by Dee Davis
The altar, like the church, was simple—a pink marble slab set on two carved mahogany posts. Above it, light streamed in through an oval stained-glass window. On the left there was a niche with a pedestal holding an elaborately illuminated Bible, and on the other side, an identical niche—this one with a beautifully rendered statue of Jesus, his arms lifted heavenward in supplication.
“The Divine Christ,” Owen whispered, his voice full of reverence. “It’s beautiful. I can see why people would have worried about its survival. Where do you think we should start?”
“I’m betting Christ himself,” Tyler said. “If the bomb is here, it’s probably tucked into the niche somehow. At least that would seem to fit with Emmett’s riddle.” She took a step toward the stairs, but Owen held a hand out to stop her.
“Go slowly. The area could be booby-trapped.”
She shook her head, not bothering to slow her pace. “The priest was up there. So unless you think he planted the bomb, then I think we’re clear as far as the floor being rigged.”
This time Owen grabbed her arm, jerking her to a stop. “The priest was wearing robes.”
“So what?” she asked, her foot on the first step, impatience making the words sound harsh.
“This is an Episcopal Chapel, Tyler. Priests only wear vestments during a service, and he told us himself, there’s no one here.”
“You think he was…”
“I don’t think we can afford to take a chance.” Owen knelt, his eyes scanning the floor and the walls for signs of tampering.
Tyler followed suit, studying the line of the stairs. “There,” she said, pointing to a wire lying along the top of the step, just visible along the edge of the carpet. “Could be connected to the bomb, or some kind of secondary charge. We were meant to trip it when we ran up the stairs.”
“So what do we do?” he asked. “Can we just step over it?”
“We can, but there’s still a risk that it’s motion-activated. So I think our best bet is to cut it.”
“Isn’t it also possible that we’ll be setting off the explosion?”
“Possible,” Tyler agreed, already working her way slowly up the steps, “but not probable. And to be honest, we’re don’t have time to debate the matter. There’s only a few minutes left, and we still don’t have the nuke.”
Owen nodded, and she pulled the tool kit from her pocket, extracting a tiny pair of scissors. “You okay with this?” she asked, as she knelt beside the wire.
“I can’t say that I’m thrilled with it. But you’re right, we don’t have the luxury of time.” He nodded, and with a quick release of breath, she cut the wire.
Nothing happened, the chapel now seeming eerily quiet.
“All right, then. Chalk one up for the good guys.” She picked up the far end of the wire and carefully pulled it free of the carpet, following along as it ran the course between the altar stairs and the right-hand niche.
“Nice of Father Bombardier to leave us a trail,” Owen said, using a flashlight from his pack to illuminate the thin filament.
“Let’s see how you feel after we’ve located the nuke,” she said. “How much more time?”
“We’re down to six minutes, I’m afraid.”
“Hannah?” she called into her microphone.
“You’re not going to be able to raise her.” Owen shook his head. “These old walls are really thick. Not much chance of getting reception in here.”
“So we’ll go it alone.” She shrugged. “Two great minds and all that.”
They stopped in front of the niche, the wire disappearing into a grouping of artfully potted lilies at the base of the statue. Together, they worked silently to move the potted plants, revealing a small metal suitcase lodged between the niche wall and the edge of the statue.
“I know this is going to sound stupid,” Owen said, kneeling in front of the case, “but I didn’t actually expect it to be in a suitcase.” He slid it out from its cubbyhole, moving it carefully away from the statue. Tyler followed and knelt beside him, running her hands along the edges of the casing.
“I’m not feeling any kind of trigger. I could be wrong, but I think it should be safe to open it.”
Owen flipped the latches, and despite her assurances, they both jumped as the case clicked open, the sound echoing in the soaring space. Owen counted to three and then lifted the lid, Tyler gasping as the internal workings were revealed. Up until now, the weapon had been purely hypothetical. But now, looking at the lethal reality, she felt a surge of panic.
“What do we do?” she whispered.
“First thing is to stop the timer.” Owen nodded to the electronic box attached to the detonator. The green numerals glowed 4:58, the last digit decreasing every second. “According to Smitty’s plans there’s a start and stop code.”
“Do we know what they are?” she asked, her eyes locked on the keypad at the base of the timer.
“No. They’d have been put in place by the developer, in this case somebody within the Consortium. But Harrison gave me a device that should be able to figure it out. He developed it going off the blueprints.”
“But we have no idea if it will work.”
“Have you got a better idea?”
She studied the bomb for a moment, watching the timer tick down. “Not at the moment, no. And there’s no time to debate. Just do it.”
Owen nodded and slid the device into a slot clearly meant for a key card of some kind. The timer beeped once, and Harrison’s decoder glowed red, humming a little as it tried to calibrate the necessary sequence for disconnecting the timer.
“How long will it take?” Tyler asked.
“Theoretically, something like fifteen seconds.”
“Theoretical being the operative word,” she sighed, watching the numbers continue to decrease. Then with a triumphant buzz Harrison’s device turned green and the numbers stopped.
“You did it,” she said, relief making her dizzy, but then, just as suddenly as it had stopped, the timer started again. Only now the new setting was for less time, the declining numbers starting at three minutes.
“Bloody hell,” Owen said, removing the box from the timer. “I’ve made it worse.”
“Maybe, but my father always said that it’s not over till it’s over. So we just need to think. There’s got to be another way around this. Something else we can do that will stop the bomb.”
“I don’t see what. If we try to move the explosives the whole thing will blow. And if we try to pick up the plutonium core, we could cause a compression that will set the damn thing off that way.”
The glowing numbers had dropped to just under two minutes.
“What about trying to separate the two charges? The explosives from the plutonium? You know more about it than I do, but isn’t the nuclear reaction triggered by the detonation of the explosives?”
“Yes.” Owen nodded as Tyler studied the bomb.
It was amazingly simple in its composition. A lithium battery attached to the electronic timer and ignition switch, the stolen detonator connecting to a box with what looked to be some kind of IHE, the insensitive high explosive probably stolen from some government facility. The good thing about it was that although its detonation would trigger the nuke, sitting idle it was relatively stable.
At the other end of the box was the canister containing the plutonium core, the casing consisting of a jacket lined with uranium-238, the plates used to intensify the explosion and amplify the nuclear reaction.
“And the timer is only tied directly in to the explosives, right?” she asked, her mind turning over the possibilities.
Owen nodded, frowning as he considered what she was saying. “So you think that if we can break the circuit between the explosives and the plutonium, the bomb will blow, but the nuke will remain stable.”
“It seems possible. We were in Pakistan once. On an undercover mission to try to recover a stolen nuclear warhead. We got it back, but before we could get out of the country
the truck with the weapon was attacked. A mortar shell hit us and the back of the truck exploded, but the nuke didn’t. It’d be the same principle, right?”
“In theory,” Owen said, pulling a screwdriver from his pack. “But it’s a long shot.”
“And the only one we’ve got.” She nodded at the timer, which had reached the one-minute mark.
Using the screwdriver, Owen pried one of the plates off the bomb, placing it carefully to the side. “If I can remove the trigger, it should stop the explosion from compressing the plutonium. But there’s always a chance that we’ll get blown sky-high in the process.”
“It’s going to happen either way,” Tyler said. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather die trying.”
“Well, to be honest, I was sort of hoping to avoid the whole dying thing,” he said, gingerly tipping the bomb so that he could see the trigger. It was the size of a large gumball, but made of much deadlier stuff. “You see, I’ve only just discovered a reason to live.”
Tyler lifted her gaze to his, her heart constricting at the love in his eyes. “Well then, I guess you’d better get on with it.”
“First I want you to get the hell out of here,” he said. “If this goes badly, there’s no point in both of us getting blown to bits.”
“Not a chance. We’re in this together—all the way.”
Owen paused for a second, nodded, and then after donning gloves, reached down through the opening he’d made with a pair of what looked to be oversized tweezers.
Tyler held her breath as the numbers reached thirty seconds.
“Almost there,” he said. “When I say go, I want you to run for the door. If this works, there’s still going to be a nasty explosion.”
“Twenty seconds,” she said.
“Damn the bugger. I can’t quite get it.” He twisted his hand, his face tightening as he concentrated.
“Fifteen seconds.” Her heart seemed to be counting down along with the digital readout. “Twelve.” She offered up a prayer. When in Rome…“Ten.”
“I’ve got it,” he said, pulling the trigger from the canister and dropping it into the bag. “Let’s go.”
They sprang to their feet and sprinted for the front of the church, everything momentarily seeming to move in slow motion. Tyler could see the saints in the stained glass above the vestibule, their peaceful faces oblivious to the reality playing out below them. Then suddenly the world burst into flame, the power of the explosion shattering the glass.
Owen drove his body into hers, propelling her forward into the vestibule, the church literally shaking as the blast rocketed through the little chapel. It lasted less than a minute. And then everything grew quiet, debris raining down on them, but the church still standing.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, as Owen rolled off her. “I think it worked. Are you okay?” She sat up, her hands reaching for him, even as he pulled her into his arms.
“I’m all right. You?” he asked, kissing her hair and then her eyebrows and nose.
“All in one piece.” She tipped her head up, and he slanted his mouth over hers, their kiss a covenant. A promise of life and love.
Behind them sirens wailed, and a discreet cough pulled them apart.
“Logan,” they said, almost in tandem. “Glad to see you got the message.”
“I’d be furious,” he said, eyeing the wreckage in the sanctuary, “but it looks as if the two of you have managed to save the day.”
“We’ll take that as a compliment,” Owen said, his gaze still locked with hers, the emotion reflected there taking her breath away.
“The paramedics are on the way. Along with the bomb squad. I’m assuming there’s still a nuke in there?”
“The pieces at least,” Owen said, pushing to his feet, and then reaching down to help Tyler up as well. “It should be stable enough for transport now.”
“Good.” Logan nodded. “I’ll put a call in to the mayor. Tell him this thing is really over.” He walked out the front door, and Tyler turned back to look into the chapel.
There was debris everywhere, and most of the windows were shattered. A gaping hole yawned in the back wall, and one-half of the altar had toppled to the ground.
“Look at that,” she whispered, as Owen came up behind her, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her close. On the right side of the church—the statue stood undamaged, Christ still resplendent in all his marble glory.
“It’s a miracle,” Owen said, his breath warm against her cheek. “Our own private miracle.”
EPILOGUE
It was a perfect autumn day, the deep blue sky providing the perfect backdrop for the red-and-gold-tinted trees. The wind washed lazily through branches and across the pristine white markers of Arlington Cemetery. Tyler stood at her father’s grave site, listening as the last of the rifle volleys faded into the first mournful notes of Taps, two-hundred-plus years of military tradition culminating in this last moment.
Mark stood on her left, her brother stoic as they watched the soldier fold the flag that had been draped over her father’s casket. It had been a long week. First Della’s funeral, then Jason’s, and now their father’s. Owen had been with her every step of the way. And he stood by her now, their fingers linked, his strength adding to hers.
In the aftermath of the aborted bombing attempt, the full extent of everything that had happened had hit hard. A-Tac would never be the same. They’d survive. And they’d move on. But there were wounds that would take time to heal. And though the immediate threat was gone, there was still the Consortium. There’d been no more clues to the identity of the group’s leaders. Nothing that clarified their mission or their strength.
The priest at St. Ann’s had in fact turned out to be an impostor, but he’d been found dead in his hotel room. Nothing there to link him to the Consortium. There were so many questions. And for now, at least, no answers. But Tyler knew that they’d find them. It might take years, but in the end, A-Tac would triumph and they’d emerge stronger because of their commitment to their country and to each other.
She smiled up at Owen and then at the rest of her friends. They were all here. Nash and Annie. Drake and Madeline. Avery, Hannah, and Lara. Even Harrison, who’d somehow become indispensable to the team. Everyone had come together to pay their respects and to offer their support.
Tyler felt blessed in so many ways.
The music faded, the bugler lowering his instrument. The grass whispered in the wind, echoing the voices of the countless men and women who had given their lives to protect a cherished way of life. It seemed a never-ending war. But at least, sometimes, they managed to win the day.
The officer in charge walked smartly from the casket, the now-folded flag held carefully in his gloved hands. He stopped in front of Mark and Tyler, offering this last honor. And Tyler accepted it with her chin held high.
“You know that wherever he is,” Owen said, his hand tightening around hers, “he’s proud of you.”
She nodded, not trusting herself to words, and after a last long look at the grave, she turned and walked away, into the company of her friends.
Tomorrow was another day. And the fight would no doubt begin anew.
But for now, in this moment, life was for living.
Nash Brennon has spent eight years trying to forget Annie Gallagher. Now she’s back and so is their passion—but can he trust her?
Please turn this page for an excerpt from
DARK DECEPTIONS
Available now.
PROLOGUE
Hotel Montague—Paris
So do you think we’re ever going to feel like a normal couple?” Annie asked as they stumbled back into their hotel room, Nash’s hands cupping her breasts, his breath hot against her cheek.
“Trust me, angel, normal is overrated.” He pushed her back against the wall, his thumbs rubbing heated circles through the soft silk of her halter top. “And anyway, I kind of like what we’ve got.”
“Right,” she sighed, s
hivering as he kissed her neck. “Sex on the run.”
“Well, it’s not like we have a lot of free time.” His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue sending fire lacing through her belly. It was always like this. Combustible. Their desire heightened by the possibility that each time could be the last.
“Maybe we should adjourn to the bedroom?” She nodded toward the doorway of the suite, and then gasped as he pushed her skirt up around her thighs.
“What’s wrong with right here? Right now?” He teased her with his fingers, the friction of satin against skin threatening instant explosion. She lifted her hips, but he pulled back, his slow smile taunting her. “Unless of course you’ve changed your mind?”
“Not on your life.” She reached up to unbutton his shirt, her fingers tracing the scars that laced his chest. Twisted mementos of their life together. “Tell me what you want,” she whispered, her breathing labored.
“You, Annie. All I ever want is you.”
“So take me,” she taunted, anticipation coiling inside her, hot and heavy. Sometimes she thought maybe she wanted something more. Something that resembled normalcy—commitment. But not now. Not in this moment. Right now all she wanted was Nash.
For a moment their passion stretched taut between them; and then, trembling with the sheer power of the feelings he evoked, she arched her back, welcoming his hands and mouth as he crushed her against him. This was what she craved. What she wanted. As long as she had Nash, she could endure anything.
Anything.
“The bed… I can’t… please.” She gasped the words as they stumbled backward, the need so intense now she thought she might die of it.
His dark eyes reflecting her passion, Nash swung her up into his arms and in two strides they were through the door and on the bed, the cool cotton sheets a counterpoint to the heat that pulsed between them.
Annie pressed against him, her eyes riveted for a moment on the mirror across from the bed and the image of their interlocked bodies moving in tandem. Two shattered souls desperately seeking release. She sighed, and then froze as something else in the mirror moved.
