by J. D. Tyler
As they stepped out into the cold night, Luke kept his ID open, his weapon pointed at the ground, but refrained from calling out his ID in case Bricker was close enough to hear him. Whatever Zoe was up to, he’d needed to at least try and not blow her cover.
“FBI Special Agent Jones. I have civilians with me and two injured men in need of medical attention,” Jones called out just a few steps ahead of Luke.
The spotlights and flashing lights from the barricades across the street and surrounding area nearly blinded them. Suddenly SWAT team members flanked them, their weapons trained on the exit behind them. They pulled Jones and him to the side, then others helped the kitchen staff out of the hotel and in the direction of a police vans.
“Not them,” Luke called out, motioning the policeman to bring Abby and Castello over. “They’re with me.”
“And you’re who?” the very-serious-looking commander said.
Luke handed him his credentials and leaned in closer to talk quietly. “Lucas Edgars, Homeland. I was attending the ball on an undercover assignment with Special Agent Jake Carlisle.”
“Special Agent Maitland, FBI,” the other man said, extending his hand for a quick shake. He turned and waved at the barricade. A body broke loose and jogged over.
“Glad to see you out of there, Luke,” Jake said wrapping him in a huge bear hug, then released him to hug Abby and shake hands with Castello. “Your sister would have my head if you all didn’t come out of there in one piece.”
“Frank needs to be seen by a doctor,” Abby said, nodding at the make-shift bandage on the marshal’s leg. “Bullet wound to his left lower leg.”
“I need a medic to the operations van,” Maitland said into a radio as he led them away from the hotel.
Suddenly, Luke stopped, looking around. “Where’s Zoe?”
Ben jogged over from the building, no longer armed. “They’re gone.”
“Gone?” Luke’s heart jumped in his throat. Had one of the terrorists killed them? “What do you mean, gone?”
“They vanished.” Ben shrugged. “I went back to get them after the explosion and there was no sign of either one. I looked around and found a hole in the back wall of a room to the left of the stairwell we came down. It leads out into some tunnels. Thought I should come tell you.”
“That’s how the terrorists got into the hotel,” Luke said. It was also how Zoe got Bricker out before the feds or the news crews could identify him. Damn her. He clenched his jaw in anger. Once again, she’d used him and left him holding the bag like a guilty fool.
“Shit. It’s also how they plan to get out,” Maitland said. Once more he spoke into his radio. “We need to get men into those tunnels. Now.” After giving the orders he motioned Luke and the others to follow him. “If you’ll come this way, I need to know everything you saw inside. Did any of the terrorists say anything about their plans?”
“Most of the ones we encountered died before saying much of anything useful,” Luke said as they approached the command vehicle situated on the edge of barricades to keep out the press and curious public. Both local police and the FBI’s armed tactical personnel milled in the area or were keeping the barrier secure. An ambulance was there and Luke helped Castello over to have his leg looked at.
“You going to be okay?” Luke asked him.
“Yeah. Go get debriefed,” Frank said. “Kid!” he called out as Luke walked back to where Maitland and Abby waited for him.
“Yeah?”
“Try not to laugh too hard when you tell your brothers and Jake how I got hurt, okay?”
“Sure thing. I’ll tell them you took out a whole room of the bad guys all by yourself.”
“Damn right.”
Luke flashed him a grin as the paramedics took over.
Off to one side, away from the police milling around, Ben seemed to be hovering, not quite sure what to do now that the action was over. Luke walked over and offered his hand. “Good work in there.”
Ben took his hand then shook his head. “Such a shame we couldn’t stop them before all the shooting started. I thought something was off with some of the waiters, but just assumed they were odd because they were temporary help for the event.”
“You did what you could when it mattered most.” Luke pulled out his wallet and handed him a card with just a phone number on it. “That’s my cell. Give me a call in about a week. I’d like to keep in touch. Don’t know what you situation is, but I could always use a man with your skills.”
Surprise registered on Ben’s face, but he slipped the card into his pocket. “Good luck with your lady. Hope you catch that Bricker guy and the sexy brunette.”
“Oh, trust me,” Luke said, “I have unfinished business with those two.” He left the other man and rejoined Abby, Jake and the other FBI agent.
“Anything you can tell us will help.” Matiland opened the door and stepped inside a truck outfitted with more computers than a geek gamer festival.
“The group’s name is The Red Mantle,” Abby said.
“The waiter?” Luke asked a smile hovering on his face.
“Yes. He was in the films you and agent Frank made me watch.”
“Did you recognize where it was?” he asked.
“My best guess is the Appalachians somewhere.”
“We knew it was the Red Mantle,” Maitland said.
Luke shot him a narrowed look. “How?”
Maitland met his gaze with his own, steady and in charge. “Inside man, plus we have some people loose in there, too. They said some of them were dressed as waiters. They’ll probably try to exit as hostages when this is closed down. Wish we had some cameras in there to identify them. But the group shut down all cameras before we could access them.”
Luke and Abby exchanged looks and slowly they both smiled. “We might be able to help with that.”
CHAPTER TEN
The couple exited the tunnel that led into the Metro and mingled in with the other partiers waiting for the next train.
Zoe tucked her arm into Adrian’s as they made their way to the escalator and up to the exit. Just two lovers coming in from a gala night out. Since it was inauguration night, many of the partiers were decked out with bling, letting her and Bricker blend in, with no one the wiser.
Back in the hotel she’d donned his coat to cover the handgun she’d picked up in the small room, which was more like a defunct freezer, where the terrorists had entered from the tunnels. She’d wiped down the AK-47 she’d been handling and left it behind. They’d hurried to the spot as soon as she’d heard the van’s engine start. When the explosion occurred they simply slipped through the hole into the tunnel.
“Yes, Wulfgang, pick us up at the Farragut North Metro station two blocks from the hotel,” Bricker was saying into his phone. “Yes, I understand there are police everywhere, just do it.”
He turned off the phone and slipped it into his trouser pocket. “Don’t worry, darling,” he said loud enough for anyone around them to hear, at the same time reaching down to grab her ass cheek. “I’ll get you home quickly.”
She leaned into his side, kissing his ear like a loving girlfriend too horny or drunk to care who saw them lusting after each other in public. “Get your hand off my ass,” she whispered in his ear. “Or I’ll shoot you right here.”
Despite what her superiors or her cousin thought, she had never slept with the slimy arms dealer and she wasn’t starting tonight.
Bricker laughed, but slid his hand back to her waist as they stepped onto the escalator and headed up to disappear into the night.
* * * * *
It was nearly dawn when Luke pulled into the drive of the townhouse they’d rented when he returned to the capital with Abby last spring. She slept beside him, her head cushioned on her bent arm against the passenger window. He turned off the engine and eased back against the driver door so he could just watch her. Each breath easing some of the tension that still rattled though him.
After Abby gave them
a complete layout of everything they saw or encountered in their escape from the hotel, instead of being allowed to go back in to capture the terrorists, they’d been taken back to FBI headquarters. Special Agent in Charge Haskell hadn’t believed she had a photographic memory at first. In fact, he accused them of wasting his time. Over the years, Luke knew she’d gotten used to people ridiculing her or treating her like some kind of freak. That anyone would think to treat her dismissively made him angry. That it was someone who needed her help, like Haskell, had him wanting to drive his fist into the man’s jaw.
Abby had simply laid her hand on his arm and gave him one of her soft smiles. Then she’d recounted everything in Haskell’s office with her eyes closed, including the small Chinese fortune the man had slipped into the framed photo of his kids. That was all it took to bring him into her camp of believers. She spent the next five hours piecing together faces she’d seen in the video of the Red Mantle rally and photos on file with the FBI. She also searched through current and former military photos to try and determine who might have been in the hotel ballroom before the attack began.
Laying his hand on his thigh, the small knot in his trouser pocket reminded him his evening wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Finally, he climbed out of the car, went to her side and opened her door. Kneeling down beside her, he smoothed a loose hair from her face. “Baby, we’re home.”
Slowly, her eyes opened and he stared into their green depths. “Hey, sexy,” she murmured then smiled at him, turning her face into his hand like a cat wanting to be stroked.
“I love you,” he said, then leaned in to kiss her. A slow, soft kiss that tasted of her. A heady mixture of sweetness and spice. Cupping her face with both hands, he let the kiss deepen until she parted her lips and he slid his tongue in to mix with hers.
A cold winter wind whipped over and into the car, fat snowflakes suddenly falling on them.
He pulled back to stare into her eyes once more, this time seeing the heated passion there. “We’d better get inside, before we’re frozen out here.”
Holding her hand, he helped her out of the car and into their home. From there it was one slow striptease from the front door to their bedroom. First came his coat, then her shoes. His shoes and socks were next, followed by her dress. His shirt. Her bra. At the bedside his trousers hit the floor moments before they were both naked on the bed.
The adrenaline they’d been restraining all night kicked in.
“I was so scared…when you…got in that…van,” she said between kisses.
“I nearly…died…when…you said…the waiter…had a gun,” he punctuated with nips at her lips and then down the column of her throat.
She arched her back and at the same time managed to wrap her hand around the hard length of his erection. He latched onto her nipple and sucked hard. She moaned. Her hand moved, stroking him from base to tip.
He hissed, then stilled her hand. “Baby, I won’t last.”
“Then get inside me, now,” she said, opening her long legs wide for him.
With one thrust, he sank into her body, the warm slickness of her allowing him to be buried deep. He lowered his mouth to claim hers as he rocked his hips, thrusting deeper and harder. The primal need driving them to reassure each other that they’d survived near death. That they were still alive. That they were one.
The explosion of his orgasm hit him like a freight train off its tracks. He clutched her to him as he emptied his seed into her body.
Her arms and legs wrapped around him, she dug her nails into him as spasms rippled through her body, his name ripped from her lips.
Mine.
Forever.
Slowly, he let the idea fill his heart once more and raised his body just enough to gaze down into her sex-sated eyes. “I love you,” he whispered.
She smiled, stroked her hand over his cheek. “I love you, too.”
He kissed her once more, long, slow with just a touch of the heat they’d just expended. Before it could blaze to life again, he pulled back, then still buried deep inside her, he reached over the side of the bed.
“What are you doing?” she asked with a giggle.
He grinned at her as he pulled up his trousers. “Aha, found them,” he said as he fished around in the pocket.
“Are you planning to go somewhere?” she asked, wiggling her hips to pull him in tighter. “Because I’ve got you.”
“Yes, yes you do have me,” he said, staring deeply into her eyes in the misty-dawn light that seeped through the curtains. “Just like I have you. Here,” he said, lifting her left hand from his shoulder and placing it over his heart. “Right here in my heart. And I want to make it permanent.”
The words slowly sank in and he could tell when she knew what he was asking by the tears that filled her eyes.
“Will you marry me, Abigail Prudence Whitson? Will you spend your life with me and show me how wonderful life can be with you?” He held up the ring for her to see the emerald stone to match the color of her eyes.
She nodded first, then grinned. Finally finding her voice. “Yes, Lucas Edgars, I’ll marry you.”
He slid the ring onto her finger and proceeded to show her how he intended to love her for all their days.
PART TWO
DEATH UNDER
GLASS
By
Jeanne Adams
CHAPTER ONE
Everyone was having a good time.
Edward decided he was just the odd man out. As usual. He forced himself to smile at a passing waitress instead of grimacing, and he accepted the glass of champagne she offered. He and Retta had only been at the party forty minutes and he was ready to go.
Everyone seemed to be relaxed but him. And the various bodyguards, of course. Despite the incredible number of agents, cops, and Secret Service types in the room –-all trying to be inconspicuous and blend in-– everyone seemed to be in a party-full-out frame of mind.
They should be. It was a triumphant night. Once again, the American people had proven they could, and would, make historic changes. For the first time, a woman had been sworn in as President of the United States. That made him smile into his glass.
He’d now lived to see an African-American president and a woman as president. Pretty cool. Edward would raise a glass to that, now, and for the foreseeable future.
“Go us,” he muttered, sipping from the champagne flute.
His incredibly gorgeous date for the evening, Retta Geminous, renowned glass artist, and the love of his life, was across the room. She was discussing one of her enormous sculptures with a couple who looked like they could afford it.
Making his way to them, he offered Retta his champagne. The couple introduced themselves as Dr. George Hawthorne and Melissa Bailey-Hawthorne.
Edward knew a deal in the offing when he saw it. So he’d facilitate, as he always did.
“I don’t want to interrupt the discussion. May I get anyone else a drink? I was headed to the bar.”
George Hawthorne smiled absently and asked for scotch, rocks. His wife wanted a white wine.
“If you’re sure it’s no trouble?” Melissa said, shooting him a flirtatious glance.
“None at all,” he said, and made a point of kissing Retta’s cheek before he left. “I’ll be right back.”
He caught Melissa Bailey-Hawthorne’s pout. He didn’t get women like that, who wanted to flirt with other men while their husbands were right there.
Which, of course, meant that he didn’t understand his mother or his sister. At all.
Standing in the line for the bar, he checked his watch for the umpteenth time. He was unaccountably twitchy tonight.
“I know the feeling,” the man behind him said, nodding towards Edward’s watch. “Can’t wait to get out of here and get out of this monkey suit.” They grinned at one another in camaraderie. “Burke Chapman,” he said, by way of introduction, offering his right hand. His left arm was in an immobilizing brace.
“Edward Millner.�
�� They shook hands.
Burke’s eyes narrowed. “Millner Communications, I presume? Satellites, space-tech and all that?”
“Guilty as charged. And you?”
“Business consultant,” Burke said with a smile. “Which means I’m a jack-of-all-trades, master of none.” He indicated the arm. “As you can see. I’m basically a ne’er-do-well by definition, but I get paid well for it.”
Edward laughed. The man was so easy about his claimed profession, that Edward was pretty sure it was a sham. Despite that, Edward liked him instantly.
Given the number of high-level personages in the ballroom, he’d give odds that Burke was either someone who brokered deals –-he seemed the smooth, easy type who could do that –-or he worked for one of the lettered agencies and was here to mingle and secure things. Edward mentally dubbed him The Chameleon.
“I’m just playing waiter, myself,” Edward said, still smiling.
“And we’re both wishing we could be kicked back with a beer watching the ESPN wonks speculate about the Super Bowl,” Burke said with a sigh.
“Hail to the Redskins,” Edward said, grinning. “Made it to the playoffs at least.”
“Again.” Burke said it with just the faintest hint of sarcasm. Well deserved, in Edward’s opinion. The Redskins...well, they had their issues.
“Who’s your team? Wait, let me guess, the Cowboys.” Edward detected just the faintest hint of a drawl. Retta had it, too, so he caught it more often than not.
“Spot on the money,” Burke said, looking a little surprised, but covering it well. He shook his head and adopted a rueful expression. “Staring down dead last this year. At least we’ll get a decent draft pick.”
They continued to talk football as they inched forward in the line. Edward couldn’t put his finger on Burke. He wasn’t a bodyguard, Edward was sure of that. As one of the heirs to a billion-dollar fortune, Edward had had a bodyguard for most of his life. Tonight, his particular watchdog was in the auxiliary room, hanging out with the chauffeurs. Charles had taken one for the team –-the company flag football team-– and was on crutches.
