-eyed with shock. One of them said something, but Jake couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears.
The workers stumbled to their feet. Jake started to do the same but felt dizzy again. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky, trying to get his bearings, as the construction workers scrambled out of the sand trap. Sirens grew closer and louder. Or maybe he was getting his hearing back.
“Jake! Jake!”
Lexie dropped to her knees beside him. Jake blinked up at her, dazed. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were wild with panic. Jake forced himself to sit up.
“Are you hurt? Don’t move!” She gripped his shoulder.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
And then she was kissing him, cupping his face in her hands and raining kisses all over his mouth and cheeks. He held on to her, letting her lips and her hands reassure him that he was still alive and in one piece.
She pulled back and looked at him, her eyes swimming with tears. “I thought you were dead.”
“Nope.”
Jake got to his feet, pulling Lexie with him. They climbed out of the sand trap, and he saw the flaming wreckage of the van in the distance, probably fifty yards away. Smoke billowed up. Sirens howled.
He nodded at the inferno. “They’re dead.”
“I know. And you could have been, too.” She smacked her fist against his chest. “What is wrong with you? I told you to wait for SWAT!”
“Yeah, well, I was short on time.”
She smacked him again, and he caught her hand. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “You could have been killed!”
He pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her and breathing in the scent of her hair. Never in his life had he felt so fucking relieved. She pulled away, practically vibrating with emotion.
“I told you to wait!”
He kissed her. She tasted hot, and angry, and passionate, and he couldn’t remember ever feeling so turned on. She was incredible—everything about her—and he felt like the luckiest man in the world that she’d given him a chance. He was crazy about her, and he wanted to take her somewhere private and show her how he felt.
When he pulled back, she glared up at him, her eyes still swimming with tears.
“Where’s Jerome?” he asked.
“Where do you think? I arrested him.”
“Of course you did.” He cupped his hand against the side of her face and grinned down at her.
“What are you smiling at?” she demanded.
“You. I’ve noticed that you lose your shit whenever you’re truly worried about me.”
She shook her head and looked away, and Jake pulled her against him. Her arms went around his waist, and he kissed the top of her head.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I like it. That’s how I know you care.”
The sun warmed Lexie’s cheeks as she listened to the seagulls cawing nearby. She propped herself up on her elbows on the sand and gazed out at the surf, nerves flitting through her stomach as she thought about the hours ahead.
Not just the hours—the days, the weeks, the months.
Jake lay flat on the surfboard, looking over his shoulder as a wave rolled in. The board seemed to be sucked in, and Lexie waited for the wave to crash over him and swallow him up. Just as it crested, Jake popped to his feet. He balanced perfectly, dragging his fingertips over the water as he rode the wave in.
Lexie watched him with a lump in her throat. He tucked the board under his arm and waded to shore, and she savored the sight of him coming toward her across the sand. He stopped beside her, blocking out the sun.
“You want to try?” he asked.
“No.”
“I bet you’re a natural. You should let me teach you.”
“Are you crazy? That water’s forty degrees.”
He put the board down and leaned over her, scrubbing his hands through his hair and raining icy drops across her stomach.
“Hey!”
He dropped beside her onto the sand and looked out at the surf.
Lexie leaned back on her elbows, admiring his beautiful torso beaded with water. Her gaze went to the knife wound at his waist. A “scratch,” he’d called it. She studied the shallow cut, trying to get her mind around this new reality. She had fallen for a man who got in knife fights with terrorists.
He turned and smiled at her. “What?”
“Why don’t you wear a wet suit?” she asked.
“Wet suits are for wimps.”
“And again I ask, why don’t you wear a wet suit?”
He leaned over her, caging her in with his arms before he kissed her. It started out playful but shifted to serious, and soon she was completely underneath him, straining against his body as he kissed her breathless.
Finally, he drew back and gazed down at her. All the yearning and frustration she felt seemed to be right there in his eyes.
“Thank you for twisting my arm,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted. “I don’t remember the last time I took a morning off.”
“You should take more.” He grabbed a beach towel and scrubbed it over his hair, then looked out at the surf.
It had been a crazy twenty-four hours. After the dust settled—literally—Lexie had spent three full hours at the scene of the explosion, interviewing witnesses and being interviewed herself. Then she and Jake had gone to her office, where they’d been debriefed separately. Afterward, Lexie learned that FBI agents had linked John Ocampo to a rented storage unit north of Los Angeles. They believed Jerome Matapang and his team had used the location to construct the bomb before loading it into Courtney’s Honda late Friday night or early Saturday morning. Courtney had been picked up at the northern border last night, trying to cross into Canada. She and Jerome were both in custody now, undergoing questioning. The charred remains of the third terrorist in the van still hadn’t been ID’d yet.
After hours of paperwork last night, Lexie had finally, finally, been cleared to leave. Jake had waited for her in the lobby. And when they got home, he’d made it his mission to take her mind off the day’s stress. Just like he’d made it his mission to convince her she should take the morning off, so they could have a little more time together.
Jake planned to get on the road in one hour. He had to be on base at noon, and even without traffic, he’d still be cutting it close. But he’d wanted to hit the beach this morning. He seemed to be under the delusion that he could teach her to surf, and Lexie had gone along with it, mostly because she needed a distraction.
She sat up and adjusted her bikini top, ignoring the chill in the air. Jake actually went swimming in this weather on a regular basis.
She traced a finger down his back. “I’m sorry you missed your campout,” she said.
“I’m not.”
“Is your dad disappointed?”
“Maybe.” The side of his mouth curved up. “When he meets you, he’ll understand.” He picked up her hand. “I’d like you to meet my mom, too. She’ll love you.”
Nerves fluttered in her stomach. “Why’s that?”
“She’s a feminist. She’ll love that you have a law-enforcement job, kicking down gender barriers. For years, she’s been asking me when we’re going to let women in the SEAL
teams.”
Lexie rested her chin on her knee. She tried to imagine meeting his parents and everything that implied. And she couldn’t believe they were having this conversation.
For months, she’d avoided getting close to him. She’d been worried about letting her guard down, about him talking crap about her to his friends, about him treating her like a conquest. Now she wasn’t worried about any of those things, but her stomach was tied in knots for completely different reasons.
He bumped her knee with his. “What is it? You’re all quiet.”
She turned to look at him, resting her cheek on her knee. “I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
“You. I never expected you to be like this.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. You’ve got the looks, the confidence, the swagger.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Swagger?”
“I didn’t expect you to be a nice guy.”
He smiled slightly. “Is that a problem for you?”
“I don’t know.” She looked out at the waves churning against the shore. “A week ago, all I could think about was tracking down a terrorist. I didn’t expect to be crushing on a guy who jumps out of airplanes and dodges bullets for a living.”
“If I do my job right, there aren’t a lot of bullets. That’s a misconception.” He looked at her. “Are you really crushing on me?”
She smiled. “I thought you didn’t catch that.”
He leaned in and kissed her. “I’m crushing on you, too. Just so you know.”
He kissed her again, and again it went from sweet to hot in a matter of seconds. Pretty soon, he had her breast in his hand, and she knew he was wondering how long it would take them to get back to her place, so they could make it to the bedroom one last time before he had to get on the road.
She pulled away, groaning as she pressed her forehead to her knee. “God, Jake. What are we doing?”
“Making out on the beach.”
“I mean, really.” She looked at him. “I’ve never tried a long-distance relationship before. I don’t think I’ll be good at it.”
Total Control Page 12
