Keep moving.
Confusion and guilt ruled the day. It sure looked like his men were dead back there. He was sure they’d begged for help. But then they were gone. That meant they were alive, that they walked away. Didn’t it? Parts felt real. Parts did not. Like that detached hand. How could those fingers tap like they were attached to Kent when they weren’t?
Harley collapsed against a wall. Scrubbing the pain away, he tried desperately to remember or forget. The puzzle remained. Hadn’t he seen this same damned movie before?
Shreds of bizarre nonsense swirled inside his tired skull.
“Nine o’clock team meeting, don’t be—”
“Your favorite peppered shrimp—”
“Mark’s baby girl... JayJay... looks like—”
“Judy.”
The last word, that name tugged at his weary mind for further scrutiny. It meant something. He could tell. It was a pleasant name. Like the piercing beam of a lighthouse cast high above the pitch-black storm in his head, it called to him. ‘Look at me. Remember me.’
Harley sucked in another breath of desert air, his soul whipped and beaten by the war.
Who the hell is Judy?
“We’ve got casualties. Move it everyone!” Judy O’Brien called over the noisier than usual emergency room racket. Three ambulances were unloading at the door with two more en route. They were about to get busy.
“What happened?” She turned to Emergency Medic Tech Dash Willis, one of her most faithful buddies in the EMS business, Emergency Medical Service. His name fit his work ethic. If he wasn’t dashing off to save the world on his job, he was on his way to coach a local sports program for underprivileged children. The man was a no-kidding godsend. Strong as an ox and Hollywood handsome, he looked grim this morning, his face darkened with soot and sweat. Whatever had happened on the interstate must have been bad.
“Diesel rig pulling doubles clipped a car, jackknifed and rolled. We’ve got hell on steroids out there.” The two-way radio on his collar barked another demand. “I gotta run. You got this?”
“How many?” she asked before he made it too far down the hall and out the door. As nurse in charge of the entire floor, it was up to her to call heaven and hell for support, but only if needed. She needed facts, not blurbs of panic.
Dash met her with the same relentless dedication she hoped she reflected. “The rig rolled, Judy. It’s early Saturday morning rush hour. I honest to God do not know how many. We’ve got buses, commuters and tourists. Hell, we’ve got bystanders in the wrong place at the wrong time. Plan on thirty-five for now. We’ll divert to other hospitals, but you’ll need everyone. Call everyone.”
“Done.” Her two-way radio was in use before he hit the exit.
Since 9-11 every hospital in the Washington D.C. area belonged to a high-tech emergency notification system called Alert D.C. She made two calls, one to her shift scheduler, the other to notify the Alert switchboard. They needed to send an automated text notification to all text capable devices, and they need to do it pronto. Avoid the interstate. D.C. proper was in full-blown disaster mode.
Two nurses pulled the patient gurney from her capable hands as she assumed the role of emergency room dictator. Until the crisis passed, she would rule the floor with precision and every last bit of her extensive and very capable medical skills. She’d give orders, her people would comply, and by God, no one would die without her say so.
Despite her ironclad will, Judy’s heart fluttered across time and space to the man she loved. Her live-in boyfriend and beyond-debonair hunk of walking testosterone was on his way to work this morning. He usually avoided the interstate. He hated hectic traffic. It reminded him of rats in a maze. Harley would never get caught in this disaster.
“Git off! What do you think you’re doing in here?”
“I scared,” Raymond wailed, full-blown panic adding an intense feeling of suffocation to the too tiny quarters of her tent. He’d never moved so fast. In one second flat, he’d plowed over the old woman and tucked his butt and feet into the tent behind him.
“I don’t care if you’re scared or dead. It’s the middle of the night. Git outta my tent.” With a grunt, she heaved him back outside. As fast as she pushed him out, he burrowed back in.
“But I seen a bear.”
“There ain’t no bears ’round here. Git in the truck.”
“But I don’t wanna be out there all by myself. It’s dark.”
“Git out or... or... I’m not bringing any more burgers back for you!”
He gulped, his heart thumping throughout his whole body. No more hamburgers was a really bad thing, but a bear might be worse. It looked scary waddling around their camp, and it was sniffing. What if it was hungry? What if…? An enormous shiver wiggled down his spine. What if it wanted to eat him?
“I scared.” His voice might have lowered a decibel, but his backside hadn’t moved an inch.
“You been messing with her, haven’t you? Is that what this is all about? You been looking under the tarp?”
“Uh uh.” He squirmed, glancing at the blacker than black patch of ground in front of the tent. Under the tarp was the hole. He’d digged it all by himself, but now it creeped him out. Someone was in it. Her. He folded his body into a tighter wedge. No way was he messing with her. Nope. Too creepy.
“Dumb ass. I ain’t wasting my money on you no more.” The old woman wormed her way around him, but he wasn’t moving. His feet were still mostly outside the tent. They might get eaten. As quickly as she vacated her sleeping space, he moved them inside. Let her get eaten. He was staying where it was safe.
She grunted and groaned all the way to her feet. Maybe she was trying to scare the bear? A momentary flash of security comforted him. It didn’t last.
“I. Said. Move!” She punctuated each word with a smack of the long hard thing in her hand.
He raised his arms to shield his face. “Ouch! Stop it. Quit hitting me!”
More blows answered. She struck the top of his head until he had no choice. Ducking out of the tent and away from her, he scrambled into the dark. She kept hitting. He kept crawling. The truck might be safer after all. At last out of her reach, he backed away before she could come after him again.
“What’d ya hit me with?”
“This.” The beam of a flashlight lit up her wrinkly face. In one split second, she transformed her already scary looking features into a harsh black and white mask of terror.
“You is scary!” he wailed. “And you hurted me. I is bleeding. Wanna see?” He kept an eye on the hole in the ground while he showed the old woman his blood-smeared palms.
“I’ll give you something to cry about.” She snarled like a demon in the distorted light. “Now stay away from her, or you know what will happen, don’t you?”
Raymond ceased bellowing. He hated hard questions and this one was not only hard but unexpected. Every muscle on his face wrinkled deep in thought while his brain searched for the answer. Hmm. What could happen possibly happen if he didn’t stay away from—?
“No more burgers!” Scrubbing her face with both hands, she spit she was so mad.
“Oh, yeah.” No hamburgers might be worse than seeing the bear. Maybe worse than the creepy hole. He sniffed back his tears along with some of his fright. “But I really seen a bear.”
One last glare from those scary black eyes of hers and he bowed his head. Raymond made his way back to the truck. One thing had gotten through. There were bigger things at stake than a bear. He paused with his hand on the door handle. “If I bees real quiet, can I have a hamburger tomorrow? Just one? Huh?”
The flashlight beam flicked off. All he could hear was her snorting and cursing from inside the security of her tent. “Biggest idiot I ever did see. Dumber than Nicky. What the hell was I thinking?”
Raymond climbed into the truck, shut the door, and resigned himself to spending the rest of the scary night alone. He didn’t know who Nicky was, but he must have been awfully dumb t
oo. Raymond felt an instant connection. Maybe the old woman hit that poor Nicky person too.
Streaks of pink light filtered through the trees. It wouldn’t be dark for much longer, but it was still plenty scary. He pulled his arms out of the sleeves of his flannel shirt. It kinda kept him warm with his arms tucked against his body. Sometimes.
Squeezing his arms together, he tried to cover the sound his heart kept making. The old woman was mad enough already; he didn’t want her to hear all the thumping in his chest. It kept pounding. He kept breathing. At last it slowed, but the moment he looked outside, it kicked up again. The forest was still full of shadows. Maybe more bears. He didn’t like it. Not one bit.
On the streets, a guy could find comfort under a streetlight or a flashing neon sign. There weren’t any lights out here, not even the moon. The sun seemed to be taking an extra long time to rise. A sneaky suspicion crept into the truck with him. Shivers danced over his shoulders. Big shivers that made his stomach clench so hard he was afraid he was gonna be sick.
Did that lady in the hole sic the bear after him? Was she mad on account of what the old woman did to her? Or worse. What if she was dead but really alive like one of them zombie people like he saw one time on the television set at the Rescue Mission? What if she was gonna climb outta the hole and eat his brains?
Thump, thump, thump went his heart.
Raymond pulled his knees to his chest, squeezed his forehead to his kneecaps and waited. The cool breath of morning air tiptoed over the exposed skin on the back of his neck exactly like cold, dead zombie fingers. He ducked his head farther into his shoulders; sure the moment he looked up he’d see a half-rotted face at the window, its lips vacuum-sealed to the glass and trying to suck his brains out.
A tear squeezed out of his tender, swollen eye. “But I is really a scared.”
Two
“Have you seen Alex yet?” Ember asked at the Situation Room door.
“No. Harley hasn’t come in yet either.” Mother looked up from her stack of handouts for the morning’s briefing. “You think they stopped for coffee?”
She eyed Ember, calculating her next move. Mother wanted a raise. The question was how to get from point A, the salary she had now, to point B, the increase she needed in order to buy another car. A consolidated effort would work best if she were to broach this sticky subject with Alex, her boss, on behalf of herself and Ember. He’d shoot her down otherwise.
Her contrary boss made Mother smile. In truth, Alex Stewart, owner of the covert surveillance company known on the East Coast as The TEAM, was a poor businessman, more worried about his team than his balance sheets. That combination didn’t usually work, but it seemed to for him. He was also a tough mix of rapid-fire machine gun and gentleman rolled into one. Mean and nasty when provoked, he could be just as kind and thoughtful the next minute. It was all in the way a person handled him, something Mother was still trying to figure out.
Ember flipped up the laptop cover and retrieved the morning’s briefing. A truer, smarter technical assistant was never created, nor one who dressed more eclectically. The shorter-than-short eggplant-colored leather skirt gracing her hips today was met by thigh-high boots, and nothing but the whitest vanilla skin in between. The cream-colored sweater layered over her girls should have been enough to subdue them, but Ember could make a black plastic garbage bag look sexy.
Most guys would call a girl with her measurements ‘stacked,’ but not the men on The TEAM. They knew better. Over-endowed and two hundred percent feminine, she was a solid fit in the mostly male workforce. The guys respected her, probably because she also handled firearms certification. They didn’t mess with the gal who could ground them to desk duty if they shot their mouths off.
Her crowning masterpiece, though, was the honey blond topknot high on her head with wispy tendrils dangling down her neck and into her face. It wasn’t dyed gothic black anymore, the color she had submerged in after the tragic loss of Junior Agent Todd Chandler. Like everyone else on The TEAM, she’d nearly returned to normal. Of course, she might show up with green hair tomorrow, but today, Ember was a Marilyn Monroe look-alike in all her glory.
“Alex always brings a cup from home,” she said. “Kelsey takes good care of him. You know that.”
“True.” Mother craftily changed subjects by outright asking, “How much do you take home every month?”
“Excuse me?”
“Go on. Spill. We both need a raise. We’re due. Give me a starting point, so I’ll know how to negotiate.” Mother could tell by the smirk on Ember’s face she did not intend to divulge personal info. “Well?”
“Alex pays me enough.” Ember chuckled evasively. “Why do you really want to know?”
“The new Escalades are out.”
“Already?”
“By the time I get my raise, they will be.”
A smile lit Ember’s face and the discussion over. “I can’t believe Alex signed another contract with the FBI, not the way he cusses them.”
“This one’s different.” Mother filed the salary argument for another day. Ember’s reluctance to join in the fray did not make getting a raise easy, but it would come one way or the other. “The Bureau needs all the help they can get.”
“Senator Conway left a wife and three little ones behind.” Ember scrolled through slide after slide. “He didn’t deserve to die like that.”
Mother caught the pensive tone. Alex had just signed a contract stemming from the current, front-page news story. Once again, a sniper had struck the nation’s capital. He’d already killed Senator Jeff Conway and Representative Cheryl Winston, both as they strolled with reporters and onlookers among the grand monuments D.C. was famous for. Winston went down on the steps of the Jefferson Memorial, Conway as he crossed the Arlington Memorial Bridge. Both hits were clean, almost identical headshots.
The FBI was frustrated. They were present during both assassinations. No one was yet in custody. They had no leads. The Bureau looked bad.
Ember scrolled through a few more slides, reading quietly as she went. “Wow. They know what weapon he’s using yet?”
“FBI suspects a sniper rifle. They want him dead or alive,” Mother muttered. “The press is eating them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
“Not like that’s hard.”
“Did you see Channel 16 last night? They had an—”
“Sit Room. Now!” Senior Agent Murphy Finnegan slammed the door open, startling Mother. He grabbed the TV remote. Instantly, the big screen flickered to life. Mother took her place at the conference table while the room filled with the rest of the agents not on assignment.
“Oh, God.” Ember gasped.
Mother froze. It couldn’t be.
“Coming to you live from Alexandria, this is Crosland Webster with Channel 16 News reporting on a possible abduction. Mrs. Kelsey Stewart disappeared shortly after eight p.m. last night. Curiously, her husband, Mr. Alexander Stewart, did not notify authorities until early this morning.”
Kelsey? Kidnapped?
The camera panned to the police cruiser and back to the Stewarts’ humble brick home as two uniformed officers escorted a cuffed Alex out his front door and down the walk. Dressed in black running pants and a gray USMC T-shirt, he looked grim.
“Mr. Stewart!” The reporter thrust his microphone into Alex’s face. “Why didn’t you contact the police sooner? People are wondering what could have been more important than your wife? Do you have an explanation? What did you do to her? Did you kill her?”
Stoically, Alex ducked his head and climbed into the back seat of the police car without responding, but Mother caught the way he rolled his neck. The audacious reporter should be thankful Alex was restrained.
“As you can see.” Webster’s left brow arched with drama. “The police have a suspect in custody. Stay tuned for further developments. Remember. You heard it first and you heard it right on Virginia’s Fastest to the Scene News Channel.”
“Dumb ass,” Mu
rphy growled. “Alex isn’t a suspect. He’s the victim.”
Words failed Mother as the reporter rattled on. Crosland Webster seemed unusually focused on Alex’s successful business of pay-for-hire mercenaries and his prior career as a scout sniper in the United States Marine Corps, both volatile talents according to the reporter. He cut to an exposé splashed across the airwaves that embellished the tragic deaths of Alex’s first wife and only child. With Sara and Abby Stewart’s innocent faces on the screen, the man had the audacity to speculate, “Is it possible these were not accidental deaths after all?”
“How’d Webster throw this crap together so fast?” Junior Agent Connor Maher asked. “What’s he got, a smear campaign staff waiting for tragedy to strike?”
Mother bristled along with Connor. “It’s Channel 16. What’d you expect? Their claim to fame is their punch line. Fastest to the scene doesn’t mean it has to be true, just sensational.”
“Alex wasn’t even in the States when Sara and Abby were killed. He was deployed overseas,” Senior Agent Roy Hudson declared.
A record of the only senatorial investigation Alex had ever been involved in was now presented as definitive proof that all was not well in the Stewarts’ household. “After all,” Mr. Webster played to the camera, his face transformed into a stern mask of superiority, “why would the United States Senate need to investigate an honest citizen?”
Mother’s Irish flickered to life. Her fists curled. Webster was impugning her family. One more word out of his lying mouth and she’d march down there and knock him on his ass.
“Yellow journalism at its best,” Roy said. “Turn this guy off, Murph. He’s making me sick.”
Harley (In the Company of Snipers Book 4) Page 2
