Point of No Return

by Rita Henuber

  “Help me,” Porter said. They turned to see she’d pushed to a sit, a bloody hand outstretched, her undamaged eye wide and wild. “The explosives,” she gagged and sprayed blood. “Help me.” They stepped into the corridor and headed for an exit.

  Chapter 27

  If the sun came up tomorrow without her there would be few tears, but Jack . . . she couldn’t digest the thought of Jack not breathing, smiling. The thought of him not being there for Ali and his mother was as painful as being run through with Porter’s blade. She didn’t know how best to protect him. He needed her help to walk. They were in the center of the complex and she had no idea from which direction a blast would come. Their only solution was to haul ass out. She jammed the gun into her pants, wrapped Jack’s arm over her shoulder and they did just that.

  She figured they were halfway out when a deep whoomp followed by a sound like the howl of a beast escaping from the depths of the earth came from a distant tunnel. Pain be damned, they ran. Seconds later the beast’s hot, percussive breath hit, forcing them to the floor. She moved over Jack, who was on his back. He understood she had the vest and it was the best way to protect them both. He wrapped his arms around her head, offering another obstacle to the stinging debris raining down, stinging her bare flesh. An alarm sounded. Overhead lights faded. Before they died completely, emergency lights on the floor glowed to life, creating a shadowy half-light. Nothing large hit them. That could change with the next explosion.

  They scrambled up, slipping on small fragments littering the floor, into a dense blanket of choking smoke. They stepped through a shattered glass door that would have required a pass card five minutes ago, it’s jagged glass looking like dragon teeth. Covered in plaster dust, eyes stinging, they’d only progressed ten feet when another whoomp and howl reached them. The beast wasn’t done. They crouched reflexively. Jack shoved her against the wall and flattened against her.

  “No. I have . . . vest.” She tried to push him off.

  “Fuck the vest. Be still, damn it.”

  She did what he’d done for her and circled her arms around his head. The blast was farther than the first and succeeded in bringing down things the first blast had loosened. A wave of hot air moved the smoke. Floor lights flickered then died, plunging them into breath-stealing darkness.

  “Geesus.” Jack moved off her and stood, pulling her with him. They leaned on the wall to orient themselves in the darkness.

  “Don’t move,” she said, digging a penlight from her pocket.

  “Move?” Jack coughed. “No problem. It’s too dark to know which way is up.”

  The light was powerful, but in the overwhelming darkness it barely lit a three-foot area. She handed the tiny light to Jack. “Aim it at our feet, not up. I can see a few feet ahead.” She took a deep, calming breath. Big mistake. The acrid smoke stung her throat and lungs. She pushed the discomfort away, welcomed the darkness, and let it comfort her. Jack looped an arm around her waist. She covered his hand with hers. “Ready?”

  “Ready.” He followed each of her steps with his. They walked like their legs were tied together. She picked her way over the wreckage on the floor and things hanging from the ceiling as fast as she dared.

  A distant blast produced a rumble from deep in the bowels of the complex. A vibration in the floor whiplashed fear through her like a downed power line flapping in hurricane-force winds. The sprinkler system let loose.

  Jack grabbed her hand and, penlight in his mouth, moved past her, trying to run. The floor rolled in waves. It was difficult to stand, much less run. There was a blinding flash followed by a deafening sound. A rush of hot air lifted them, breaking Jack’s grip on her hand, tumbling her body, slamming it against a wall. Stunned, she slid to the floor. Low-decibel sounds roared in her ears. The fucking alarm still worked. There were other sounds and they were coming closer. She felt for the gun. It was gone. She patted the space around her for Jack, intending to get between him and the sounds, finding only sharp inanimate objects. She forced one eye open a slit and immediately closed it. Her vision was fucked and the kaleidoscope effect from a bright light sent pain bouncing from one side of her skull to the other. Her mind was on fire telling her she had move, get up and run, crawl, anything, and find Jack. She couldn’t get to her knees. Her body was slow, uncooperative. She gave in and rolled to a fetal position. A warm trickle made its way down her face. More rumbling and vibration. Gawd, not another explosion. Her body left the floor.

  “Obummm hore ebbes.”

  Obummm hore ebbes? Open your eyes? She managed to open one and Jack was there. Holding her under her arms.

  She yelled at him, “Gobb to gebb houut.” Shit. Her voice was screwed or . . . her hearing. She made an attempt to run. Her legs gave way. Jack caught her. They stumbled and she cried out, prepared to meet the floor. She didn’t. She was swept up . . . she forced her eyes open . . . into Gunny’s arms. “Help Jack.”

  “Buck.”

  She turned her head to see Buck, arm around Jack, hustling him along toward the light. Gunny followed. Bouncing in his arms, she closed her eyes, thinking he wasn’t going to let her forget how many times he’d saved her butt in the last few weeks.

  The mechanical sound of an engine thrummed and buzzed painfully. A big engine. She squinted and saw they were still inside the building and the bright light came from . . . she blinked . . . from the headlights of a Hummer. She laughed as the four of them squeezed between the wall and truck, remembering Nelson’s pride that a Hummer could be driven inside the complex. There were no seats. Gunny deposited her on the floor and jumped in behind her. Jack, with Gunny’s help, maneuvered her onto his lap, cradling her, the force of the powerful engine vibrating through them. The moment the door closed, they rocketed backward. Who the fuck was driving? She rolled her head to see who was at the wheel. Mad dog Santiago, as Buck loved to call her, sat twisted in the driver’s seat, looking behind. She didn’t care as long as it wasn’t Kara.

  Gunny leaned close. “Anything broken or leaking?” At least that’s what she thought he said. She held up her taped hand then shook her head, creating a ringing to rival any bell choir.

  A forceful explosion rattled the Hummer and was followed by two more. “Hang on,” Santiago shouted, pushing the engine into what seemed like Mach 1 speed.

  Honey did as told and clutched Jack, who reciprocated. Tires bounced over debris and metal ground against concrete walls, scraping one then veering to do the same on the opposite side. Her hearing returned enough to hear Santiago recite her version of the Marine Corps dictionary of cusswords as she fought to control the monster vehicle. Then . . . they were free of the walls. Brakes screeched. They slid and Santiago executed a 180 then shot forward.

  “Almost there,” Santiago called. Gunny scrambled to his knees near the door. Santiago stood on the brakes and the tires screamed for mercy as they slid over the wet asphalt. Doors flung open and she was carried by Buck and Gunny into the van, where Kara clutched Ali. The child saw Jack.

  “Uncle.” She broke Kara’s hold and launched into Jack, wrapping her arms around his neck, legs around his waist.

  “It’s okay,” he soothed. “You’re safe.”

  “I know.” She looked into his face. “But you aren’t.”

  Honey’s heart lurched at Ali’s distress. She imagined the child thinking she could lose another family member.

  They settled on the floor of the van and Coop drove, leaving the fire-reddened sky behind. A half mile down the road they were forced to pull over for a motorcade of emergency vehicles. An explosion so massive it lit the dead of night like a red dawn rocked the van and stopped all the vehicles in the road.

  “Geezsus.” Coop looked in the side-view mirror. “It looks like they were bombed. The whole f’ing place is on fire. Don’t have to worry about finding any trace of us in that mess.”

  First responders continued to rush toward Global as the van crept in the opposite direction on less traveled roads. They listened to t
he radio and watched local news stations on laptops for reports on the explosion. There were none for thirty minutes, then every station with a news department was reporting something. National security was mentioned. By the time Kara was escorting Honey, Jack and Ali down the stairs to her father’s medical bomb shelter, one station jock excitedly called the events at Global a terrorist bombing.

  Exhausted, they slumped in chairs waiting for Dr. Gregg to examine Ali. Physically she was fine but she did not want to be separated from Jack. Not even to go with her grandmother. Theresa and Clare O’Brien tried to coax her upstairs with all-you-could-eat ice cream for breakfast. No deal. Coop was the deciding factor. He promised, to Jack’s chagrin, the Marines would make sure nothing happened to Uncle. Then he went to his knees, took Ali’s hand, and asked if she would accompany him to the kitchen for ice cream. Jack gave her an approving nod and she agreed.

  Gunny and Santiago monitored the news stations on the billboard-sized TV in the family room. Buck came down to the bomb shelter/medical center to assist Gregg. Triage rules applied. Worst treated first, and Jack was it. Her hand wasn’t bleeding and would heal. She may look bad, but unlike Jack, nothing was broken. His nose was messed up and he was good for a broken rib or two.

  “Daddy said to take these for the pain.” Kara handed her a bottle of water and two white pills. Honey swallowed them down with a long pull of water.

  Kara screwed her face up. “Hurt much?”

  “Not yet. When my adrenaline high wears off every place I’ve been hit, bumped, and cut will be screaming. Got your phone?” Kara nodded. “Come with me. We’ve got calls to make.”

  Her first and most important call would be to Ramsey and Saunders, telling them about Global and the night’s events. Then they’d tell the story to a couple of other people.

  Chapter 28

  Cooper set up a connection giving Jack seven untraceable minutes for a tense phone conversation with the FBI. He explained, to very pissed-off agents, they could call off the Amber Alert, his family was safe, in hiding and their job was over. Their demands to know more were met with a broken laugh, “No fucking way,” and the end of the call.

  Then he took Ali to see Honey.

  They stood at the door of the bedroom Honey was in. “Go ahead,” he prompted, and she rapped.

  “Who is it?” He recognized Theresa’s voice.

  “Jack and Ali. Ali wants to talk to Honey.”

  Theresa opened the door. “Come in.”

  Ali didn’t hesitate a heartbeat and went straight to the bed. Honey, in blue silky pajamas, lay on top of the covers of a king bed propped up with a mountain of pillows. Long legs stretched out. Grime and blood gone. A white bandage replaced the silver duct tape on her left hand. One eye was swollen, both blackened. Honey smiled and attempted to adjust the pillows. Ali carefully climbed onto the bed and helped.

  Theresa touched his arm. “Don’t stay too long. She needs rest.” He nodded and Theresa left.

  “You look . . . pitiful,” Ali announced.

  “Hey, kiddo. Where’s your manners?” He went to the bed.

  Ali’s head swiveled to look at him, lower lip sticking out, tears rolling down her cheeks. Ah, hell. He could take a beating better than tears.

  “It’s okay,” Honey said, for Ali’s benefit as well as his. “I imagine I do look pitiful.” She swiped Ali’s tears away with her thumb.

  “Tell Miss Honey what you came to say.”

  “I want to thank you for helping me and Uncle. I really appreciate it,” she said with great solemnity.

  “Come on.” He leaned to pick her up and she tucked against Honey. “Miss Honey needs to rest.”

  “Stay. Please.” She circled an arm around Ali. “Plenty of time to rest later.”

  Honey looked at him and his heart made a weird leap. A weirder buzz swarmed through his body, and he knew.

  He remembered asking Lee how he knew Becca was the one. Lee had gone silent, then said there was no way he could explain it. He just knew. He thought big bro was brushing him off with that answer. Now he understood. He knew he loved this woman who leveled him with a smile. Made him understand what being a man was. Made him want to be better. Truth was . . . he’d known for a while. He’d been sidetracked by Lee’s death and fear. Fear he would have to give up the only way of life he’d known. Honey wouldn’t ask him to give up a thing. Without her asking, he wouldn’t hesitate to give up the world to be with her. His legs were a tad wobbly. Oh, yeah, he knew. He eased into the chair at the side of the bed closest to her, watching Ali counting bruises. He felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time, peace.

  Ali pushed seriously curled hair off her forehead and leaned into Honey. “Do you like Uncle?”

  “Ali.”

  Honey flicked her eyes in his direction and took Ali’s hand. “I do. He’s a very nice and smart man. Why do you want to know?”

  “You’re pretty. I think you should date him. He needs a woman.”

  “Really?” He started to mount a protest but Honey held up a hand in a stop gesture.

  Ali’s head bobbed. “You should know some things first.”

  “And what are these things?” Honey said.

  “He has bad manners.”

  “Hey, give an uncle a break.” Where was this going? Ali was undeterred. He might as well not be in the room.

  “He burps. Mostly after drinking beer. He taught me to do it without beer. Do you want to hear?”

  “Okay. Enough. Let’s go.” He made a halfhearted attempt to stand.

  “Can we save that for another time?” Honey ignored him also. “Anything else?”

  Ali nodded and straightened her back, appearing ready to deliver news of earth-shattering importance. “And . . . he toots,” she said in a conspiratorial tone.

  “Toots?” Honey asked, confused.

  Ah, shit. Was Ali trying to sabotage him? He tried to go invisible. All he could manage was to slouch lower in the chair.

  “You know.” Ali waved a hand in front of her face. “A stinky toot. He and my daddy did it all the time. They blamed it on tree frogs, but I knew it was them.”

  “This is very valuable information,” Honey declared. “I’m glad you shared it with me.”

  “Nothing like being thrown under the bus by your niece. I think it’s time to go.” He pushed to his feet.

  “Nooo,” Ali wailed, throwing in all the drama a seven-year-old could. “I want to stay.”

  “Are these two bothering you?” Clare O’Brien said from the door.

  “No. Come in and join us.” Honey was inviting but sounded as tired as he felt.

  “Sorry, I have to break this up.” His mother went to Ali. “The adults want to come in and talk breaking news events.” She gave him a look and steered an indignant Ali to the door talking about ice cream. The moment his mom and Ali cleared the room, Kara, Honey’s team, her sister and brother-in-law flooded the room.

  Kara took the TV remote, and over the fireplace a flat screen lowered from the ceiling. “They’re breaking in on the Global fire with a major news alert.” She settled on a news channel with a somber dark-haired female reporter.

  “I’m repeating this for those just joining us. We have a confirmed report from the White House that is sending shock waves through Washington and the world. Vice President Ripley Jordan is dead from what doctors say was a massive heart attack. He was forty-six.” She went on, describing his illustrious political career.

  “This is bullshit,” Gunny said. “He fucking has a heart attack and now nobody knows what the bastard did.”

  “I know that man,” Gregg said. “He was strong, healthy. A heart attack at forty-six is highly unusual.”

  “It wasn’t a heart attack unless you consider one’s heart being attacked by a bullet,” Honey said softly.

  All ignored the somber reporter and turned to Honey.

  “Are you saying someone got past the Secret Service, shot him, and they’re not telling the public?” There
sa said.

  “That’s not what I’m saying at all.” Everyone waited for her to explain. “I made a call to the Secret Service agent in charge of the VP’s detail—” Honey paused, considering the irony of meeting the agent at the party in this house days ago. “Sent him a copy of Porter’s recording naming the VP as their government insider. He passed it to the DOJ, who then asked the Secret Service to detain him. I don’t know if he was told it had to do with Global. My contact said Jordan was being investigated for other things. I don’t know the details. With the fire, he might’ve had an idea. He went into the bathroom, stood in the shower, put a nine millimeter to his heart and pulled the trigger.”

  “The bastard didn’t want to mess up his head so he could have an open casket,” Gloria said.

  Geesus. This had far-reaching implications. He hadn’t really thought past revenge for Lee and Rebecca’s deaths. Honey’s career would be affected. So would the others’.

  On the flat screen, a clearly agitated male reporter was talking about breaking news in the Global explosions. A man joined the reporter on air. “A local underground Internet newspaper, SecretsdotGov, reports Global was a front for an international identity theft organization. They claim they have audio, video, and Internet files verifying counts in the thousands of identity theft, murder, and three kidnappings.”

  “Way to go, Kara,” Coop said.

  Kara smiled wildly and curtsied. “I was glad to do it. I have to confess it was—” She paused and looked at Honey. He thought she was trying to figure what to call her. “It was Aunt Honey’s idea,” she said respectfully.

  “Dear God.” Theresa came to take the chair he’d vacated.

  “The website”—the screen split to show video captured at the height of the fire—“also claims the fire and explosions were intentionally set to cover the company’s crimes.” He continued droning on about the efforts to contain the fire and find bodies.