Point Blank SEAL

by Carol Ericson

  Jennifer didn’t dare turn around to look at the room, but she did raise her eyes to the mirror above the bar, reflecting more than a few men with baseball caps. The caps gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling—better than booze.

  Jennifer cupped her glass with one hand and took a long swallow of her cosmopolitan. “What are you proposing?”

  “Does that mean you are with Miguel Estrada? Working with him?”

  To buy time, Jennifer took another sip of the intoxicating cocktail and then another. She licked the sweet Cointreau from her lips. “What is it you’re proposing?”

  “I can access some computer files that might explain what’s going on, that might clear Miguel’s name because he’s in a lot of trouble right now. Based on the recommendation of the facility, Miguel’s been branded a traitor to his country.”

  “Why would you do that? You could be putting yourself in—” Jennifer blinked and ran a fingertip around the rim of her glass, searching for the right word “—comfort.”

  That wasn’t what she meant. She shook her head, and the drink she’d just consumed too quickly seemed to slosh in her skull.

  “You’ve heard of whistle-blowers, right?” Maggie tapped the second martini glass the bartender had set down behind the first. “Maybe I want to be a whistle-blower. Hell, maybe I just want the adventure.”

  “Whistle tune.” Jennifer gripped the edge of the bar, to steady herself in the suddenly tilting room. She ran her tongue along her dry teeth and rubbed her eyes. “I—I think I need some water.”

  “Try this.”

  Maggie placed a glass in her hand, and Jennifer gulped back—the second cosmo.

  She choked and pressed a napkin to her mouth. “No, no. Water.”

  Jennifer tried to put the glass back on the bar, but the bar was undulating. When she released the martini glass it dropped and tipped over, spilling the rest of the potent concoction.

  A man’s voice from far away murmured, “Is she okay?”

  Maggie giggled. “We just had a few too many cosmos. I’ll get her home.”

  Home? Her home was with Miguel. With Mikey. How had she gotten so drunk so fast? She tried to form words in protest as Maggie tucked a strong arm around her waist and helped her slide from the barstool.

  Jennifer arched her back and tried to twist away from the vise around her midsection.

  And then Maggie put her lips so close to Jennifer’s ear, and her hot breath stirred her hair. “If you try anything now, if Estrada is here and comes to your rescue, he’ll reveal himself—and he’ll be a dead man.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Miguel clapped his new best friend and fellow Nats fan on the shoulder, his gaze darting toward the bar where Jennifer and Maggie had their heads together in deep discussion.

  Maggie put an arm around Jen’s waist, and Miguel’s eyebrows collided over his nose. They’d sure gotten friendly fast. He wished he’d had another mic to send in with Jennifer for this meeting.

  Jen’s head bobbed, and then she slid from the barstool under Maggie’s guidance.

  Miguel narrowed his eyes behind the useless glasses and a muscle in his jaw jumped. He cranked his head from left to right, as a cheer went up in the bar at the third strike.

  As Maggie led Jennifer away from the bar, one girlfriend helping another who’d had too many fruity cocktails, her bright gaze swept the crowd. Only they weren’t friends.

  Maggie was on the lookout for him. They were on the lookout for him. He’d be damned if he’d let that female viper take Jen out of this bar, most likely drugged, but if he revealed himself they’d both be in trouble.

  A chorus of boos went up at a bad call and bodies pressed against his to get a better look at the big-screen TV.

  Maggie and Jen had reached the edge of the crowd of sports fans and would have to weave through them to get to the front door. They’d get there over his dead body.

  Miguel curled his hand around the gun in his pocket and crouched, so that his head ducked below the shoulders of the man in front of him. He had to get off a shot in this crowded bar without hitting anyone but creating a panic.

  Tipping back his head, he took in the Tiffany lamps lining the hallway to the restrooms—the currently empty hallway. He lifted the gun quickly and squeezed the trigger, shattering the glass of the lamp on the end of the row.

  People screamed and a press of bodies surged against him. The wave carried him closer to Maggie and Jennifer.

  With the weapon still gripped in his hand, close to his thigh, he moved in on them. When he was a foot away, Maggie turned a pair of wide eyes on him. Before she could get off a sound or a signal, Miguel grabbed the back of her neck and squeezed her carotid arteries, cutting off the blood flow to her brain. The traitorous nurse slipped to the floor, releasing her hold on Jennifer.

  Several more screams pierced the air as bystanders assumed Maggie had been hit by a bullet.

  Lacking the support of her abductor, Jen swayed and listed to her left.

  Miguel pocketed his gun and wrapped his arms around Jennifer from behind, propelling her out of the bar like a rag doll amid the chaos, hoping the stampeding patrons were shielding them from Maggie’s accomplices.

  When they hit the sidewalk, Miguel half dragged, half carried Jennifer several feet along the block. He ducked into a dark restaurant, almost bowling over the hostess at the door.

  “What’s going on out there?”

  “Some shots fired at The Insider.”

  The hostess pressed her hands against her stomach. “Is she hurt?”

  “She fainted. We were almost trampled.”

  “Oh, my God. Sit down. Has someone called the police?”

  As soon as her words ended, a siren screamed down the street.

  Miguel edged into the dining room, half-full of people unaware of the chaos several doors down, and settled Jen into a booth, collapsing on the seat beside her. He rubbed her clammy arms. “Are you okay, Jen? Answer me.”

  A waitress hurried over to their table. “Melody said you came over from The Insider.”

  “Yeah, shots fired. My wife got crushed in the stampede to get out of there.”

  “Should she see a paramedic? I just peeked outside and there are several ambulances in the street.”

  “I think she wants to be as far away from the bar as possible. We don’t know if the gunman is done yet.” He brushed his hand across Jen’s forehead. “Can you bring us some water? Like a pitcher and two glasses?”

  “Of course.” She scurried off and returned a minute later with a pitcher filled to the brim with ice water and two empty glasses in her other hand. “Here you go.”

  Miguel filled both glasses with water. “Drink this, Jen, all the way down. If it’s some drug, maybe we can dilute it with the water. She didn’t want to knock you out completely and have to carry you out of that bar.”

  He forced her to drink the two glasses of water and then pressed two more on her. In the low light of the restaurant, he detected a decidedly green cast to her face.

  “Are you gonna be sick? Can you vomit? That would be the best thing you could do right now.”

  She nodded, covering her mouth with one hand.

  He scooted out of the booth, dragging her along with him and flagged down the passing waitress. “Ladies’ room?”

  “On the other side of the front door.”

  They got to the bathroom just in time, and luckily it was a two-stall operation. He crouched beside Jennifer, smoothing the hair back from her damp forehead, as she puked her guts out and then some.

  Pale and shivering, she sat back on her heels. “Ugh.”

  His face broke into a wide smile. “What a beautiful word, your first since I grabbed you from Maggie. Do you think you’re done? The more the merrier to get all that
poison out of your system.”

  “Poison?” she gasped and heaved again.

  “Figure of speech, probably a drug, a powerful sedative.”

  She wiped the back of her hand across her runny nose, and he ripped off a length of toilet paper and dabbed it against her upper lip. She took it from him and blew her nose. Then she yanked off a few more sheets and wiped beneath her eyes.

  “Feeling more yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  Her teeth chattered and he scooped her up off the floor, her sexy black skirt now a crumpled mess. He held her arm and led her to the sink.

  As Jennifer rinsed out her mouth and splashed her face, an older woman pushed through the door.

  “Oh!”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. My wife is ill and I didn’t want to leave her.”

  “Bless you, boy. You must be newlyweds.” Her eyes twinkled. “Take all the time you need.”

  Jennifer lifted her head from the sink. “I’m done. I’m okay.”

  They edged out of the bathroom, Miguel’s arm firmly around Jennifer’s trembling shoulders. He guided her back to the booth.

  “We’re staying here?”

  “Just until I can call up a car on my app to get us back to the hotel.” He dragged his phone from his pocket and accepted their location and selected the nearest car.

  “Can I get you something else?” The waitress jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I heard the police haven’t found the shooter yet, but nobody was injured.” She took a quick glance at Jennifer. “A-at least no fatalities, but a few people in shock, like you and a few minor injuries from the mass exodus.”

  Miguel said a silent prayer for the innocent bystanders injured as a result his rescue of Jennifer. He hadn’t had a choice. “Thank God for that. We’re just going to wait inside for a car, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course. I’m surprised there aren’t more stragglers from the bar seeking shelter in here.”

  When the waitress left, Miguel grabbed Jennifer’s hand. “Now what did Maggie say to you before she started to cart you away?”

  Dragging her hands over her face, Jennifer puffed out a breath between her fingers. “She said she was on your side. She wanted to be a whistle-blower and expose the people who were setting you up—everything I expected her to say when I thought she was a friend and not a foe. She played me.”

  “Played us. She was so sympathetic when I was at the center, obviously planted to gain my confidence, maybe even planted to spy on Angela since she kept the theft of her badge a secret from her. She did that to help herself, not you since she had no way of knowing we were listening to her and Angela.”

  “And she had to be the one we ran into at the restaurant last night.”

  “I think it was fortuitous.” He held up a finger as Jennifer started to interrupt him. “We’re drawing them out. I now have another name connected to that center to give Ariel.”

  “She hasn’t gotten back to you yet?”

  “Not since that brief message earlier.” He squared his phone on the table.

  “Now the people out to kill you know you’re here in DC.” She stirred the ice in her water glass. “I’m sorry I ever stole Maggie’s badge.”

  “Don’t be. They would’ve found out soon enough if Ariel plans to use me to lure them out.” The driver called, and Miguel directed him to pick them up in the alley behind the restaurant.

  Several minutes later in the backseat of the car, Miguel’s phone buzzed and he pounced on it.

  “Ariel?” Jennifer asked.

  “Roberto’s man. He has my...package.” Miguel glanced at the rearview mirror, but the driver had his eyes on the road in front of him.

  When they got to their hotel room, Jennifer retreated to the bathroom and hunched over the sink. “Oh, my God. I look horrible. Why didn’t you tell me I had raccoon eyes?”

  He came up behind her and rested his hands on her hips. “I thought they looked kind of cute.”

  “Is the guy Roberto sent coming to the hotel again like last time?”

  “No.”

  Jennifer raised her black-rimmed eyes to meet his in the mirror. “Why not?”

  He shrugged. “Now that we’ve been outed in DC, I don’t want any paths leading to our door.”

  “Makes sense.” She bit her bottom lip. “Where are you meeting him?”

  “On the Mall near the Capitol Building, public place.” He ruffled her dark hair. “You’re staying here.”

  “You’re leaving now?”

  “You’ll be okay. I don’t have to tell you to lock and latch the door and don’t open it for anyone—room service, housekeeping...police.”

  “Police?” She spun around in his arms until they were chest-to-chest. “Are you going to be okay?”

  He pulled her so close their bodies merged. Maybe there was no separation between them? He kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be fine. I know this guy. You saw how it went down last time—a quick exchange and on our separate ways.”

  Miguel waited until Jennifer had washed her face, brushed her teeth and crawled into bed with a bottle of water beside her and her computer in her lap. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and captured one of her nervous hands in his. “Give my love to Mikey. I’ll be back soon, but you’re going to have to leave your little nest here to lock and latch the door behind me.”

  She threw back the covers and cupped the side of his face with one hand. “I love you, Miguel.”

  “And I love you, mi amor.” He caressed the soft lobe of her ear. Then they walked to the door together, and he kissed her willing mouth. “Now go talk to our son.”

  He stood outside the door, listening to the clicks that locked his love safely inside. Then he walked to the street and took a taxi to the Mall, still teeming with tourists in the sultry night.

  He ambled toward the meeting place, his hands in the pockets of his shorts, his shoulders hunched forward and the baseball cap shielding his face. In case the man couldn’t recognize him, Miguel had mentioned the cap. Miguel would be able to spot his contact by the case in his hand.

  A couple of men who’d had too much to drink stopped in front of him, arguing about the baseball game, and Miguel sidestepped them. He focused on the man with the case twenty feet in front of him.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, buddy.” To his right, one drunk shoved the other and charged forward, pulling his baseball cap down over his forehead.

  When Miguel saw his contact raise the arm with the case toward the oncoming drunk in the Nationals baseball cap, he swore under his breath and quickened his pace to overtake the man.

  Two seconds later, the man dropped, a pool of blood seeping from the back of his head.

  Miguel dived to the ground, knocking his own cap off his head. He flattened his body against the pavement and yelled to anyone who would listen, “Get down!”

  His contact, Roberto’s man, fell to his knees, still extending the case with the sniper rifle tucked inside. His body jerked with a second shot to the head, and he keeled over.

  Panic rippled through the pedestrians on the Mall. A woman stomped on Miguel’s arm as he reached forward to drag the case toward him.

  With people surging all around him, some crouched in defensive positions, some flat on the ground, Miguel crawled forward, pushing the case ahead of him. When he reached the thickest clump of people, he staggered to his feet and loped out of the Mall.

  The DC Metro Police were crawling over the scene, warning people to stay down or take cover. Miguel couldn’t afford to be stopped by them—not clutching a case with a sniper rifle. Still crouched over, he ran down the street along with others escaping from the mall.

  Several blocks away, panting, sweat running into his beard, Miguel forced his way into the backseat o
f a taxi before it pulled away from the curb. He shouted the name of the hotel.

  The taxi driver twisted around. “You coming from that craziness in the Mall?”

  “Yeah.” Miguel slumped in the seat, closing his eyes.

  “What happened back there?”

  “Active shooter.”

  “Damn. There were shots fired in a Georgetown bar tonight, too. I wonder if this is connected.”

  “Probably.” Miguel couldn’t manage another word as dread thrummed through his veins. He had to get back to Jennifer.

  The driver dumped him off in front of the hotel, and Miguel made his way to the room, the rifle case banging against his leg. He knocked on the door and Jennifer opened it immediately, dragging him into the room.

  “Oh, my God. What happened out there? A special bulletin interrupted the show I was watching.” Her gaze flicked to the case at his side. “That wasn’t you, was it? The reporter said at least one, possibly three fatalities.”

  Miguel let the handle of the case slide from his fingers as the case hit the carpet at his feet. “It was me...us. Jen, I’m worried.”

  “Why?” She grabbed his shoulders. “Are you hurt? Were you shot?”

  “My contact mistook another man in a baseball cap for me. Whoever had him in his sights took the bait and killed the man in the cap, also believing he was me. Then he shot Roberto’s man.”

  “That’s horrible.” She clutched her hands in front of her. “But you’re okay and you got the rifle.”

  He encircled her wrists with his fingers. “Don’t you see, Jen? They ID’d Roberto’s man, followed him to get to me, which means they also have a line on my brother. If they know all about Roberto...”

  The color drained from her face. “They know where Mikey is—and they may have already gotten to him.”