Tactical Deception: Silent Warrior, Book 2

by J. L. Saint

  There was no rule without fear.

  There was no victory without war.

  There was no war without sacrifice.

  There was no life without Allah and the teachings of the great prophet.

  His nephew would either live or die according to Allah’s will. And Abdullah’s reward after death would be great. Salaam had brought him to assist with the most important attacks. Today would create the fear. Tomorrow would set the stage. Then victory would follow.

  And if Abdullah were to die, his death would not be in vain. The strength of the Taliban would rise again. Once Salaam eliminated the head of the snake that slithered in his homeland and poisoned the minds of the people, the Taliban would rule. Absolute Sharia Law was the only way. All moral corruption had to be stopped before its roots began.

  Women had to be hidden from view, their footsteps silenced, and no stranger should hear their voices. Since coming to this place of iniquity he’d been unable to be pure.

  Music had to be silenced. It created unrest and gave one nothing but ideas of sin.

  Only the pillars of Islam and seeking to fulfill the Qur’an as the Prophet Muhammad ordered should fill the minds of all believers. Unbelievers had to believe or die.

  Looking through the rifle sights, Salaam chose his targets.

  Trouble as hot and steamy as the South had Corporal Rico Santana wrapped around her little finger as well as every curvy inch from her curly head to her cherry-red-painted toes, which for some reason he wanted to bite—after he licked her all over, that is. He’d never understood fetish impulses before. He did now.

  And they were all focused on one woman. Angie Freemont and her…everything. Her feet. Her hands. Her neck. Her legs. Her strawberry-sweet mouth. Every bit of her plagued him at night, during the day, as well as in the twilights and dawns between.

  He’d known her for weeks.

  He’d known what he’d wanted to do with her since the moment he’d seen her.

  He hadn’t yet though—an unprecedented celibate-while-dating record that had both his jeans and his control straining at the seams, and there was no end in sight. Not only was Angie completely oblivious to his dilemma as she happily and tirelessly snapped picture after picture, but they were also in the middle of a large group of people for an event she was committed to attending. Being in her company was, and had been, sheer torture—albeit an exquisite one.

  He had to be honest, though. He hadn’t pressed too hard to move their relationship to the next level. Partly because he was scared shitless about the strength of his desire for her, and partly because he’d learned over the years that women were all about timing. And that hadn’t been right yet.

  Being kidnapped with her and her godchildren, Matt and Mitch Collins, by the terrorist Menendez had thrust him and Angie into a life/death situation that had left them scrambling over what they felt for each other once it was all over. They’d been total strangers but at the same time had grown closer to one another than anyone ever before. At least it was that way for him.

  What started as a phone call to see if she was all right after the ordeal had turned into nightly calls. He was a soldier based at Ft. Bragg. She was a nurse and avid photographer who lived in Atlanta. They’d barely dated yet, even though she’d come to see him twice. On both her visits she’d come and taken care of him after surgeries to repair ligament damage in his right arm. Machine gunfire and an explosion on a mission in Lebanon had left him with limited use of his arm. Now he’d come to see her and nothing stood in the way of their being together.

  Tonight would be the night. Her kiss at the airport a few hours ago had set him on fire, and the glances she’d given him since had kept that blaze hot. It was time.

  All he had to do was survive the afternoon at Piedmont Park without succumbing to the overwhelming urge to scoop her into his arms and carry her—

  Shit. He clenched his fist and winced at the pain shooting up his right arm, shoulder and neck. He wouldn’t be sweeping her off her feet like that for a long time to come. Medical orders were for him to do nothing more with his arm than squeeze a stress ball. His difficulty in doing just that had him on the edge of a dark abyss he refused to face. His recovery wasn’t going well, but it would. It had to.

  Right now he was worried about how in the hell was he going to make love to her without coming across as too weak for the job. Her on top nowhere near covered all he wanted to do with her. It hurt to lie on his right side and one-armed support while driving into her sweetness was only going to last for so long. A cold sweat placed a damper on his simmering desire.

  Maybe tonight wasn’t the night after all. Maybe he should have waited until he was stronger…

  He sucked in air and her scent, and a mixture of lemongrass and roses wrapped around him. Relax, he told himself. Just savor the moment of being near her. Tonight would take care of itself. It was insane how crazy she made him.

  Angie clasped his arm and spoke to him, but he couldn’t hear her. All he could see was her lush mouth moving before she smiled and said, “Don’t you think?”

  He blinked and forced his brain cells into gear as he clamped down on the shiver of pleasure her hand on his bare arm evoked. Oh man, screw his one-armed-lover fears. If he didn’t get her legs wrapped around him soon, he’d explode. “Think what?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Are you even paying attention to me? You looked a million miles away.”

  He leaned down to whisper in her ear, making the Saint Christopher Cross chained around his neck dangle. He was six-three and she barely topped five-five. She reached out and slid her finger down the chain and he was totally gone. All the saints in the world couldn’t save him now. She could jerk him anyway she wanted and he’d come—in an instant. “Everything about you has me at full attention. And, yeah, I’m a million miles, a million miles into you.”

  Her green eyes went wide with desire and stroked him with an invisible soft hand. Oh man. He needed to cool down or he was going to be in serious trouble. He supposed he should consider it a good thing that Angie’s best friend, Lauren Collins, wasn’t here with Matt and Mitch as planned. Though he wanted to see the little tigers, he sure didn’t want Lauren carrying stories back to DT and the rest of the team about just how hung up he was on Angie. He was sure he resembled an overdramatized cartoon character—heart hammering a foot out from his chest with every beat, his tongue hanging out, his eyes bulging and stars circling his head.

  He focused on his drink in order to keep his hands off of Angie. That lasted all of two seconds. He needed more. “How about some more iced tea? It’s hot and humid today.”

  She tapped her camera, which had to be the most serious looking piece of equipment outside of a movie studio. It was a wonder she didn’t tip over when carrying it. “Can’t shoot and drink, but I’ll walk with you.” She snapped pictures as they moved through the crowd. Reaching the serving table, he snagged another iced tea with lemon then followed her as she took pictures of the crowd and of the park from different angles.

  Piedmont Park was a beautiful centerpiece to the surrounding urban landscape of midtown. It was Atlanta’s two-hundred-plus-acre Central Park complete with lush live oaks and a lake. It provided venue for practically every fun activity families wanted to do in answer to summer’s call.

  “I hope Franz arrives before my mother gets desperate and starts hunting for me to take his place. I can see the panicked look in her eye through my camera lens.”

  “Franz is the man speaking today?”

  “Yes, and he’s a dream. Always short and to the point. I’m giving you due warning. If my mom comes our way, I’m heading for those trees over there.” She pointed at a knoll about a hundred yards away where sprawling live oaks stood doused with kudzu and snapped several pictures in that direction. “Man, I wish Lauren was here. She can sing at least.”

  “Meaning what?” Rico asked, looking around. In the rolling grassy area between him and the knoll some teenagers threw a Frisbee
while a different family picnicked. It was a perfect picture, a slice of apple-pie-feel-good-USA, and made it doubly hard to believe that the world at large—and the Middle East in particular—was still in the chaotic mess Menendez had orchestrated. But Rico didn’t have to think about that right now. He was on leave and had other things to focus on.

  “Meaning I’m allergic to public speaking and singing…well, we just won’t go there.”

  He smiled and tugged on a loose red curl at the nape of Angie’s neck. “You faced the murdering drug lord Menendez fearlessly, but would run from a microphone?”

  “Yep. And thank you, God. There’s Franz now.” She slid her hand down Rico’s good arm, urging him to hurry with her to meet the slender man rushing their way. “Come on. You have to meet him. He’s the one who put a camera into my hands at age twelve and has mentored me ever since. He sounds like James Earl Jones and can sing like Barry White.” Affection filled Angie’s voice. “There won’t be a dry eye in the park after he does ‘Amazing Grace’. He always sings that song in memory of two MetroSouthern Magazine employees who were on Flight 93.”

  “So this is a 9/11 memorial of sorts?”

  She shrugged and frowned. “No, it’s more of a celebration of life. Trisha and Zane would have hated anything else.”

  “It’s hard to believe that over a decade has passed since the Twin Towers went down.”

  “I know what you mean. Most of life is a blur, but I remember that morning in detail.”

  “Me too.”

  Franz reached them and Angie gave him a hug. “About time you got here. I was beginning to worry.”

  “Caesar escaped and I chased him for five blocks before I caught him.”

  Angie laughed. “He probably knew you were coming here and wanted to make a second appearance. You should have brought him. I want you to meet Rico Santana, my friend from North Carolina. Rico, this is Franz Elliot, chief editor of the MetroSouthern Magazine and my mother’s right and left hands.”

  “I hear you put out a top-notch magazine.” Rico gave the man a left-handed shake.

  “I try.” Franz smiled then shook his head. “Which is why I left Caesar at home. MetroSouthern’s reputation for elegant events nose-dived last month.” He looked pointedly at Angie. “Do you know folks are still posting pictures of the disaster on Facebook?”

  She laughed. “I’ll have to show Rico the photos later. Caesar is an adorable wolfhound with a knack for chaos. We had a BBQ at Chastain Park last month. Caesar chewed through his leash and managed to level every table, including the caterer’s buffet spread, before we could catch him. We had to order pizza for everyone. All in all, it ended up being the liveliest gathering that MetroSouthern’s had since—” She clamped her hand over her mouth.

  Rico lifted an eyebrow. “Since when?” He was curious about Caesar and the party disaster, but the mortified look in Angie’s green eyes demanded he find out what she was holding back.

  “Since nothing.” She glared at Franz. “And don’t you peep a word about it either. You’ve time to grab a glass of sweet tea before you speak. Then we’ll all make ourselves miserable on a Lowcountry boil.”

  “He’ll have to sip his tea on the run.” Angie’s mother, Liz Freemont, joined them and handed Franz a glass. “We’re late. The band will only be here until four.”

  “Then let’s get this party started.” Franz snagged the tea and hurried off with Liz to the decorative stage, complete with sound system and a podium.

  Rico had met Angie’s mother when they’d first arrived at the park event and liked her so far. A dynamic woman in her middle fifties who definitely ran a tight ship.

  Angie turned to him. “Does it seem strange to you? Our gathering to remember the two we lost rather than to mourn them?”

  “No. It’s good to remember 9/11. I wish more people did. Maybe we’d be appreciated for what we’re fighting for rather than ridiculed.”

  She reached out and clasped his hand, her soft green gaze brushing his like a soothing balm. “Are soldiers bitter?”

  He shrugged, almost wanting to pull away rather than admit the truth. The picture the media painted of American soldiers destroyed morale. It didn’t make a man less of a soldier, they still fought like hell. But it tore the heart out of many a good men. “It’s complicated. Some are disillusioned by the lack of support here at home and by the dissent in Congress. Supplies aren’t what they should be. Timetables are almost impossible to meet with any hope of victory. In effect, they give a man a job then tie his hands behind his back and make it impossible to walk the line. Yeah, some are having trouble.”

  Franz began his speech and Angie squeezed Rico’s hand before releasing him to take a few photos. He glanced over the surrounding crowd of the highly successful people. MetroSouthern focused on the up-and-coming elite of Atlanta’s business community. He didn’t quite fit in. A career soldier was about as far from prestigious entrepreneurs as one could get. It made him wonder why Angie was with him. If she was constantly exposed to high-powered men with six-figure-or-more budgets then why him? Lost in that question, Rico missed most of Franz’s speech but the heart-stirring words of “Amazing Grace” were everything Angie promised. On the second verse, Franz moved to slip the microphone from the stand and keeled over backward with major force. It wasn’t until Rico heard the rifle crack that he realized Franz had been shot.

  In a split second, a sniper bullet traveling over a thousand feet per second had ripped through the lives of everyone there, reshaping their world forever.

  Chapter Five

  One second Franz was standing and the next he was twisted sideways on the ground with blood splattered across the stage and spreading over his chest.

  “Get down! Everyone get down!” Rico screamed as he grabbed Angie and rolled her to the ground, landing behind a food table with her camera killing his groin. “Take cover!”

  A cold sweat covered his body as memories of machine gun fire, explosions and pain tried to rip his mind into the past. His body jerked as if under machine gun fire.

  “Rico?” Angie moved against him, shifting her camera to the side, and pushing up against him. “Are you hurt?”

  He eased his weight up to focus on her and her terror-filled gaze, a sight that snatched him immediately back to the present. He had to keep her safe. He had to think. “I’m okay. Stay still.” He mentally slammed the door on Lebanon and angled into position to search for the sniper. Chaos erupted as people ran for cover, trying to help those nearest to them. Mothers and fathers screamed and ran for their children with heart-wrenching terror.

  He studied the terrain, mentally calculating the likely trajectory and distance from which Franz had been shot.

  “Dear God! Franz!” Angie shoved up from the ground as her stunned mind grasped the situation.

  Rico pushed her back down. “I’ll get him. I think the sniper shot came from the live oaks on the knoll over there. It’s the right angle and distance with enough cover for a sniper to do his worst damage. Stay here and keep your head down.”

  Rico ran for the stage as he shouted for everyone to stay down.

  Franz lay in a pool of blood, but was alive.

  Using his good arm and cursing his injured one, Rico pulled Franz across the stage, hurrying to get out of the line of fire. At any moment he expected a bullet to plow into him and his stomach churned from the remembered agony of Lebanon.

  Focus, Rico. Focus or die!

  Franz moaned in pain and shock, and Rico breathed a half sigh of relief. The bullet had hit Franz between his left collarbone and his shoulder. Moving for the microphone had saved his life. The bullet had been meant for his heart.

  Angie joined Rico, grabbing Franz’s feet. She was now between Rico and the direction of the shooter and his heart nose-dived into a pool of chilling fear. “What in the hell are you doing?”

  “Exactly what you’re doing. I’ve called 911. Police and ambulances are on their way. How badly is he hit?”


  “The bullet went straight through. Upper right chest above his lung.” Rico clamped down on his fear and hurried on getting them all to cover. He’d kill her later.

  Franz shuddered, regaining consciousness. “What happened?”

  “Hold still. You were shot, but you’re going to be okay.” Angie was in full, reassuring-nurse mode, but the fear in her eyes ripped at Rico.

  He stifled a curse. Okay? Only if the sniper didn’t go for round two before they reached cover. Mother Mary and all the saints! If anything happened to Angie he’d…hell… He couldn’t even imagine it. He focused on Franz, wondering if Angie’s mentor was the intended victim of a specific crime or just in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Have you received any threats on your life lately? Any threats to the magazine?”

  “Never and no,” the man gasped.

  They reached the end of the stage, jumped down and placed Franz on the grass. Rico’s knees nearly buckled as another rifle shot rent the air. He moved to cover Angie with his body even though he knew by the time he’d heard the sound, the bullet would have already nailed her had she been the sniper’s target. Holding her close, he scanned the horizon looking for the son of a bitch. Nothing stirred. She pulled away from him, slung her camera back, and began giving Franz first aid. At her direction Rico helped her turn Franz so she could apply direct pressure to the exit wound. It was the largest.

  The last shot hadn’t hit them or near them and screams were coming from the family who’d been having a picnic in the open. Rico’s stomach roiled. The bastard had to be shooting people in the park at random. Franz was stable. “I’m going after the sniper.”

  “Unarmed?” She looked up at him. Worry and fear marred her expression.

  “I’ll deal. What I won’t do is cower while he kills.”

  “But you’re injured. Take help.”

  He shook his head. “I’m trained to do this, Angel. Someone who isn’t will put us both in danger. Don’t worry and keep everyone here. Okay?”