Over the Edge

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Damn. He couldn’t just leave her here. He looked around the room. “Yo, Gilligan!” The petty officer had just finished lunch.

  “Yes, Senior Chief?”

  “I need you to escort Mrs. Shuler to her room. 808. Don’t let her take the elevator. Take her all the way to her door, see that she gets inside. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Aye aye, Senior Chief.”

  “Mrs. Shuler, this is Petty Officer Third Class Daniel Gillman. He’ll take you back to your room, ma’am.”

  “That’s really not necessary,” she said.

  “Ma’am,” Stan said as politely and as respectfully as he could manage, considering he had to stop at his room and change his clothes before heading up to the helo on the double, “I think you know that it is.”

  Twenty

  Stan hit the roof at a run.

  Most of the team was already there, along with the two FBI observers, Locke and Cassidy.

  Sam Starrett was on a landline, a hotel phone. “Tell O’Leary to catch another helo over because we’re ready to— Fuck. These fucking phones.” He redialed on his cell phone.

  “Power’s gone out in the hotel again,” Jenk reported. “Possibly this entire sector of the city.”

  “We got a pilot?” Stan asked Jenk, who was carrying a clipboard.

  He flipped through the papers there. “Yeah. Howe. No, wait. Edwards. Yeah, they switched assignments at the last minute. L.T. okayed it.”

  Shit. Stan was unaware that he’d spoken aloud until Mike Muldoon spoke.

  “That’s probably my fault, Senior.” Muldoon pulled on his vest and lowered his voice. “I think she’s avoiding me. She canceled lunch on me, too. She left a message saying she thought we should talk when we get back to San Diego. I think I’m getting dumped before I even got attached.”

  “Yeah, I’d like to talk to you, too,” Stan said. “I’m pretty sure I steered you in the wrong direction, and I owe you an apology. After this is over. Maybe on the flight home?”

  Muldoon shook his head. “Senior, you don’t owe me anything.”

  “Yes, I do.” He owed Teri an apology, too. She’d come to him for help, and he was such a pompous prick, so goddamn full of himself, he’d assumed he could fix all her problems. Of course he could. He was Mr. Fix-It, the Miracle Man. He could make things right for her. And the fact that he’d been hot for her from day one? Well, he could just ignore that. He was stronger than that, tougher than a mere mortal man. Things like lust and desire—the mighty senior chief was above all that.

  Except when she came into his room and took off her clothes. That was something he hadn’t planned on happening. Yeah, that was well outside of his projected possible scenarios.

  Then, after completely losing his mind over her, he didn’t even have the balls to come clean and tell her. He didn’t say a single word about how crazy he was for her, how much he liked her and respected her, how beautiful he thought she was. He hadn’t told her that making love to her had been completely beyond his wildest imaginings—and he had one hell of an imagination.

  He hadn’t admitted that he was scared to death because he was falling in love with her. Yeah, he couldn’t come clean even with himself about that one. Falling. Right. As if he hadn’t already fallen. As if there was still a chance that he wasn’t going down and going down hard.

  And while “Teri, I love you,” may not have been the words she particularly wanted to hear either, he could have gone for something more along the lines of “God, you’re incredible.”

  Instead he’d asked where she was in her menstrual cycle.

  Yeah, he’d messed this up but good. Teri had gone into run and hide mode again—because of him. He was the asshole she was hiding from now.

  “Let’s go!” Starrett shouted. “Let’s do this right!”

  It sure would be nice to do something right today.

  Helga sat in her hotel room, surrounded by Post-it notes.

  Never forget. It was the cry of all Holocaust survivors. Never forget.

  She’d told her story so many times. To classrooms full of children. To women’s clubs. To religious groups. At cocktail parties and diplomatic functions.

  “I lived in Denmark as a child—during World War II. I was but one of seventy-eight hundred Danish Jews living near Copenhagen when Hitler invaded. Did you know Denmark was the only country that said, No, you will not take our Jewish citizens. Denmark was the only country in Europe where Jews weren’t required to wear a yellow star on the front and on the back of all their clothing.

  “Did you know that in February 1942, in Nazi-occupied Denmark, a man who tried to burn down the Copenhagen Synagogue was tried and convicted—and sentenced to three years in prison? For a crime against Jews.

  “Did you know that of the seventy-eight hundred Danish Jews, all but four hundred seventy-four escaped to Sweden? And of those unlucky four-hundred seventy-four who were rounded up by the Nazis and sent to Theresienstadt, all but fifty-four survived because the Danish king sent word to the Germans saying, We are watching you. Those fifty-four died from sickness and old age.

  “Denmark said no. You cannot do this to our citizens. Denmark said no, and her people rose up, at great risk to themselves, and thousands of lives were saved. In other countries, they shrugged. What could we do? If we tried to help, they’d have killed us, too.

  “Maybe so. But maybe all they really had to do was just . . . say no.”

  She would write a book. About Annebet and Hershel. About Marte and her parents. She would do it soon. While she still could. Surrounded by Post-it notes, if necessary. She’d finally put her story onto paper. Then, when her voice was finally silent, when she could no longer remember her own name, her words would still ring out. Her story would not be forgotten.

  Helga had faced challenges before. With the grace of God, she could face this one, too.

  The hotel’s fire alarm went off.

  Teri quit pretending she was sleeping and just lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the braying of the horns.

  When she’d switched assignments with Jeff Edwards, she’d told herself it was because she was tired. She needed to sleep.

  She’d come back here and climbed into bed and pretended she hadn’t switched assignments because she was hiding from Stan.

  But the truth was, she was hiding from Stan.

  And Stan, being a highly intelligent man, had probably figured that out.

  What she didn’t know was, once he knew she was hiding from him, would he steer clear of her or would he make an effort to seek her out?

  If he came knocking on her door, looking to talk seriously about the possibilities of her being pregnant, she would scream.

  But really, what were the odds he’d come knocking on her door only to step inside, lock it behind him, and give her one of his knockout smiles? What were the odds he’d admit that the sex they’d shared was the best sex he’d ever had in his entire life, and that he wanted to do it again—right now?

  And what were the odds that, afterward, still tangled together on her bed, he’d kiss her. Softly. Tenderly. And he’d tell her . . .

  What?

  Teri sat up and put on her boots. She shrugged into her hated flack jacket and grabbed her key from the top of the TV that didn’t work and went out into the hallway. The sirens were louder out here, and she covered her ears as she jogged toward the stairwell, heading down to the lobby.

  The power was out in the hotel and emergency lights were on in the stairwell, giving it a creepy, otherworldly feel.

  There weren’t as many people heading down the stairs as she’d imagined there’d be. And she even passed a maid carrying an armload of towels and going up. That was probably a large clue that this was just a false alarm, but she was more than halfway to the lobby, so she kept going.

  Besides, maybe she’d run into Stan.

  And then what? He’d drop to his knees and tell her that he loved her? That he wanted to marry her?


  The man didn’t even have furniture in his house. He’d told her he had no intention of getting married—ever.

  And she—when the hell had she turned into Snow White? Lying around praying that someday her prince would come?

  So what if Stan didn’t want to get married. So what if he didn’t love her. So what if he considered their lovemaking to be a mistake.

  He liked her. Teri knew he did. And he was attracted to her, too. She knew that as well.

  She’d gone to him this morning, and he’d been unable to resist her. Maybe if she did that enough times, he’d get used to the idea, get used to having her around—having someone take care of him for a change.

  God, she just wanted to be with him.

  And she was damned if she was going to let him get away without a fight.

  Someday my prince will come, indeed.

  How about tonight? Tonight she’d find her prince. She’d go to him. And tonight, yeah, if she did it right, her prince would definitely come.

  Teri laughed aloud at the rudeness of that particular double entendre as she pushed through the door to the lobby.

  Sirens.

  There should have been sirens when the Germans finally came for the Jews, but there weren’t. It was silent and the sky was very blue. It was just another October day.

  Helga was in the Gunvalds’barn with Marte when they heard voices in the street.

  They went to the door, thinking it was the vegetable cart.

  But it wasn’t.

  A crowd of neighbors and friends had gathered—and the German officer in charge was warning them to stand back.

  “This isn’t your business,” he said.

  Helga saw Wilhelm Gruber standing off to the side, smoking a cigarette, just watching.

  And then the German officer, in his gleaming black boots, saw them. “You there,” he ordered, pointing to Marte. “Do you live here?”

  “Stay here,” Marte said to Helga. “Stay hidden.”

  But the German had already spotted her. “Both of you girls. Come here.”

  There was nothing to do but go forward. Running would only prove they had something to hide. Helga had heard Annebet say it often enough.

  Marte took her hand, holding it tightly. “I won’t let them take you,” she murmured.

  Then Annebet came out of the house, cool as could be. “Is there a problem?”

  The German officer stood a little taller at her smile. “We received information that there were Jews hidden here.”

  From where Helga stood in the yard, she could see Fru Gunvald leading her parents out the back door and through a hole in the fence to the neighbor’s house.

  “There’s no one here but my mother and my sisters,” Annebet said, crossing to stand beside Helga, her hand on her shoulder.

  Wilhelm Gruber shifted his weight.

  And Helga heard Annebet draw in a sharp breath. She hadn’t realized Gruber was there. Gruber, who knew Annebet had only one sister. Who knew Helga was not just a Jew, but the sister of the Jew who had married Annebet.

  Gruber looked at Helga. He looked at Marte. He looked at Annebet.

  And then he looked off down the street, without saying a single word.

  And Annebet came to life again. “I’m taking my sisters and going to the market,” she told the German officer. “You can search the house if you like. My mother is inside. Mama!”

  Fru Gunvald hurried back into her house through the back door and came right out the front, wiping her hands on her apron as if she’d been in the kitchen, cooking all the while.

  “Someone has wasted this officer’s time,” Annebet told her mother, “claiming we’re hiding people here.”

  Fru Gunvald looked so surprised, even Helga found herself believing her. “In this little house?” Fru Gunvald said with a laugh. “There’s barely room for us, let alone guests. Come in, come in, and see for yourself.”

  “Come,” Annebet whispered, taking Helga and Marte by the hand. “Keep walking, don’t speak, and don’t look back.”

  Helga didn’t look back.

  And she never saw the Gunvalds’house or brave Fru Gunvald again.

  The hotel lobby wasn’t as crowded as Teri had expected with the fire alarms still wailing, but then again, the big hotel was barely full—most of the rooms being used by U.S. military personnel, most of whom weren’t hiding from their lives, the way she had been.

  She spotted the SEAL who was nicknamed Izzy, a sandwich in each of his hands.

  “False alarm,” he told her. “Someone broke the call box on the second floor. Probably just—”

  His T-shirt turned red and he dropped his sandwiches and crumpled to the floor. And Teri realized that that tearing sound she heard was an automatic weapon being fired.

  Izzy had been shot. Still, he reached for her, trying to pull her down. But it was too late.

  Teri felt the punch of the bullet hit her, the force pushing her back and over the top of a sofa. She landed on something hard as her world went black.

  “Get on the radio,” Sam Starrett ordered Jenk, “and find out what the fuck is keeping O’Leary.”

  He turned to find the senior chief standing next to him, washing down some of this infernal dust with a bottle of water.

  “You know, we’re ready for this,” Wolchonok said with that matter-of-fact confidence that only the senior chief could pull off. “When L.T. calls and says go, we’re good to go. My guess is it’ll be right before sundown. The tangos’ll be expecting us to wait until dark, so we’ll jump the gun.”

  Sam nodded. “I wish I had your confidence.”

  “We can run it again, if you want,” the senior said.

  “Oh, shit!” Jenk had turned a shade of pale beneath his tan, the radio handset to his ear. “Oh shit, oh shit.” His voice shook. “Frank O’Leary’s dead, Lieutenant.”

  No one moved, no one spoke, no one breathed.

  The senior chief was the first to kick back to life. “Report,” he ordered Jenk. “What happened? Did a helo go down?”

  O’Leary—dead. It didn’t seem possible. The men who’d been resting in the shade stood up, moving closer so they could hear.

  Frank O’Leary had been a quiet son of a bitch, but he’d been laid-back and easy to get along with. Although few besides Jenk knew him particularly well, he’d been well liked. And he’d been dearly loved for his skills as a sniper.

  “Someone set off the fire alarm back at the hotel,” Jenk reported, “waited until everyone got downstairs, then opened fire in the lobby.”

  “Oh, Christ,” the senior chief breathed. “What kind of casualties?”

  “At least six Marines killed,” Jenk said. “About twenty wounded. Izzy and Gillman were both hit—I don’t know how badly, or if they’re even alive.”

  “Find out,” Senior ordered him. “I want to know the location and status of every member of the Squad. Get everyone to check in. Support personnel, too. Helo pilots, everyone.”

  “Everyone’s checked in but Big Mac, Steve, and Knox,” Jenk reported. “Support personnel’s checked in, except for Bob Hendson and—no, Hendson and Howe are both on the casualty list.”

  The senior chief made the kind of sound a man made when gut punched. It was not the kind of sound anyone there had ever heard coming out of the senior chief before.

  Howe. Teri Howe. Oh, Jesus. Sam glanced at Alyssa, glad beyond belief that she was standing right there, whole and alive. He couldn’t even imagine how crazy he’d be going right now if he’d just been told her name was on that casualty list and that she could well be dead or dying.

  “Which list?” the senior asked, swiftly pulling out of whatever he’d almost fallen into.

  Jenk was still staring at him, wide-eyed.

  “Which casualty list?” The senior seemed to expand, intent on getting this information now. He got louder. “Which fucking casualty list are Hendson and Howe on? The question’s not that hard, Jenkins.”

  But Jenk shook his head. “
Senior, it’s chaos over there—”

  Sam stepped in. “Find out. Call Lieutenant Paoletti directly if you have to.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  The senior chief turned to Sam, the muscle jumping in the side of his jaw. “You want to run this drill again, Lieutenant?” he asked tightly, ready to do his job despite the fact that the woman he cared for—and despite all his protests, Sam knew now for absolute certain that the senior chief cared for this girl—could very well be dead.

  Sam shook his head. “No, we’re ready. Let’s go breathe down Max Bhagat’s neck. We’ll take a couple hours of rest, but we’ll do it over at the airport. Senior Chief, take Jenk and go to the hotel. Find out what the fuck is going on over there and report back in.”

  The order wasn’t even out of his mouth before Wolchonok had grabbed Jenk and headed for the helos at a dead run.

  There were tanks out in front of the hotel. Stan could see them as the helo approached. The number of Marines had quadrupled, too.

  Christ, they should have gone into siege mode before lives had been lost.

  Frank O’Leary—God rest his soul. The world was going to be a darker place without him in it.

  And Teri Howe . . .

  Just before they’d gotten onto the helicopter, Jenk had found out that Navy pilot Bob Hendson was on a list of names of personnel who had been flown via helo to the hospital on board the U.S.S. Hale, an aircraft carrier just off the coast, not far from Kazabek. Izzy and Dan Gillman were on that list, too.

  But not Teri Howe.

  Stan closed his eyes as the helo set down, praying to whatever God was listening that the reason Teri wasn’t on that list wasn’t because she was on the KIA list with Frank O’Leary.

  Please God, don’t let her be dead. Please God, I’ll be good for the entire rest of my life. . . .

  Jenk touched his arm, gesturing that they’d landed.

  Ah, Christ, Stan had tears in his eyes. Jenk pretended not to see them as he followed him off the helo and across the roof.

  He’d heard Jenk shouting on the helo, trying to talk on the radio despite the noise. He was still plugged in to the damn thing, still trying to get that information.