by Amy Gamet
Resisting His Target
Shattered SEALs Book Two
Amy Gamet
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1
She’s nothing but a goddamn liability.
Sweat dripped down the man’s forehead as he steered, eyes transfixed on the red taillights of the car in front of him in the darkness. There was no guardrail despite the drop-off to his right and the inky black void that hovered over the ocean.
He’d followed her today, needing to see for himself that she would keep her word. Now he was fucked because she had not. The joints of his fingers were stiff as rusted bolts around ancient screws. He could picture what he needed to do, see the impact that would send her to her death, but indecision pitted every muscle against its opposite.
His foot pressed the pedal toward the floorboard, the taillights getting closer as his car ate up the road between them. Abruptly he leaned back and lifted his foot, the accelerator popping to its upright position as perspiration burst from his skin like water squeezed from a sponge.
Could he kill someone? Just like that? And not just anyone, but a friend. Nausea roiled in his gut. His eyes shifted to the rearview mirror, looking for headlights in the night, something to take this decision out of his hands, a witness. But there was nothing to stop him, no one to see.
He counted the reasons it was right, the justification warring with his conscience as his foot came down on the accelerator. He moved alongside her, straddling the yellow line, adrenaline painting the scene with wide, bold strokes. But his hands wouldn’t move, the tiny baby she carried in her womb torturing him with its very existence.
He was about to kill an innocent woman and the child she refused to erase, a child whose birth held the potential to end life as he knew it. Genetics would see to that.
Black or white.
Success or failure.
Life or death.
The crush of ambivalence was a physical war inside him, his muscles rigid, sweat streaming from his pores like foul water from a rusty faucet. A sob hung low in his throat. He couldn’t do it. He just could not. What would happen to him now?
He turned toward her and their eyes met, hers wide with fear. She hit the brakes and he worked to match her speed, desperate she not escape. She’d seen him. She would be lightning-quick to tell the world his sins. That was her job, after all. A goddamn reporter.
Unless you stop her.
He touched her bumper, just a bump, desperate to corner her vehicle and control what happened next, but he forced her car too close to the edge. Even if he stopped now, she would go to the police and the house of cards he’d created would come fluttering to the ground. There would be jail time, or worse.
With one swift movement, he jerked the steering wheel to the right, slamming into the side of her car and jarring him with the reality of what he’d done. She took off fast and he followed, his thoughts running through flowcharts of possibilities, all of them bad. He caught up to her and rear-ended her vehicle, but he’d underestimated the force required to push her off the road.
A memory flashed in his mind, the hot pavement of a country road and the deer he’d hit with his dad’s Pontiac, the repeated blows of a heavy shovel not enough to put the animal out of its misery. He’d driven away in childish tears, the doe writhing on the pavement behind him.
He would not make the same mistake twice.
Her car careened around a wide curve, the image of the dying animal spurring him on as he chased her. He drove alongside her and cranked the steering wheel hard right. She swerved onto the gravel-covered shoulder.
He hit her again, harder this time, hard enough, leaving himself only a split second to correct his course before he went off the road right with her. He slammed on the brakes, his breath coming in great gasps as he turned and saw her taillights disappear into the abyss.
“Jackie!” he screamed. He imagined her car flying toward the ocean with her strapped tightly inside. Her name was a wail, full of horror and remorse, bursting from his lungs. “Jackieee!”
2
Eight Years Later
It was nearly dark by the time Jackie closed the wooden shutters on the last of the cabanas, her hands glowing an eerie white against the deep blue that had swallowed up the landscape. Her bare feet were cushioned by the sand, warmth leftover from the sunshine that had beaten down that afternoon. Now the air was briny and sharp with ozone, a harbinger of the coming storm.
She slammed her finger between the doors, cursing and blaming herself for not starting this job in the daylight.
So much to do.
The front had rolled in quickly, covering the sunset with deep purple clouds and staining the surf a foreboding green. Goosebumps covered her arms despite the humid breeze, the sound of the ocean waves crashing like the pulse of an angry animal.
It was the first in a string of growing, spinning systems moving toward them over the gulf. She’d overheard some women at the grocery store that morning. For hurricane season in Mexico, it could have been much worse, they said—mucho peor. But it didn’t seem so great to Jackie, the woman who’d been raised in upstate New York shoveling snow instead of dodging palm fronds and facing down Mother Nature’s fury.
Now she knew all too well what those storms might bring. She’d endured seven hurricane seasons before this one, and she would endure seven times seven more if that was what it took for her to stay. Her life in the United States had been full of storms of a different kind, far less predictable than the weather.
She tested the front door of each cabana one final time to be sure it was latched securely, its porch clear of anything that might take flight, her eyes catching on a seashell sign that hung beside the door, and a flash of pride warmed her belly.
This place was hers, each little hut and the small stretch of white sand beyond, the main house with its restaurant, a handful of guest suites, and the rooms she shared with her daughter. The smallest dot on a map of well-established hotels that catered to tourists, but there were no guests here now. The exodus began yesterday and ended when she waved goodbye to a newlywed couple from New Jersey hours earlier.
The month’s revenue would suffer, the smattering of reservations at this time of year being cancelled more quickly than they were replaced, and her brows drew together in worry. She’d already dropped her low summer rates, but weather like this meant more cancellations on the horizon. There would be less money for expenses, even less for her own salary.
It was a cycle, one she had little control over, that lack of control an all-too-common theme in her life.
She hoped the cabanas would be okay, that they’d be able to weather the storm bearing down. With their grass roofs and bamboo structures, they were designed more for their tropical aesthetics than any kind of strength, but they were beautiful despite their need for repairs. “Don’t blow away on me,” she whispered, touching the porch railing as if shaking a hand and solidifying the deal.
Thunder rolled quietly in the distance, the energy of the storm hovering like a tangible, unwelcome presence. She held her breath, a tingle running down her spine. Turning in a slow circle, she scanned the beach for the source of her unease, but it was too dark to see clearly, deep shadows making familiar shapes appear strange.
She shook her head quickly, her radar sensing danger that was purely atmospheric. She headed for the main house, anxious to get inside, but the feeling followed her like a lion stalking its prey.
Relax. Everything’s fine.
She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths, but still her pace quickened. She rounded
a tropical bush taller than her head, a plant she’d wrestled into submission with sharp shears and determination over years. She grabbed onto that memory, pushing others aside, ignoring the alarm bells that clamored in her head. But she knew this feeling, so familiar from her past, the fear that seeped into her skin like poison, killing every ounce of happiness in her veins and replacing it with a meek submission she barely recognized.
“Jacqueline.”
She stopped breathing, her feet stilling beneath her. Was she hearing things?
Her husband’s voice called her, whether from the past or just a few feet behind her, she didn’t know. Now she ran, feet stammering in the sand. The air was black, so dark she should have brought a light to guide her, and she cursed her lack of preparedness.
She was imagining things, but the darkness of her past was behind her, chasing her through the sand, cutting through the years that separated her from the man who believed she was dead.
Cold lines ran down her face, wet from tears. The silhouette of the restaurant jutting off the back of the main house came into view and she darted for it, pushing through the screen door and shutting it behind her as her chest heaved, straining for air.
“Mommy?”
She jumped, spinning around. Selena stood in the doorway that connected the restaurant to the main house, the girl’s pastel nightgown glowing in the dimly lit room. Jackie exhaled on a rush. “You scared me! You should be in bed,” she snapped, more harshly than she’d intended.
“I can’t find Mimi.”
Jesus Christ.
Her heart was still racing. Doug wasn’t outside, any more than he was in here. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She and Selena were safe, and the missing kitten demanded her attention. It was always something. She was a mother and an independent business woman. Always something. “She’s not in your room?”
“Well, she was, but when I went to brush my teeth, she pushed past my legs and ran downstairs. I tried to catch her, but by the time I got in here, she was running out the screen door.”
“It should have been shut.”
Selena put her hands on her hips. “You’re the one who used it last.”
Jackie sighed heavily, knowing the girl was right. The latch was forever sticking in the open position, and with her mind on preparing for the storm, she’d ignored the door behind her. When she found the kitten, she would set the alarm and breathe easy again.
But dear God, that tone in Selena’s voice!
Her daughter seemed all but convinced she was a grown woman with the rights that endowed. She was smart and read voraciously, leaving the seven-year-old with a vocabulary that rivaled kids twice her age and her mother all too often locked in a battle of wills, exasperated.
If it weren’t so maddening, she’d be proud. Hell, she was proud of that girl—and tired, desperate to keep their relationship positive, no matter the battle forever brewing between them.
The girl met Jackie’s stare, and she was struck anew by her daughter’s beauty. Her soft cocoa skin, the classic lines of her face framed by untamed curls. Jackie’s own watercolor features were plain and unremarkable, but she could see herself in the girl nonetheless.
She would let the attitude go, for now. Selena was right. It was Jackie’s fault the kitten had escaped. “I was in a rush to get outside. I’m sorry.”
“You have to find her!”
Dread wriggled in her stomach at the thought of going back out there. “Is Bill still up?” she asked, hopeful the old man who rounded out their awkward little family could help her.
Selena raised an eyebrow. “Nope.”
“That’s right.” She sighed, squeezing the skin between her eyes as she remembered how ill he’d appeared after dinner. She’d been concerned and had encouraged him to go to bed early. “Okay. I’ll look for her, but you have to go back to bed.”
“I want to come, too.”
“No. It’s late.”
“But—”
“I’ll tuck you in,” Jackie insisted, turning Selena around and following her up the twisting narrow staircase that led from the kitchen to their rooms. It was a dark space, light filtering down from the second-floor hallway in long rectangles, Bill’s snoring echoing softly from his room down the hall as they walked quietly to their rooms.
Selena’s was larger than her own, with a purple chenille rug and secondhand furniture Jackie had painstakingly painted white. She was feeling better now, calmness seeping through her in this space. The girl scampered into bed, still so young, so little.
My baby.
“What if the storm blows a tree onto our house?” asked Selena.
“It’s not that strong a storm, honey.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“What if you can’t find Mimi?” Selena’s arms came around her mother’s middle and squeezed tightly. “Please find her.”
She’d stay out there for hours searching if it meant making her daughter happy, but Jackie knew better than to make promises she might not be able to keep. “I’ll do my best.” She kissed Selena and unwound the girl’s arms from her waist, knitting their fingers together a moment before letting go.
She headed back downstairs, the eerie feeling she’d shed moments before sliding over her shoulders like an unwanted coat. The room was dark. Had she turned off the light on her way upstairs? She flipped the switch.
Click.
Nothing happened. She flicked it on and off. A shudder went through her, but she rationalized the outage. The weather might be worse to their north, the power lines already down from the wind. With a sigh, she assumed a zombie-like posture and headed down a hallway, then through a field of tables toward the narrow commercial kitchen.
The smallest noise behind her had her whipping around. She froze. Her pulse beat in her ears as she strained to hear, terrified to move. A wood chair scraped across the floor several feet in front of her—a sound so familiar she could pick it out among a cacophony of others.
Someone was in her house—standing right in front of her.
3
Fear doused her bloodstream like kerosene on a fire. She opened her mouth to speak, her jaw trembling instead. She had no weapon, nothing to defend herself. She thought of the gun upstairs in its old cigar box. There was a baseball bat in the garage, some hundred yards away. Knives in a drawer well out of reach.
She forced one word past the tightness in her throat. “Selena?” Every neuron in her brain was telling her to run, but her legs were full of concrete, her body plastered to the floor.
No one answered.
It wasn’t her daughter, but someone was there. Her fingers reached out, finding the back of a dining chair and curling around its worn spindles. She lifted it to her chest. When she spoke again, her voice was nearly unrecognizable, the register deep, the cadence slow and commanding. “Get out of my house!”
Her words had the trespasser moving, chairs banging into tables in an invisible line across the room. He was heading right for her. She hurled the chair into the air, a startled grunt as it connected with its target, something metal and heavy hitting the floor. She grabbed another chair, holding it as she had the first like a lion tamer at an old-time circus.
A loud crash erupted behind her and she jumped, reflexively spinning toward it, but strong arms locked around her waist from behind. She wrestled against the fierce hold as her attacker ripped the wooden legs from her hands and threw the chair aside. He smelled musky, with a thick overlay of spicy deodorant. Before she could even think, she was slammed facedown against a table with such force, the wind emptied from her lungs in a rush.
This is how it ends.
Memories mixed with the present. The ocean waves were pulling at her, the weight of the car dragging her down.
“Mommy?”
Her daughter’s voice pulled her out of her own head. Selena must have followed her downstairs. “Run!” she choked out, desperate for her little girl to get to safety. “Get Bill!”
Half lifting her body and pulling her arm back, she landed a punch on flesh-covered bone. She didn’t know where she’d hit him and quickly realized she needn’t have bothered. He grabbed her shirt and lifted her off the ground like a rag doll.
The first blow came out of nowhere, hitting her jaw and slamming her teeth together with brutal force. She tasted blood. After that, they landed in quick succession, her face battered between bare knuckles like a walnut being shaken in a jar.
Her mind fell into an abyss, fear and sensation blurring into a thick haze that obliterated thought and sensation completely. She was in a car full of cold water, rocking with the waves, darkness and fear taking her breath away.
“Let her go!” Bill’s familiar voice sounded so distant she couldn’t tell if she dreamed it was there. But her attacker relented and she came around enough to realize Bill was really there—really there and pointing a gun at them. The smallest red light shone from the doorway, the laser sight of a rifle. Bill was a Navy SEAL, long since retired, with an extensive collection of weapons. He was a force to be reckoned with, even now, and in that moment she forgot her earlier worries about his health. He was strong and capable. He would protect her.
Bill fired, an explosive boom filling the room with a painfully loud sound wave. Jackie’s hands covered her ears, a startled gasp escaping as the man fell to the ground in front of her, some part of him landing on her feet.
“He was reaching for the gun on the floor,” said Bill, his silhouette moving toward her, the strange outline of his night vision goggles clear to her when he turned his head. “Are you all right?”
“I think so. Is he dead?”
“Yes.”
“Do you recognize him? Is it…?”
“Mama…” Selena cried from the doorway.
“Go ahead. I’m going to see if I can fix the lights,” said Bill. Jackie ran to Selena, bumping into tables in her haste to get to the girl, squinting against the light as she pulled Selena tightly against her chest. She buried her face in her daughter’s hair. “Shh. It’s okay now. It’s okay.”
