by Becky McGraw
When Slade threw the Hummer into gear and slammed his foot down on the accelerator, he heard the sirens. Going back through the parking lot wasn’t going to work, he thought, as he sped to the west end of the hotel, then gritted his teeth as he hopped the curb to go out across the vacant field behind the hotel.
“What are you doing?!?” Taylor asked gripping the handle above the door.
“Getting out of here before the cops get here and we spend the night in jail for trespassing.” Suddenly every hair on his body stood on end as an energy he recognized well filled the cab through the partially open windows, right before the Hummer rocked and his ears rang from the explosion.
Hot air rushed into the windows and debris pinged on the roof and hood of the Humvee. Buddy whined, Lola whimpered, and Slade wasn’t sure, but he thought he did too. His chest felt like someone tightened a vise on it, tightening it inch by inch, sweat beads popped out on his forehead and slid across his scalp. He couldn’t breathe as his vision curled in on him, but he knew he couldn’t stop.
“You’re going to have to drive,” he said breathlessly, pounding a fist on his chest trying to loosen it. “When we get into that parking lot we’ll switch.”
Taylor snorted. “That’s a first. A man asking—” she said, then stopped to study what he knew must be his paper white face. “Are you okay?” she asked, putting her hand on his shoulder.
“No, I’m not okay,” Slade pushed out past his constricted vocal chords.
A bead of sweat streaked down his left temple into his eye to burn as he glanced in the rearview and saw flames lighting up the lot. The two hotel guards picked themselves up from the pavement looking stunned as they staggered back toward the building.
Lola leaned between the seats to lay her head on his shoulder. Her wet tongue washed his neck then his jaw and he tried to focus, but it was getting tough. Somehow he managed to jump the curb and pull the SUV to a stop at the side of the convenience store just as the buzzing occluded every other sound.
Taylor opened his door, Slade slid out, and she helped him stagger around the vehicle to the passenger side. His legs felt like rubber, and he wanted to collapse beside the Hummer and curl into a ball until it was over, but he forced himself inside and she shut the door. Slade bent over, pressed his hands to the sides of his skull and rocked as the fireworks started. He felt the vehicle rock too as she pulled out of the store lot onto the road, but couldn’t focus on anything but the repeats of the explosion in his head.
“I’ve got this. Lean your seat back, and breathe deep, Slade. Try to relax,” Taylor instructed, putting her hand on his thigh for a second, but Slade could barely hear her. He fumbled for the seat release and after a few tries it laid back.
“Lola help him,” she said and suddenly Lola stood on the console between the seats then moved to lay across his lap and nudge him with her head. He put one forearm over his eyes and dropped his other hand down to her head to rub her fur between her ears.
Slade fought the nausea that rolled in his stomach. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry. I’m used to this,” she replied, and Slade figured that was from her former boyfriend who had PTSD. Right then, he realized she probably also recognized his episode at her house. Him falling apart during a tense situation was a scary fucking thing, and could have been deadly to them both.
Yeah, he definitely need a session with his doctor, and maybe a bump in his meds. He just wondered what was triggering all this other than the explosion? The first episode came before the explosion. Goddamn, he thought he had it beat.
After a few minutes, the Hummer went up an incline and he figured they were getting onto the interstate. The engine roar came into focus in his mind and Slade realized Taylor Kinkaid was pushing the SUV as hard as she could. A good thing under the circumstances but he had no idea how competent she was behind the wheel.
“Slow down some,” he said, weakly. “Don’t draw attention to us. We don’t know if they got our plate number, or if they’re following, but I guarantee they got a description of the vehicle.
Hopefully, the explosion distracted them, but take the next exit so we can use the surface roads just in case.”
“I don’t know which surface road to take. You haven’t told me where we’re going. My car is still at your office,” she replied with a huffed breath.
“Just hit the GPS and pick home. It’s better if you stay out at the compound for a few days anyway. We need to regroup in the morning.”
He heard beeps and relaxed a little when the electronic voice gave her the first instruction. Closing his eyes, Slade relaxed and Lola stroked his wrist with her muzzle. The buzzing finally lessened, the fireworks stopped and exhaustion seeped into every muscle in his body making him feel melted into the seat. They drove for a few more minutes, and Slade finally felt the decline as she took the vehicle off the interstate.
“Feeling better?” Taylor asked with concern, and what sounded to be frustration when the GPS said it was recalculating.
“Define better,” Slade asked with a dry laugh.
“Buzzing in your head gone? You in the present with me?” Taylor replied.
“Yeah, it’s gone. Sorry, I fell apart on you.” Slade huffed a breath, and gritted his teeth. He did not talk about this shit. Ever. But he felt like he owed her an explanation and some kind of reassurance he wasn’t a liability. “It hasn’t happened in a couple of years. I don’t know why it did now but I’ll find out tomorrow when I talk to my doctor.”
“I don’t know what caused it either, but we need to make sure you have a handle on it before you go into action again. That could cause major problems, and you probably should tell your boss about it.”
Anger surged through him at her condescending, superior tone. Telling him what he needed to do like she was an expert. Slade could guarantee that she wasn’t. She might have had passing exposure to the problem with her ex-boyfriend, but he could guarantee this woman hadn’t ever walked a mile in his boots, dealt with the situation firsthand from his up-close-and-personal perspective. So there was no we in this equation.
“My boss is on his honeymoon, and can’t be reached. I’m in charge of Deep Six right now, and I’ll handle this the way I need to.” That didn’t include discussing it with her, with Logan or anyone other than his doctor. Slade gathered himself, shoved Lola away and jerked the handle to bring the seat upright again. “I’d appreciate you not mentioning this to anyone, including Logan. I assure you it won’t happen again.”
Slade knew it was an empty assurance, but he didn’t need everyone in the company knowing this happened. They’d all either be mothering him, or would be worried that Logan had made a mistake leaving him in charge. Right now Slade needed their confidence in his decisions, and cohesiveness in the team if they had any hope of finding that kid alive. The bomb in that car, probably one wired into the ignition, said these players were serious, and it looked like the kid wasn’t the only target.
CHAPTER SIX
“I need to go by my house tomorrow to get some clothes,” Taylor commented, as she pulled the Humvee to a stop at the call box by the tall razor-wire topped gate. They’d driven out of town for nearly two hours, and she was damned glad to finally be at their destination according to the GPS. The gate disappeared into climbing vines and scrub, but she could see it was attached to an equally tall razor-wire-edged fence.
Slade had called it a compound, but this place looked more like a very secluded prison. Taylor saw lights beyond the fence, but couldn’t see buildings because of the black plastic strips that were woven through the holes in the gate.
“Zero six hundred,” Slade growled.
Taylor eyes swung to him. “We don’t have to go at six in the morning! Just after the meeting some time is—”
“No, I’m saying that’s the code for the gate,” he replied, without looking at her. “Cee Cee probably left some clothes here you can wear. I’ll look in Logan’s room when we get inside.”
Taylor rolled down her window to lean out and punch in the code. The gate swung inward and she let off of the brake. When she drove through the gate, it rattled closed behind her and she stopped to stare in awe at the high-tech military looking buildings scattered around the compound.
“Center one on the right side,” he grumbled, and Taylor steered that way.
“This is pretty impressive. What is this place?” she asked, pulling to a stop in the farthest parking spot beside another black Humvee.
“This is mission control. We work out of here more than the office in town,” Slade replied, opening his door.
“Do you live here too? The GPS said home?” Taylor got out and let Buddy out of the back door on her side. Slade was on the other side letting Lola out.
“I do most of the time,” he replied grumpily as he slammed the door and walked toward the porch with Lola on his heels.
Buddy wasn’t nearly so well-disciplined. He sniffed the ground as he lazily followed her to the porch before stopping to sniff the post at the bottom of the steps where he promptly turned, raised his leg and peed.
“No, Buddy!” Taylor screeched, reaching for his collar to tug on it.
“It’s fine, he’s a dog and he’s been locked up in that vehicle for hours. Lola probably needs to go too.” Slade dropped his hand from the door knob to turn and point toward the yard. “Lola, geh raus!”
Buddy looked up at him curiously, but Lola trotted down the steps and headed off toward a long building to the left. Buddy squirmed looking after her, then back to Slade. “Buddy, geh raus!” he said, and laughed when the lab sprang into action to follow after Lola.
Taylor watched Buddy catch up to Lola and follow behind her to sniff around for the perfect place to use the bathroom, then looked back to Slade who was standing at the top of the steps watching them too.
“You amaze me,” she said with awe. Buddy listened to Slade as if by instinct knowing he was in command. Slade’s face relaxed and his white teeth showed in the porch light. Something inside Taylor shifted, and her eyes dropped there. Seeing him relaxed after being in the throes of hell after that explosion was a relief.
“You know there’s a new therapy for that other than meds right?” she asked, and his brow puckered as his eyes slid to hers. “For your problem. It’s called EMDR and the military has even embraced it. Mark went to a therapist in Dallas and got better in just a few treatments. Of course, he did it on his own, so the military didn’t find out.”
Until he almost choked her one night when he was having an episode and didn’t remember it, he refused to admit he had a problem but she wasn’t going to tell Slade that.
Taylor was just going to encourage him to get help before his got to that level. She’d done the research for Mark, and found the newly approved treatment. At least Slade knew and admitted he had a problem, and he’d been getting help evidently. Mark had ignored it for several years after he came back from deployment. Several years of hell for her until the final incident.
“They have a fucking acronym for everything,” he said with disgust.
“It stands Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing, and it’s like biofeedback therapy. Mark really made quick prog—”
His lips curled over his teeth to pinch into a white line. “So, you’ve known me what eighteen hours and you’ve got me diagnosed and treated? Did your pre-law degree from Oklahoma State University come with a therapist license too, Ms. Kincaid?” he asked coldly.
Taylor’s stomach turned at hearing basically the same words Mark had spoken to her when she tried to point out his problem. “No, it didn’t, but trust me when I tell you I understand.”
“No, trust me—until you’ve been to war and seen your whole damned squad turned to confetti because you fucked up, you will never understand.” Slade turned back toward the door. “Lola, heir!” he shouted gruffly, and she saw a tremor shake his big body.
Shock and empathy filled her as his words rang in her head like the sound of the explosion had earlier. He was right she would never understand that situation firsthand, and was thankful for that. She could not imagine having to live with that event playing over and over in her head, much less having to witness it with her own eyes.
It had to be horrific, debilitating, and would surely bring even the strongest of men to their knees. But he was still alive, even though his men were dead. Slade needed to forgive himself, and accept that. Like he said though, she was not a therapist. Evidently, he’d been talking to a doctor and that was a good thing. All she could do was causally bring up the new therapy she’d researched again when he wasn’t in such a volatile mood.
Lola shot across the yard with Buddy on her tail, and scrambled up the steps just as Slade opened the door and went inside. Taylor followed them inside and shut the door. The first thing that caught her notice was the enormous television mounted to the wall in what had to be the living room. A huge plush sectional sofa cordoned off the area. Slade walked past the area and disappeared into a hallway. She had no idea where he expected her to go, so she went to the sofa and sat down. Buddy came over and hopped up on the sofa beside her, but she shoved him back to the floor.
“Buddy, sitz!” she said, trying to mimic the tone she’d heard Slade use.
To her surprise, the lab sat down between the sofa and coffee table, then dropped down to rest his head on her right shoe. Taylor picked up the remote control to turn on the television, but it had so many buttons she had no idea which one turned on the big screen.
The ten o’clock news should be on and she was curious what was being said about the explosion at the hotel, about the two Arab guards who had to be killed in it. After a few failed attempts, she found a larger button on the left side of the control and pressed it. The television came to life, and thank goodness it was already on the local news channel so she tossed the remote on the table and sat back to watch.
Twenty minutes into the program, she sat up straighter when the anchor announced he had late breaking news about an explosion and fire at a downtown hotel. Taylor wanted to bite her nails through the two minutes of commercials she had to watch until the anchor reappeared and cut to a reporter on the scene who was standing in the parking lot.
“ATF agents and FBI are on scene now at an explosion that happened at this hotel earlier tonight. Two men were killed, and one other injured in the explosion. Authorities believe it may have been an attempt on the life of Saudi Prince Ahmed Khalil who is in residency at the hotel. A hotel security guard who managed to escape injury in the blast believes a former employee and a German man may be to blame, but authorities are still investigating.”
“They think I’m German?” Slade commented with a harsh laugh.
Taylor jumped, her heart pounding at what she’d just heard. “They recognized me and think I tried to kill the prince!” Acid pushed up to burn in her throat, so she swallowed hard and turned to look up at him. “We’ve got to call the authorities and explain what we were doing there!”
His eyebrow lifted. “You want to spend the night in jail? And another week being interrogated by the feds?”
“No, but—“ Taylor replied.
“That’s what will happen, and we don’t have time for it. We need to focus on finding that kid, who I’m sure the authorities weren’t told was kidnapped, and figure out who planted that explosive and why.” Slade pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and pressed a speed dial number. “I’ll call Levi to bring your car out here. The cops will find it in the lot at the office and tie you to Deep Six if we don’t.”
Taylor groaned as she listened while Slade spouted off instructions. After hanging up with Levi, he called Dex and gave him an update and instructions, including the names of the men he wanted assembled at the compound in the morning. When he hung up, he looked at her.
“We can’t go back to your house, until this is over. The feds are probably there turning it upside down right
now. Let’s just hope the guards or cameras didn’t get the plate number on the Hummer.”
“My car keys are in my purse,” Taylor said, picking it up from the seat beside her.
“Levi is in town and doesn’t need keys.” Slade cleared his throat. “He’ll work it out.”
Her heart shot to her throat. She’d just paid the last note on that car, and did not need it damaged. “Work it out? As in hotwire it?” From her experience at the sheriff’s office in Oklahoma, Taylor knew what stolen cars that had been hotwired looked like when they were recovered.
“Yeah, he’s good at it. Don’t worry, he’ll fix whatever he breaks.” As if that were that on the subject, Slade walked toward the front door, and Lola followed him. “Just get some rest and we’ll hit the ground running in the morning.”
He actually thought she could sleep? And why was he going back outside?
This man was not leaving her here by herself!
“Where are you going?” Taylor asked pushing up from the sofa. At the door he stopped to look back at her.
“To my apartment at the barracks. The sofa will probably be more comfortable for you than the bunks in the barracks and I know at least two of the guys are out there tonight. I’m sure you don’t want to sleep in the bunk below Caleb, hell, even in the same room with him. He snores like a freight train.” He gave a chin nod at the sofa. “The right end of the sofa pulls out into a bed. Just move the coffee table. Sheets and blankets are in the closet in the laundry room on the other side of the kitchen.”
Taylor was a crack shot, and more than able to defend herself in an altercation. But she didn’t have her pistol with her. That was at her house, probably being confiscated by the FBI at this very moment, and as tired as she was she probably couldn’t ball her hand into a fist much less fight anyone.
“I’d rather not be alone over here,” she admitted, her voice not hiding her fear or her exhaustion.
Slade blew out a breath and studied her for a moment, before he ran a hand over his beard-shadowed jaw. “Fine, come with me then. I couldn’t find extra clothes for you, and I’m too tired to think. I can’t sleep in Logan’s quarters though, because he’d kill me.”
