by Toni Leland
He stroked her cheek, his eyes warm with appreciation. “I couldn’t have done otherwise.”
All the things she wanted to say lodged in her throat, refusing to move, keeping their own counsel.
His voice softened. “You get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She gazed into his eyes, trying to ask him to stay without actually saying it.
He smiled, and she knew he’d gotten the message. “I want to talk to Peterson and Kerr, find out what the hell really went on here this afternoon.”
In the velvet silence of pre-dawn, Jess lay in her bed, staring at nothing. The turmoil of the past few days had commandeered her dreams, leaving her as exhausted as when she’d fallen into bed. She drew in a long breath, thinking about Howard, imagining how his warm body would feel spooned against hers under the quilt. Thoughts of making love with him sent desire stirring through her belly. Would he be a tender lover, considerate and attentive to her needs? Maybe his calm demeanor hid a passion that transcended any fantasies she could summon. Warmth crawled across her inner thighs, and she lay very still, savoring sensations that had lain dormant for years.
A creak in the hall sent her pulse leaping. She held her breath, straining to hear, senses on high alert. Silence. House noises, nothing more. Exhausted relief chased the adrenaline from her chest, and she closed her eyes and sank back into restless dreams.
An hour later, she woke with a start to a room bright with morning light. The shadowy fantasy interlude of the predawn hours fled with the brilliance and she felt foolish. Shuffling down the hall, she moved into the kitchen and turned on the small television. The lighthearted banter of a cereal commercial filled the room while she made coffee. Her emotions bubbled to the surface, feelings spawned and nurtured in the wee hours. Howard was a page from a story yet unwritten, a tale that might never unfold if she didn’t take a chance.
The commercial break switched to the television news desk.
“A large-scale terrorist arrest took place in Bridgeport, Connecticut yesterday afternoon, when FBI agents stormed a garage where five suspected terrorists were reported to be hiding. Agents found several shoulder-mounted Stinger rocket launchers, and a partially empty crate of explosives.”
Jess’s cup hit the floor, spraying hot coffee over her bare feet. She stared at the screen and fought a wave of nausea. Were those the weapons hidden in her loft? The aftermath of Easton’s involvement ballooned, more than her stunned brain could handle.
She refocused on the newscaster.
“Brynn Tennant has more details from the scene. . .” A sharp-faced young woman appeared, her worried expression accentuating the tense description of major news. “John, we’re here in the neighborhood where the FBI raided this garage yesterday. . .” She gestured toward a run-down corrugated tin building, roped off with yellow crime scene tape. “According to our sources, the FBI has been tracking this particular sleeper cell for months. Search teams found weapons capable of bringing down an airliner in a landing or take-off pattern. LaGuardia is just sixty miles away. Seized evidence indicates the huge international airport was the target. Agents aren’t saying how they found out about the planned attack, but it may be related to another incident in New Haven County.” The television station switched back to the main news desk, and the young announcer stared earnestly at his audience. “An abandoned farm south of Prospect was raided just hours after the arrests in Bridgeport. Tom Finn has details.”
Samir’s dark image appeared on the screen, and Jess gasped.
The newscaster’s voice echoed in the background. “Samir bin Fahad Mahfood is believed to have been the cell organizer for yesterday’s thwarted attack. Mahfood was a U.S. citizen living in Hartford for over twenty years.” Samir’s image faded, replaced by the dark faces of Hafez and Mustafa. Jess’s thoughts snapped back to Easton, and the knowledge that these animals had wandered freely amongst the horses, been within easy range of the kids, plotted deadly schemes right under her nose. The reminder of her close association with Samir sent a cold chill through her stomach, then a vicious stab of malevolence tore through her thoughts. Good, I’m glad they caught the bastards! I hope they rot in jail.
The picture changed to a new scene–showing a smoldering, burned-out farmhouse surrounded by double rows of yellow streamers. The camera panned to a gutted van, also cordoned off with crime tape.
“Mahfood and his companions set off suicide bombs when FBI agents moved in. The house was completely engulfed in flames before firefighters arrived, and forensics teams are now sifting through the rubble for evidence. It’s not certain if the group was headed for the Bridgeport location, but authorities have hinted that these men were involved in a major plot. Back to you, John.”
The Hartford newscaster solemnly assured the audience that the day’s programming would be interrupted as new details became available. Jess stared at the screen, mindlessly watching a commercial for an investment firm that promised to protect the future. There are no guarantees. There is no way to protect the future. Radicals peppered the world, their only mission being to strike a blow against freedom.
Since the morning she’d watched the Trade Towers attack, seen the massive hole in the Pentagon, and footage of a shattered airliner, Jess had buttressed her emotions, safeguarding her grip on sanity, forbidding the terror to invade and put down roots. While experts expounded about Post Traumatic Syndrome and the need to accept and deal with the reality of the attacks, Jess had fortified her psyche and plunged on. Avoided reading about it. Never thinking about it. Making it go away by sheer determination to remain unscathed.
Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, blurring the images on the television into strange art-deco murals, animated in slow motion. The dam broke and years of disappointment and suppressed sorrow poured out.
The dampness of old concrete crept into every joint, and Samir shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore his aching knees and the dank, musty odors in the cramped old bomb shelter. He clenched his jaw. Jessica Rayder was responsible for this–he knew it as sure as he knew his own name. Twenty years wasted–destroyed by a stupid infidel woman. He closed his eyes and rage filled his head, his heart, every breath. Worse than the aborted plan, he had failed Allaah.
He sat very still in the dark, straining to hear what might be going on above ground. His watch glowed faintly. Three a.m. He needed to leave soon. In a couple of hours, the FBI would discover there were only two bodies in the house. He flicked his lighter and glanced up at the trap door in the faint light. He grabbed the handle, then extinguished the flame.
Pushing the heavy steel plate up about an inch, he listened. The sounds of voices in the distance drifted on the damp, acrid night air. Slowly, he pushed the door up a little more, listening carefully for any signs of people close by. The floodlights at the front of the burned-out house cast an eerie glow on the tree branches along the road, and even deeper shadows over the small shed covering the bomb shelter. He eased the door open just enough to slip out onto the ground, taking care not to let the lid clang shut.
He lay still in the tall grass, breathing heavily, willing his heart to stop pounding. He raised his head and looked across the pasture at the abandoned truck. Fifty yards. Did he dare try to make a run for it? If he crawled that far, would his knees hold up? Allaah would keep him safe, if that was His will. Another surge of rage coursed through Samir’s head, pushing his faith away, and he began to slither through the tall grass toward the tiny car he’d hidden the day before.
Chapter 46
In the quiet refuge of her bedroom, Jess fumbled into some clothes. The tears started again and her throat ached with rising hysteria, as too many thoughts crowded into her head.
“I need to get out of here.”
Walking quickly across the dew-covered grass, she inhaled deeply, hungry for fresh air–anything to clear her head. The early morning sky was gray with rain clouds and thunder rumbled in the distance. A minute later, she slid the large door aside and chuc
kled at the chorus of whinnies echoing off the rafters. The mingled scents in the warm barn lifted her spirits as she moved down the aisle toward Casey’s stall, listening to the ordinary sounds of morning. It’s over. We’re free.
Her step slowed as she approached the stall door, a sudden heaviness cloaking her. She focused on an object stuck into the wood, and horror rose in her throat. A short, thick-bladed knife stood out in stark relief against the door. A long, dark red drool stained the wood beneath it. Terror convulsed her as she leaped forward to snatch open the door, then her screams echoed through the cavernous barn.
A second later, she collapsed into the blood-soaked sawdust, and threw herself onto the still-warm body of her oldest friend.
Numb with disbelief, Jess sat back against the stall wall and stared at Casey through swollen, burning eyes. Who had done this? Panic sparked through her pulse, and terrible images flooded her head. Terrorists coming back to clean up the operation. She had to call someone. Why had she let Howard leave? She struggled to her feet, and hurried out into the aisle, latching the stall door behind her, out of habit. Heart pounding, she glanced around, then flipped open her cellphone and headed out the barn door. Two large raindrops splattered on her hand, and she looked up at the dark clouds preparing to deliver a deluge.
A crashing pain at the base of her skull nearly blinded her, and she dropped to her knees. She fought the closing darkness, gulping deep breaths, trying to clear the brilliant spots from in front of her eyes. A familiar menacing voice filtered through the clanging in her ears, and nausea boiled up in her throat.
“You are a bitch! Unclean, infidel whore!”
She looked up and tried to focus on Samir’s face, black with hatred. How he could possibly be there? Before her thoughts could collect, he savagely kicked her in the belly, and she fell face first into the gravel. A loud clap of thunder shattered the air, and a boot smashed into the side of her head. She closed her eyes and darkness descended.
“No! You stay awake!”
He grabbed her by the hair and she screamed as he yanked her up into a sitting position.
He stepped back. “You have destroyed everything I have spent my life building. Now you will pay.”
Blood ran down the back of her throat, the taste so vile she gagged. Staring through her tears, she struggled to comprehend his words.
“I’m going to kill you, Jessica. But first, you will suffer.”
He picked up a large dead branch covered with dry leaves, then pulled a lighter from his pocket. Glowering at her with black, merciless eyes, he flicked open the lighter.
“You’re going to watch your horses burn, and listen to their screams.”
Jess’s arms felt as though lead weights bound them to the ground. Grief overwhelmed her, and she rolled onto her side. The sky opened up and the rain came in earnest, mingling with her tears of despair, the thunder muffling her sobs. Samir turned on his heel and walked slowly and purposefully toward the open barn door.
Casey’s lifeless body flashed in front of Jess’s eyes, and the futility of all her heroism smashed into her brain. Images of Howard’s face, and the memory of his embrace flooded her thoughts. A bolt of lightning jagged through the sky, and touched the top of one of the massive oaks by the house. The upper branches burst into flames.
No! By God, this isn’t over!
She gathered her feet under her and crouched, ignoring the pain screeching through her body. She waited for the sudden dizziness to fade, then looked around. A pitchfork leaned against a fence, about ten feet away. Samir had almost reached the door. Watching him carefully, she crabbed sideways toward the fence, and reached for the pitchfork. Samir ignited the leaves and a cry froze in her throat.
Fueled by terror and adrenaline, she drew a deep breath, then pushed herself into a staggering run. Thunder rolled, camouflaging the sound of her feet on the gravel. The eerie glow of the blazing branch flared inside the barn. Horses whinnied with fear at the smell of smoke and another surge of adrenaline rammed through her. She held the pitchfork in front of her body like a jousting lance as she closed in.
Samir’s maniacal laugh curled through the air. “Allaahu akbar!”
Jess plunged forward and buried the pitchfork in his back, relishing the crunch of bone and gristle as the tines penetrated his spine. His scream mingled with the cries of terrified horses. Tears and rage almost blinded her as she gave another superhuman shove and rammed the fork deeper, until the base touched his jacket. He pitched forward onto the fiery branch, and the flames crackled on contact with his blood.
Jess sank to her knees, sobs rolling up from the depths of her anguish.
Chapter 47
Low voices and the hum of machinery filtered into Jess’s fractured dreams. Terrifying images ebbed and waned in her head. She recoiled from Samir’s snarling face as he crawled toward her, the tines of the pitchfork grating on the concrete floor. She smelled smoke.
“No! Don’t!”
A soft hand grasped her shoulder, and a soothing voice cut through her terror. “It’s okay, Jessica. You’re safe now.”
The crisp fluorescent light and odor of disinfectant were reassuring, and Jess’s pulse slowed. A kind, smiling face shimmered into her line of vision. The nurse’s features were framed by curly gray hair, topped with a perky white cap. Jess tried to lift her head, but a sharp jab of pain ran through her face.
“Careful, you’ve a nasty wound on your cheek. We’re about to sew you up.”
The nurse turned to someone out of Jess’s line of sight. “She’s awake. You can talk to her for two minutes, then you’ll have to leave.”
In seconds, Jess’s battered body and shattered mind sank into the glorious tones of Howard’s voice.
“Oh, Jessie, thank God, you’re okay.” He grasped her hand and raised it to his lips. “I should never have left you alone.”
She started to shake her head, then gasped at the blast of pain careening through it. Her voice croaked when she tried to speak, and Howard touched her swollen lips with his fingers.
“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here now.”
Tears trickled down her temples and her throat ached, but she managed a weak smile.
The nurse returned. “The doctor’s here, you’ll have to wait in the hall.”
Howard leaned down and gently brushed his lips across Jess’s forehead. “I’ll be back.”
Jess woke up, the change in her surroundings momentarily confusing her. Soft recessed lights reflected against peach-colored walls, a sharp contrast to the bright light of the emergency room. The din of catastrophe had faded to quiet privacy. A soft knock on the door preceded a small dark-skinned woman with a soft southern drawl.
“You awake, honey?” She came into the room and smiled. “I’m Debra. Boy, you look like you tangled with a ’gator.”
“Pretty close. You oughta see the other guy.”
Warm brown eyes twinkled. “Yeah, I heard. I guess you’re some kinda hero or somethin’.”
Jess frowned, then winced. Even her eyebrows hurt.
Debra chuckled. “Let me get your blood pressure, then I’ll turn on the tube and you can see for yourself.”
A few minutes later, a car commercial promised the best value possible, then the screen flicked to a news desk.
“Recapping today’s big story, Samir Mahfood, a suspected terrorist who was thought to have died last night in a suicide bombing, was killed early this morning.” The screen abruptly switched to another scene, and Jess gasped. A long shot of Easton panned to the highway, where a half-dozen police cars mingled through emergency vehicles, fire trucks, and television vans. The camera swept back to the barns, and zoomed in. Yellow police tape ran across the back door of the barn, around the corner, and across the driveway to the arena. Inside the cordoned-off area, a black van marked “county coroner” sat close by the main doors. A man emerged from inside, carrying a pitchfork wrapped in clear plastic. Jess’s stomach heaved and she closed her eyes, the reporter’s word
s penetrating her brain.
“This beautiful horse farm is the scene of a grisly killing. We don’t have all the details, but sometime in the early morning hours, suspected terrorist ringleader Samir Mahfood came here, and was killed by the owner of the farm. The FBI hasn’t released any details, but we do know that Mahfood was originally thought to have died in last night’s explosion during a raid in Prospect, Connecticut.” The camera flashed to the barn doors again. Two men slid a black body bag into the back of the coroner’s van.
“You don’t want to watch that.”
Jess’s tears sprang up at the sound of Howard’s voice. He picked up the remote and switched off the television, then took her hand.
“How’re you feeling now?”
“Exactly like shit.”
He laughed, and she couldn’t help chuckling too, though it hurt like the devil.
A sharp knock on the door, and Mona stuck her head in.
“Doc says we can talk to you now.”
“Yeah, might as well get this over.”
Mona stepped into the room, followed by Kerr and Peterson.
Howard dropped Jess’s hand, and took two long steps toward the group. His level tone emphasized the hostility simmering beneath the words.
“Throughout this entire operation, you assured Jess and Faith they’d be safe, that all your planning was air-tight. Made a big deal that there was little risk of retribution, and how terrorists work hard to keep low profiles, their mission more important than revenge. This should not have happened. Do you have anything to say?”
Kerr’s jaw tightened and his skin flushed dark red. His mouth formed a hard, thin line as he returned Howard’s stony stare.
Howard stepped back. “I trust you’ll find the opportunity to express your regrets to these women. For my part, I will copy you on my report to the agency director.”
The silence grew, the air thickened with tension, and no one said a word. Finally, Mona cleared her throat.
