Edge of Danger (Edge Security Series Book 3)

by Loye, Trish

“I don’t have the stomach for it,” Drew said, handing him off to a uniformed officer, who started to recite the Miranda warning before Pike could protest further.

  Alyssa stared at the table’s contents. Enough supplies to double the damage of the Boston Marathon bombing. A hand appeared in her vision and forced her gun down. She blinked. Fuck. She hadn’t lowered her weapon.

  Riley watched her with his dark, intense gaze. “You okay, Al?”

  No. She could hear echoes of screams in her head.

  She took a deep breath. That was a mistake. She coughed out the sharp odor of black powder, but at least she snapped back to the present.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I just need fresh air.” She left the room. All the triumph of an investigation coming to a head had dissipated like smoke in the wind.

  Drew followed her, of course. She holstered her gun and forced a smile. “We did it,” she said.

  He just stared at her. His brown eyes narrowed. “Want to talk about it?”

  Fuck no. “Talk about what?” She wasn’t sure if she was pulling off the innocent act.

  “The way you froze in there.”

  Nope. Not pulling it off. Fuck it, then. She scowled. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine.”

  “Leave it alone, Drew.”

  He crossed his arms. “We all have our shit, Al. If you’ve got a trigger then you’ve got to tell us.”

  “I told you, I’m fine.” Her radio beeped.

  “Harrison,” she answered.

  “The captain wants your team for an urgent briefing,” dispatch said. “Return to CTB. Briefing in thirty.”

  “Copy that,” Alyssa said. She motioned to Drew and Riley. “ESU can take it from here. The captain wants us in.”

  “For what?” Drew asked.

  “No idea,” Alyssa said, making her way past the swarming ESU officers. “But it must be something big if we’re being called off our case.”

  The three of them belonged to the Counterterrorism Bureau of the NYPD. They’d been working the Walter Pike case for two months, so for their captain to call them in at this moment meant something big was coming down the pike. It made her pick up the pace as they trotted down the stairs. Drew and Riley stayed right with her.

  As she drove their car back to CTB headquarters far north of Central Park, they had time to rehash the case.

  “Do you think the captain is calling us in to give us an award?” Drew asked.

  Alyssa looked over at him in the passenger seat. “You’re not serious.”

  Drew laughed. “Hell yeah. I freaking deserve a medal. We all do, for dealing with the scum of the earth every day.”

  Alyssa shook her head. “If you wanted recognition, you should have become an actor.”

  Riley snorted from the backseat. “He couldn’t be an actor—he’d break the camera with his face.”

  Drew ignored him and continued. “I’m serious. The captain is making us all attend that ball that’s coming up—”

  “The Hero’s Gala,” Alyssa supplied.

  “Yeah, that. I think he’s going to award us a medal or something.”

  Riley cuffed the back of Drew’s head. “You’re out of your mind, man.”

  “Listen, asshole, no one’s talking to you,” Drew said. “So why don’t you just sit there and look pretty.”

  Alyssa shook her head and tried not to smile. “The captain wants us to go because it’s our unit’s turn to show up and represent the NYPD. The gala is for the military guys and the vets. They get the medals. Sorry, Drew.”

  “I can buy you a medal if you want,” Riley said from the back. “I’ll even make sure it says Number One Cop.”

  They were still laughing when she parked in the lot next to a nondescript building. Looking around, it was a place no one would suspect of housing the elite counterterrorism unit. Inside, the officer guarding the entrance buzzed them through interior steel doors.

  They headed for the large conference room, past the main cubicle area and down a short hall. Officers packed the room. She found a spot against the wall and waited for the captain.

  Captain Marin charged into the room, officers giving way. Alyssa always got a mental picture of a grizzled pitbull defending its territory when she saw him. On the shorter side, he was dense with muscle. His buzz cut glinted more silver than brown in the overhead lights.

  “Okay, people, a new message was sent out over the black net an hour ago.”

  Everyone quieted.

  “The terrorist Al Shabah has surfaced again. It’s been six months since we’ve seen any activity from him and he’s come back with a vengeance.”

  Alyssa straightened, every muscle tensing in her body. He was back.

  Captain Marin’s gaze found hers. “Detective Harrison is our resident expert on Al Shabah, and will be leading the task force.”

  She took a step forward and all eyes turned to her. “What did the message say?”

  “That Al Shabah is coming to the United States. I don’t need to tell you that New York City is one of the prime targets for assholes like this. We need to be ready, people.” He focused on Alyssa again. “Pick your task force.” He let his gaze roam over the rest of the officers. “Everyone is to give Detective Harrison what she needs. This is our primary focus. Find Al Shabah and stop him.”

  Within fifteen minutes, Alyssa had a dozen men and women with her as they began to set up their strategy. This is what she’d trained and joined the department for. She’d sworn to hunt Al Shabah down and kill him for what he’d done.

  And that’s exactly what she was going to do.

  * * *

  Zach walked into the conference room now dubbed the war room by Dani, the newest IT tech at E.D.G.E. Security. He liked her snarky attitude, though he wasn’t sure Colonel Blackwell, the head of E.D.G.E. operations, had yet come to terms with it.

  He’d been called in for a mission brief by the colonel. His eyebrows rose when he saw both Alpha and Bravo teams there as well. This could be interesting.

  He grabbed a seat just as Blackwell strode in carrying his ever-present laptop. “Okay, people. This takes top priority over any other training.”

  Everyone straightened and turned to Blackwell, who stood at the head of the long table. He tapped a few keys on his laptop and then activated the virtual screen. It came to life on the white wall behind him. He wore a special glove that allowed him to use hand movements to flick through the data onscreen.

  A video began to play.

  A man dressed in black from head to toe, his face wrapped to disguise his features, began speaking in Arabic.

  “Soon all of America will know my name. I will no longer confine my war to the poor countries the West continues to invade time and again. Like the United States, I will take my own brand of terror to their streets, to their homes, to their children.”

  Zach stiffened, his hands clenching into fists. “Al Shabah.”

  Blackwell nodded. “He’s taking his war to the United States. The FBI are on full alert. All major cities are possible targets.”

  “What else do we know, sir?” Jake asked.

  “Not much,” Blackwell said. “CIA have their operatives in the Middle East on alert for any information. Sarah.” Blackwell turned to the petite brunette with bronze skin. “We’re sending you back to Iraq. Gather whatever intel you can.”

  “Copy that, sir,” she said.

  “We have a team covering the West Coast already. Cat and Rhys, you’ll go to Washington to coordinate with the FBI agent in charge there. Zach and Marc, you’ve got—”

  “New York,” Zach said.

  Blackwell’s eyebrows raised, but he nodded. “You’ve got a theory?”

  “Hitting the White House or the Pentagon would be ideal for Al Shabah, but it has too much risk of failure. Too much security. He’ll want to go for New York. Something he can show the world: No matter how much America rebuilds itself, he’ll be there to tear it back down.”

 
“Those are my thoughts too,” Blackwell nodded. “Bravo team will back you up from here. They’ll be on call to deploy as soon as you have something. You’ll be coordinating the search with Special Agent Masters. He’s due to arrive in theatre tomorrow.”

  Rhys leaned his long frame back in his chair and eyed the screen. “Can this Al Shabah even get into the States?”

  Zach answered for Blackwell. “This guy has gotten into numerous Western countries, even after he’s given them warning. He was responsible for the bus bombing in Germany and the Underground one in the U.K. I don’t know how he’ll do it, but we’ve got to be prepared for him. He’ll make it to North America.”

  “You’re no closer to tracking down his identity?” Cat asked him.

  Zach gave a sharp shake of his head. “No one is. This guy literally is his name. Al Shabah. The Ghost. He had small cells working with him in each country he struck, but none of them have ever actually seen him.”

  “How long have you been after him?” Jake asked Zach.

  “Since the bombing that killed those soldiers in Iraq. Two years now.” Zach shook his head. “We were so close last year. I will find this guy and bring him down.”

  “Don’t worry, Doc,” Marc said from the other end of the table, where he’d been sitting quiet. “If he comes to New York, we’ll find him.”

  Blackwell closed his laptop. “You’ve each been given a copy of the file we have on Al Shabah. Most of that has been created by Zach. Because of that, he will be team lead for this op. Wheels up in two hours.”

  “Yes, sir,” they all said together.

  Zach stood with the others, already going over his list of what he’d need for a covert mission in a major city, when Jake stopped him.

  “You know I’m from New York, right?” he said.

  Zach nodded.

  “My parents live upstate, but my sis is a cop with the NYPD Counterterrorism Bureau. Chances are you’re going to run into her.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll say hi for you.”

  “No,” Jake said, shaking his head. “You don’t get it. She’s fanatical about Al Shabah. She knew some of the guys who were killed by one of his bombs. She’s been hunting him ever since.”

  “I thought you said she was a cop. What was she doing over there?”

  Jake sighed. “Military intelligence. She followed me into the service out of school.” He ran a hand over his short hair. “God, I wish she hadn’t.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  Jake stepped back and his face went blank. “Nothing. Just… Watch out for her, okay?”

  “Of course,” he said. “You don’t have to ask. Besides, she might not even be assigned to this.”

  Jake huffed a breath. “Oh, she’ll be assigned to it. She’ll demand to be on the task force.”

  “She sounds like a firecracker.”

  “You have no idea.”

  2

  The souq overwhelms; with people, with smells, with stalls. Spices, perfumes, teas, jewelry, clothing, prayer mats.

  She meanders the aisles in the market square, Brian and Scott beside her. Their eyes bright and they laugh, tease her, though she can’t hear their words. She stops and fingers the silky shawls. The smell of cardamom seeds and cumin scent the air.

  Other soldiers stroll past. They nod to her, smile, and she smiles back. They are all friends here. Near the middle of the souq there is a cloth seller’s stall. Alyssa’s skin tightens, ants climb her spine, and she doesn’t know why.

  Brian and Scott move further into the souq.

  Don’t go.

  But she doesn’t say the words. She turns from them. A woman with a black hijab and an embroidered tunic fingers the linens.

  Just then, an overweight boy walks past—his body large, his arms and legs thin. Like a spider, she thinks. His eyes are wide as he stares at the soldiers.

  “Something’s wrong,” she says.

  Scott is back beside her. He shakes his head. “You brought us here. This is your fault.”

  Alyssa sat straight up in bed. She panted and her heart thundered too fast. She began taking deep breaths, holding them for a count of three and then releasing them. Sometimes Dr. Martinez actually recommended things that helped. When her heartbeat slowed, she eased herself out of bed, the sweat drying on her body.

  2 a.m.

  She knew from experience she wasn’t going back to sleep anytime soon, so she might as well get some work done. She threw a faded ARMY hoodie on over the cami she slept in and dragged on a pair of soft leggings. Fluffy slippers completed her comfy clothes, and she shuffled to her kitchen.

  She made a cup of mint tea, though she wanted coffee. But then she really wouldn’t go back to sleep. She eyed the bottle of scotch in her cupboard. Having a drink usually relaxed her enough to put her back under.

  She shut the cupboard door. She was becoming too dependent on it. She’d refused sleeping pills for the same reason.

  Her tiny one-bedroom was typical for Manhattan. She was lucky she’d found an apartment in the Upper West Side in her price range at all. Thankfully, she had never been a collector, so even though her apartment made a closet look big, it wasn’t cluttered. She had her couch, TV, and a shelf full of books. The kitchen had a two-person breakfast bar separating it from the main area.

  She had no art up, nor did she have any pictures. Dr. Martinez would probably have something to say about that, which is why she didn’t tell him.

  Alyssa flopped onto her couch and checked her phone. Her older brother Jake had called yesterday and left a voicemail. Jake, her overly protective, ex-Navy SEAL brother, now worked for E.D.G.E. Security in Montréal. His message would just say the same thing it always did. She stared at the phone a moment before deleting it.

  The thick file on her coffee table waited for her.

  “So, Al Shabah, you’re coming to America.”

  * * *

  Alyssa woke on the couch, panting from the latest nightmare. Her file on her lap. Her heart thundered while sweat dried on her skin. All the lights in her tiny apartment were on and the wall clock showed four-thirty. The sun wouldn’t be up for another hour.

  She scrubbed a hand over her face, trembling slightly as she used the remote to turn off the infomercial about miracle blenders. Her head throbbed and her neck ached from the position she’d slept in. She blinked, trying to get some moisture back into her gritty eyes. It was almost as if she'd actually spent the night in that dry desert climate.

  An empty glass and the scotch bottle sat on the coffee table. She’d given in and poured herself a drink when the night had seemed endless.

  It was the last time, she vowed. She picked up the glass and the half-empty bottle of scotch from the coffee table and stalked into the galley kitchen. She opened the cupboard beside the fridge and shoved the scotch inside, back behind the vinegars and oils she kept there.

  She wouldn’t use it again. The Advil sat on the same shelf. She grabbed two and filled a glass with water. The cool liquid made her mouth and throat sigh in relief.

  The clock said four forty-five. She didn’t need to be into work until seven. The captain had frowned at her the few times she’d checked in too early. He suspected something, and she was determined not to prove him right.

  She dressed in shorts and a running top, threw her red hair into a ponytail, and put a ball cap on over that, pulling her ponytail through the back. After lacing her sneakers, she grabbed her key and dragged her protesting body out of her apartment. Living on the third floor of an old building meant no elevators, which was a downside to most people, but it helped keep her rent down.

  She stepped out into the cool morning. The sun would be rising within thirty minutes. Her gaze automatically went to the cardboard lean-to in the narrow alley between the coffee shop on the corner—Lattes and More—and her building. No movement. Rob must still be asleep.

  After a few warm-up stretches, she ran the two blocks east until she hit Central Park and its pathways. T
he birds sang in the gray predawn light. Other runners crossed her path even this early in the morning, though she didn’t wear any lights or reflective gear like the others. The thought of not being able to hide if she needed to made her skin crawl.

  Her muscles began to warm, her breathing evened out, and she relaxed into the run along West Park Drive. Her head no longer ached and she could almost feel the alcohol and her demons sweating out of her system.

  She followed a route that would be about four miles, keeping a fast pace. As she passed over the 79th Street transverse, a runner coming toward her caught her eye.

  She ran through his stats. Six-foot-two, one hundred and ninety pounds, dark brown skin. Close to thirty years, she’d guess, his bald head a choice rather than a necessity. He wore shorts and a long-sleeved shirt that couldn’t hide the hard muscles underneath. She couldn’t see his eyes.

  He kept a relaxed pace, but it still seemed a sprint compared to the rest of the runners. The easy, fast rhythm reminded her of her brother Jake when he ran, an elite soldier who pushed his body beyond what most people thought possible. She watched the runner approach her and knew that if she tried to outrun him, he would catch her. Her muscles tensed at the thought, but she plucked out the sliver of fear before it festered. This man hadn’t done anything. Besides, she could take care of herself; both her military background and her police training had taught her that.

  He drew close, running under a streetlamp where she could see him clearly. His sculpted cheekbones and beautiful dark skin could have made him a model, but the way his head moved almost imperceptibly as he scanned his surroundings, his gaze never settling on any one thing, said he was a warrior. This man had seen action. His eyes found hers and she nodded. He slowed and nodded back.

  She didn’t break her stride, having nodded in greeting only as one runner to another, not to invite any kind of attention. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He studied her as she approached. She pulled her cap lower to hide her tired eyes from the streetlamp’s glow.

  “Good morning,” he said, his deep voice a warm caress. An image flashed in her head of a lazy morning with twisted sheets and hard arms holding her.