Kill Zone: A Lucy Guardino FBI Thriller

by CJ Lyons

  He hung his head, didn't look at her. “I'm sorry.”

  “That's it? You're sorry?” Anger and fear forced her from the car before she could say anything else. She stomped around the corner and into the convenience store, grabbed two large coffees, a half dozen Krispy Kremes so fresh they were still warm, a can of lighter fluid and a Zippo.

  When she returned to the Explorer, Nick leaned against the front bumper, watching for her. She handed him the food, threw Morgan’s underwear onto the pavement, doused them with lighter fluid, and lit them on fire. As they burned, she wiped down the seats with wet-naps left over from their last BBQ take out, added those to the small pyre. “Did she touch anything else?”

  “She used my phone.”

  Lucy held out her hand. Nick placed his phone in it. Lord only knew what kind of spyware Morgan had planted on it. She could be listening to them right now.

  “Morgan, if you hear this, I want you to listen closely. My family is off limits. Come near them again and I will hunt you down and I will end you. Final warning. Goodbye.”

  She removed the battery and SIM card. Tossed the SIM card in the tiny blaze and stomped on the phone’s case.

  “Lucy, don’t you think you’re over reacting?” Nick said. “I can get a new SIM card without you destroying—”

  She whirled on him, feeling dizzy and breathless and more out of control than she had all night. God, she hated when he got all Zen-calm and reasonable on her. “Nick—”

  To her surprise he immediately threw up his hands in surrender. More than that, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, containing the wild energy that made her entire body quake. She tensed at first, but slowly let herself relax into his embrace.

  “I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm so sorry. You’re right. I should have never have underestimated her. I’m sorry.”

  After she quieted he released her to stare at her appraisingly. “Anything else you want to burn? The car's contaminated, we could torch it.”

  Lucy shook her head, finally laughed. It came out shaky and nervous, but it was a start. A first timid step back to normalcy. “Who are you and what have you done with my peacenik husband?”

  He smiled one of his sloe-gin smiles that started at the corner of his mouth and spread across his face. “I guess maybe tonight I got a taste of war. It made me appreciate what you face everyday. I’m sorry if I make your job harder.”

  Lucy’s mouth opened. She shut it. It fell back open again. He’d never said anything like that before.

  She covered by grabbing her coffee and the donuts and getting back in the car. Nick joined her and they sat in silence, indulging in a double-action sugar and caffeine rush.

  Nick broke the silence. “I am going to ask you for one thing and if you can’t do it, you need to tell me now. I need you to be honest with me.”

  Silence. She fidgeted, waiting for his question, unbuckled, re-buckled, unbuckled her seat belt and let it zip back into the roller. “About what?”

  “No. That’s what I’m asking for. Honesty. Don’t sugarcoat the truth. If you’re headed into a dangerous assignment, tell me. Because if something,” he looked away, made a choking noise, “ever happens to you, I need to know. I need to be… prepared. For Megan’s sake, as well as my own. She deserves that, I deserve that.”

  No argument there. She blinked hard, not sure which words were the right ones, the ones that would fix everything. Damn, she was so good with words at work, could negotiate any situation. But with Nick… She gave up on words and instead simply lay her hand over his and squeezed hard.

  He didn’t return the squeeze. “You caught your bad guys. Sometimes I think—I worry—that you care more about that than you do about yourself. About keeping yourself safe. You could have been killed out there tonight.”

  She blew out her breath. Her job. The paradox their relationship revolved around as if it were their own personal sun. “I don’t give a damn about catching the bad guys, Nick. Not the way you mean it, like it's some kind of competition. What I care about is keeping you safe, keeping Megan safe, keeping people like Andre and his grandmother safe. And yes, I’ll risk my life if that means saving innocent civilians. I never, ever do it without thinking of you and Megan and what it would mean if I fail. But I can’t let that stop me.”

  Just like David Haddad didn’t let it stop him. Damn. She was dreading that phone call. Telling his wife and family what happened.

  “I’m not asking you not to do your job,” he said in a low tone. “I’m just asking you not to treat me like I’m an outsider. One of those civilians you have to protect.”

  “You want me to share.” Hard to do when she was constantly compartmentalizing her private life and her work life. Something that was getting harder and harder to do. That was becoming exhausting, actually. Maybe he had a point.

  “I want you to share.” He centered his gaze on her. Usually she loved it when he did that. It made her feel like the rest of the universe had vanished, leaving only the two of them. But this time there was a new distance between them. A distance it was up to her to cross.

  “You’re right.” She turned his palm over and brought it to rest against her heart. “I’m sorry.”

  Slowly, just as the first rays of morning light crept over the rooftops surrounding them, he smiled. The same wide smile she’d fallen in love with over fifteen years ago.

  She unbuckled his seat belt and leaned forward to kiss him. “Thanks for the great date night.”

  His chuckle vibrated through his body into hers.

  “Your mother was so excited when I came up with the idea. Although of course, she was most excited about taking Megan for the weekend,” he said, his voice lighter, back to the Nick she woke up to every morning, who stood hip to hip beside her while brushing teeth or doing dishes, who heard her unspoken fears and chased them away with a kiss.

  Honesty. “About that. You should know. I hate the ballet.”

  His eyes crinkled as he laughed. “I know that.”

  “But—The Nutcracker?”

  “Lucy. Being in The Nutcracker when you were young was the last time you and your mom and dad did anything as a family before your dad got sick. The last time as a child when you felt truly safe. You’ve been so distant from me, from Megan, since last month, I wanted you to remember that feeling. What it meant, feeling safe.”

  She blinked hard, but not hard enough to hold back her tears. “Last month—you knew?”

  He shook his head sadly. “No. All I have are fears and middle of the night bogeymen and wild guesses. Want to tell me about it?”

  The tears were streaming so fast now that she had to wipe her nose on the sleeve of her fleece top. Back at the zoo she'd thrown away her filthy parka, never wanting to see it again. Her Glock was in evidence. The only thing marking her as an FBI agent was the badge out of sight in her back pocket. Probably a good thing. Big, tough FBI agent. Blubbering like a baby. Nick reached across the seats and pulled her into his arms.

  “It’s okay, Lucy. You can tell me anything.”

  Visions of being trapped with Morgan’s father, the pain, the sound of her voice breaking as she tried not to scream, fought to not give in, not to give him any satisfaction… they all came rushing back, drowning her until she couldn’t catch her breath.

  But this time Nick was there to pull her back from the panic. He held her tight and finally, finally she told him everything.

  And she knew that in the end, nothing could ever come between them again. With Nick she'd always be safe. She'd never have to hide the truth.

  Epilogue

  Two days later

  Andre let himself into Jenna’s building and climbed the steps up to her loft, his arms full of grocery bags. The woman seemed to live on diet cola and wilted lettuce, no wonder she was so damn skinny.

  As he rounded the final landing, he saw Morgan coming out of Jenna's apartment. She spotted him and laid a finger to her lips. "She's sleeping," she whispered.

/>   Morgan had told Andre she was seventeen, but sometimes she seemed much younger—and sometimes she seemed much older. He still couldn't believe the way she'd taken on Mad Dog and had rescued Jenna all on her own. She'd stopped by the hospital with flowers but Jenna had been with the doctors, so she'd left those with Andre. Jenna had cried later when she'd read the card. It said, "I'll always be there for you."

  Andre wasn't sure that they were happy tears, if Jenna was reassured because until then, no one knew if Morgan had made it out of the zoo alive, or if Jenna's tears were caused by something else.

  He had a feeling it was the something else. Jenna wouldn't talk about who Morgan was, why Morgan was in her life, but no doubt about it, the girl was dangerous.

  He carefully set the bags down to free his hands. He didn't have a weapon and wondered why his first thought was that he might need one. After all, the girl was barely five feet tall; he could pick her up with one hand.

  Andre stared at Morgan. Morgan stared back. Her eyes reminded him of a few guys in his company. Guys who’d gotten too damn used to killing—and too damned good at it.

  “Relax, Andre. I’d never hurt her. Or you.” She smiled, revealing her teeth.

  He wasn’t reassured. “Why the hell would you say something like that?”

  She nodded to his hands. He looked down, realized they were clenched into fists. He'd shifted his weight to balance evenly on both feet. A fighting stance.

  To his surprise, she laughed and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I like you, Andre. Take care, now. See you soon.”

  She skipped down the steps before he could do more than raise a hand to touch his cheek. The spot where she'd laid her lips was scar tissue, he couldn't feel anything there, yet his skin still felt flushed.

  Weird, weird girl. He wasn’t sure what the best way to handle her was. Maybe Callahan would have an idea. He picked up the bags and turned to let himself into Jenna's loft.

  Jenna was standing there, watching Morgan disappear down the stairs. Sleep lines creased her face but they couldn't disguise her wistful expression. Like she maybe wanted to run after Morgan—or run away from her?

  Without saying a word she turned and went back inside the loft, leaving the door open for him. "You sure that girl is your friend?" he asked as he set the bags on the counter.

  Jenna locked all the locks on the door and leaned against it for a long moment. Her shoulders were slumped and he worried that she was crying again. But her voice was clear when she said, "My grandfather used to say you get the friends you deserve."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" But he had a feeling he knew. Like he'd once upon a time deserved friends like Darius and Mad Dog.

  He was putting away the groceries when he heard the hushed slap of her bare feet on the hardwood floor behind him.

  “You want anything?” he asked Jenna without turning around. He still hadn’t gotten his mask back or replaced his long-sleeved compression garment. He felt a bit naked walking around without them—and more than a bit shy around Jenna. He wished he could figure out why—he’d had no problem talking to the cops or even going to the grocery store. But Jenna…

  She wrapped her arms around him from behind. He jerked, startled, but she didn’t let go. Instead she rested her chin on his shoulder. “I want a whole lot. Think you can give it to me?”

  “Jenna—”

  She dropped her hands and stepped away. “I get it. I’m damaged goods.”

  “God, no.” They’d spent almost every minute of the last two days together until he’d left this morning to check on Grams and move her into her new room with the sisters at Holy Trinity.

  He’d told Jenna things he never thought he’d tell anyone, not even the Doc. She’d listened and told him about her childhood, about her grandfather, the judge. A letter bomb had left him in a coma. Jenna had helped to take care of him, even though she was only twelve, had been there when he'd finally died.

  She hadn’t talked about Zapata yet. But they had plenty of time. He hoped.

  “Are you sure about this?” He turned to face her. She was beautiful. What could she ever see in him?

  She met his gaze and nodded. “What do you say, Marine? Ready to go the distance?”

  He wasn’t sure. Well, he was. But… his nerve fled him and he resorted to his age-old defense: warped humor.

  “So yeah, we can be like fire and ice, ice baby.” He did a rap tattoo in the air with his hands.

  She stared at him. Andre was sure he’d lost her for good. Part of his brain chided himself, the rest of him felt relieved. So much less pain this way. After all, her burns were minor, they would heal, and her hair would grow back and she’d be gorgeous once again. Why would she want to hang out with a freak like him?

  Then she grinned, patting the air around her head as if her hair was still there. “You making fun of my naturally curly red hair?”

  The nurses had trimmed all the hair she'd had left so it wouldn't interfere with the burn ointment and bandages. She'd been lucky, just first and second degree burns; once the blisters healed, she'd be fine.

  “I don’t see any red hair. All I see is glistening white.”

  “So then you’re calling me frigid?” Beneath her scowl a smile flitted in and out of view. “Cold as ice? Is that it?”

  “Aw jeez. It’s ironic. Humor. If I have to explain it to you, it’s not funny.”

  Now the smile fully emerged. “Oh. Ironic. Like a black guy who’s mostly not black anymore? More like a jelly bean, one of those pink and black speckled ones.”

  Wow. She got his warped humor and it didn’t bother her. Small miracle right there. But that was just the first barrier. There were plenty more standing in their way. Like what lay beneath his clothing. Up close and personal, actual touching—no one, not a doctor or nurse, had been able to do that without a flinch or a shudder.

  “Maybe we could be jelly belly and spice?” She sidled up to him. Close. Real close. “I’m spice. Obviously.” As she spoke, she unbuttoned his shirt. Exposed the new stitches zigzagging across his belly alongside the old scars. “And you’re jelly belly.”

  Jenna stopped and looked for a long moment. He sucked in his breath and couldn’t let it out again for fear of scaring her away.

  “I got plenty of spice myself,” he finally joked, giving her a chance to escape without either of them being hurt. Not too bad, at least. “And don’t you be dissing my six pack—well, five and a half pack. Ain’t no jelly there.”

  She didn’t flinch or shudder or faint. Instead she slid her hands along the scars covering his belly. He almost ran but was too damned stunned by her touch to do anything.

  He was the one who shuddered. Not because it hurt. No. Because it felt so damn good, he was afraid he might cry. Pull it together, Marine.

  Then she tilted her chin and kissed him, full on, not trying to avoid the scar that made one corner of his mouth bulge and dug a crater into his chin. It was the muscle flap that had rebuilt his lips. The surgeons did it so he could feed himself, but now he was so damn glad they had.

  Finally he had to breathe. He pulled away a little, giving her space, still half-expecting her to bolt. She didn’t move, her gaze locked onto his.

  She trailed her lips across his, following the scar that ran down to his collarbone. The skin was sensitive. It tingled at her touch. Felt good.

  Her smile grew wicked. “How about those old fashioned pink and white candies that had black licorice on the inside? What were they called? Good ’n plenty?”

  It took him a moment before he could answer.

  “Good ’n plenty? Yeah, I can do that.” He tried to keep a straight face, play into the humor that had saved him so many times in the past, but ended up looking at the ceiling, blinking back tears.

  “Shut up,” she told him as her mouth returned to his.

  A good Marine always obeys orders. And Andre was a damn fine Marine. “Ma’am, yes ma’am.”

  <><><>

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  About CJ:

  New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of sixteen books, former pediatric ER doctor CJ Lyons has lived the life she writes about in her cutting edge Thrillers with Heart.