No Ordinary Day | Book 1 | No Ordinary Day

by Tate, Harley

  “Were they badly injured?”

  “I aimed for through-and-throughs. With some antibiotics and a good bandage, they’ll both be fine.”

  “What if you’d missed?”

  “I don’t miss.”

  Emma scooted slightly to the right. “I take it you could kill someone if you wanted to.”

  “Guns are deadly weapons.”

  She didn’t say any more, although John could tell she wanted to ask. It was the same question he’d been asked so many times when he first came back to the states. Sitting at a bar, obvious haircut, haunted expression. In line at the liquor store where his ID saved him a few dollars. The handful of dates he’d tried in the beginning.

  Have you ever killed someone?

  How do you answer when the question is so complicated? Yes, but I was ordered to. It was him or me. It was what the mission required.

  What if the mission wasn’t something he believed in?

  He’d never thought that mattered until now. John ran through his list, noting how Emma should already be the last name on it. When he pulled the trigger—when she was taking her last breath—would he still think it was just a job? Would he still choose this life over any other?

  “Do you think that boy and his mom will be okay?” Holly leaned forward to catch John’s eye. “I can’t stop thinking about them.”

  John sucked in a breath. His whole life he’d tried not to think about the damage he left behind. “I don’t know. But whatever happens now sure beats what was about to happen before we showed up.”

  “I think so, too.” Holly leaned back against the seat. “Thanks for saving them.”

  He swallowed, but spit clung to the back of his throat and John coughed. “It was nothing.”

  Emma snorted, but didn’t say a word. John frowned, annoyed to be hurt by her attitude. He shouldn’t care what she thought, shouldn’t want her approval. But he did.

  He had to get it together and fast. He straightened up in the seat. “Start looking for a gas station. This thing sucks down the gallons. We’ll never make it up in elevation on a single tank.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Emma

  The last hint of sun faded, and Holly yawned. “Do you think there’s anywhere we can stop for the night?”

  John shook his head. “We were lucky with Irma and Gil. I can’t imagine it would happen twice.”

  Emma agreed. “That gas station a few hours ago was the last time I’ve even seen a person. We were lucky they ran on solar.”

  “And had the smarts to disconnect from the grid.”

  Thanks to John’s stash of cash, they had been able to fill the hungry gas tank. Emma leaned over and spied the meter. Less than half a tank already. They wouldn’t make it to Gloria’s without another fill up.

  “We should just find a quiet place and camp out.” John leaned forward to look out the windshield at the darkening sky. “Night’s clear, shouldn’t be any rain. You two can share the cab. Tank and I can sleep in the bed.”

  “Are you sure?” Emma twisted to peer at the rusty pickup bed. “Looks pretty nasty back there.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’ve slept in a lot worse.”

  Holly pointed with her thumb to the back. “We still have all those blankets. It won’t be too bad.”

  Emma let it go. If John thought it was fine, she needed to stop worrying about it. After scouting the side of the small, two-lane road for about half an hour, they came upon a washed-out gravel road.

  After throwing the old truck into reverse. John ambled over the ruts and ridges until the trees swallowed them up no more than twenty feet off the main road. “If anything happens, we need a quick exit.” He shifted into park and killed the engine and lights. They were virtually invisible.

  Emma unwrapped the last of the sandwiches and hunk of cheese Irma had given them. Combined with the few bottles of water remaining, they had plenty to eat that night. But if they didn’t reach Gloria’s by the end of the next day, they would all start to feel a little hungry.

  They ate in silence, everyone too tired and on edge to make conversation. Emma couldn’t stop thinking about the altercation earlier that day. Part of her blamed herself for what transpired. She hadn’t said anything, hadn’t cautioned John not to intervene. She let Holly goad him into action. She would never forget the look on that man’s face as the bullet tore through his leg. For a moment, he thought he was going to die.

  She understood John’s motivation. Looking at that kid, seeing what those men were up to in the car. It wouldn’t have ended well. But shooting them?

  John finished his meal first and excused himself to head outside with little more than a curt nod. Tank followed.

  “Are you okay?” Holly handed Emma a pillow. “You seem out of sorts. I don’t think you’ve said a word since—”

  “John shot those men.” Emma fluffed the pillow and propped it against the driver’s side window. “I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

  “They were going to hurt that woman. You saw that man, he was all over her in the front seat.” Holly swallowed hard and clutched her furry pillow to her chest. “And that little boy? What were they going to do with him?”

  Emma nodded. “I know, but the police—”

  “I don’t think the police are coming anymore.” Snuggling down into a fleece blanket, Holly looked more like a child than ever, but her words were mature for her age. “I think we’re on our own.”

  It was Emma who didn’t want to admit the truth. Emma who struggled to come to terms with what was going on around them. If the grid had really and truly collapsed, a hitman on their tail might be the least of their problems. She leaned back against the pillow and closed her eyes.

  Regardless of her thoughts on what happened that day, she needed John. His quick thinking, his sensible advice, and whether she liked it or not, his ability to keep her safe. She might not approve of his methods, but they were better than her own. What could she have done in that situation other than watch in horror?

  She sucked in a deep breath and tried to relax. She shouldn’t judge him. He didn’t deserve it.

  “…Senator Wilburn from Pennsylvania you have the Floor.”

  An old man, barely able to reach the microphone, cleared his throat. “Good afternoon Ms. Cross. My first question is why did it take you years to come forward about CropForward’s problems. You’ve been researching Seeds of the Future for what, five years? Why now?”

  Emma smiled at the giant camera inches from her face. “It takes a long time for research to—”

  A volley of gunfire broke the silence. People dove for cover. Senators screamed. Someone wrapped his arms around Emma and threw her to the ground.

  She woke with a start. A light glowed from the bed of the pickup and Emma rubbed the sleep from her eyes. What time was it? One a.m. according to her watch. She sat up. John bent over a screen in the truck bed, typing with his thumbs. He tapped the lower right corner of the screen and waited. After a few moments, he began typing again, looking every bit like a man engaged in a text conversation.

  Does he have a signal? She reached for her bag and fumbled around in the dark before her fingers flitted over her phone. She pulled it out and checked. Nothing. How did he have a signal she didn’t? Hairs rose on the back of Emma’s neck. It wasn’t the first time she’d caught him with the device.

  Out in the barn he’d had it in his hand when she walked in. When they were walking on the side of the road, he’d claimed to just be checking. Now, it was clearly more than that.

  She thought back to that time when he wandered off into the tree line. She’d thought it had been to relieve himself, but what if it wasn’t? What if all this time he’d had access to the outside world and he hadn’t told her?

  The light flicked off in the bed and Emma ducked, head barely higher than the seat as she tried to blend in with the pillow. Time ticked by. John didn’t move. She was about to give up when the screen of the phone lit again.


  She watched John swipe the screen. Passcode required. Emma held her breath.

  7-3-4-8.

  His thumb hit each number in succession and the phone unlocked. She ducked behind the seat. I need to find out what’s on that device. After a few moments, she rose up and made a show of stretching, purposely catching his attention. John turned off the phone.

  Easing out of the truck as quietly as possible to not wake Holly, Emma slipped down to the ground. Tank nosed her hello.

  “What are you doing up in the middle of the night?”

  She smiled at John. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d take over at watch.”

  “No sense in us both being awake. You go back to bed. I can keep watching.”

  Emma shrugged. “I’m not tired. Besides, you can’t pull two all-nighters in three days. You’ll fall asleep at the wheel.” She stepped closer to the bed. “Let me do this.”

  John glanced at his watch. “Are you sure? I can stay up if need be.”

  Emma waved him off. “It’s no trouble, honest. You get some sleep. I’ll stand guard.”

  John made a show of fluffing the blankets and his pillow. “I’ll sleep out here. Wake me if you need me.”

  “Will do.” Emma led Tank to a place far enough away from the truck to not be heard and made herself comfortable on the ground. How long would it take for John to fall asleep? To be sure, she waited half an hour before standing up and slinking back to the vehicle. Every step risked a broken branch or a snapped twig, so she rolled her feet, cautious and quiet.

  As she neared the vehicle, snores emanated from the bed and Emma took a deep breath. Now or never. Using the truck tire as a step, Emma rose up over the side and leaned in toward John. After half an hour in the moonlight, her eyes had adjusted.

  She made out his sleeping form and his bag tucked neatly beside him. No visible sign of the phone. Emma chewed on her lip. Would he sleep with it in his pocket? It would be almost impossible to find if so. Leaning over, she slowly inched the front zipper of his bag open and fished around inside. Her fingers closed around something rectangular and metal, almost the size of a candy bar. As her fingers grazed the end, she snatched her hand away. It was a magazine for the pistol he carried.

  Her breath caught in her lungs. If he woke up, what would she say? Her heart hammered, the sound obscuring the whoosh of the wind through the trees and the insects chirping and buzzing in the dark. She reached for the top zipper of the bag and steeled herself. I can do this. She slipped her hand inside. Her fingers wafted over the last of the snack bars and what felt like a pair of binoculars before finding something small and flat and rectangular.

  She eased it from the pocket and pulled it toward her, careful not to touch the front and light it up. Clutching the device close to her chest, Emma slipped off the truck and crept toward Tank patiently waiting in the trees.

  “Here goes nothing.” Emma touched the screen. Typed the numbers. 7-3-4-8.

  The device unlocked. It wasn’t a phone she recognized. An austere interface greeted her and she tapped the message button. A text chain appeared.

  Emma began to read from the bottom up.

  Twenty-five miles to destination. ETA 11:00 hours. Will need Cross to verify last miles.

  > GPS Unreliable. Update ETA and location.

  Understood.

  > Confirmed.

  Logistical problem. Power’s out. ETA now unknown. Sanchez will add to the timeline. Confirm necessary.

  > Klein confirmed. Change in circumstances. Add Sanchez to your list. Current location unknown.

  No later than 22:00 hours.

  > Update ETA. Time is of the essence.

  Emma almost dropped the phone. These messages were about her and Gloria and Zach. He was telling someone their current location and giving updates on arrival time. Time for what? She read the message string again. It was vague, probably on purpose, but she couldn’t escape the feeling it wasn’t reconnaissance he was after.

  Klein confirmed…

  Emma’s lips parted as she put together the pieces. John wasn’t who he claimed to be. He was…

  Hired to kill me?

  The texts didn’t spell it out, but what else could they mean? Emma’s breath came in rapid bursts, in and out, in and out. Her heart thundered against her chest. The trees swam in her vision. She reeled.

  Tank nuzzled her arm and John’s words from the elevator came back to her. Four breaths in. Hold. Four breaths out.

  With a curse on her lips, she did as he’d instructed and her heart slowed. She leaned back on the nearest tree and closed her eyes. Why would John give her and Tyler a tool to calm their nerves if he was just going to put a bullet in her brain? It didn’t make any sense.

  When the elevator doors opened that first morning, she hadn’t thought a thing of it. When he’d gotten on at lunch, he’d played it off as a coincidence, claiming to not even remember her. Then he’d helped them escape the elevator. Agreed to take Emma and Holly to Gloria’s. Made small talk with Gil and bonded with Tank.

  According to the text exchange, it was all a lie.

  He wasn’t a financial auditor out of work and waiting for a lawsuit to play out. He wasn’t an average guy along for the ride, happy to help and keep them safe. He was the stone-cold shooter who’d taken those men out on the street. The man who’d stepped over Zach’s body like a sack of potatoes. A hired gun with Emma and Gloria as targets.

  Visions of blood congealing on the floor filled Emma’s mind and she staggered to her feet. She had to get out of there. She had to keep Holly safe. Emma shoved the phone in her pocket and took a deep breath.

  It was time to stop relying on a stranger to save her. It was time to save herself.

  Chapter Nineteen

  John

  The ground rumbled beneath John’s body and as he opened his eyes to the dark of night, the entire world shifted. He hit air, arms flailing, legs windmilling, before the earth rose up to meet him.

  His face smashed into gravel and his knee slammed into the dirt first, followed by his chest and the breath in his lungs. The headlights of the old pickup blared to life, cutting across the trees as dust and gravel kicked into his eyes. John rolled over onto his back and tried to breathe as the truck, Emma, Holly, and Tank drove away.

  What on earth? The taste of exhaust and forest floor coated his tongue as he sat up to assess his injuries. His knee throbbed, blood trickled down his cheek, and he might have cracked a rib. He couldn’t catch the truck even if he sprinted.

  He’d lost his target.

  After a few minutes of deep breathing, he brushed off his pants and sweater and searched the ground for his bag. Thank God. It landed a few feet away, intact and no worse for wear. He shoved his hand in the main compartment and fished for his phone.

  I know I put it in here last night. He dragged the bag closer and yanked the zippers completely open. Binoculars. Tracker. Snack bars. A bottle of water.

  No phone.

  He cursed. Had Emma found it in the night? Was that why she left him in the dirt? He thought back to when she’d woken up. He’d been on the device, texting with Dane over the new situation. Had she seen him?

  It was the only explanation.

  He chastised himself for being so foolish. After she’d caught him with it the day before, he should have been more careful. Now he was on foot, miles from Cross, Sanchez, and fulfilling his assignment.

  No wheels to get there and barely any food or water. He unscrewed the cap to his only bottle and took a sip, swishing the water around in his mouth before spitting it out along with a good amount of dirt. He’d have to ration.

  After ridding himself of the taste of grit and dirt, John pulled out the handheld tracker he’d brought along in case of emergencies just like this one. The little sticker he’d shoved onto Emma’s work pants was hopefully still active, even with the run through the dryer. He turned on the locator and waited.

  It didn’t take long for a little red dot to show up
on the screen. Estimated distance, three miles and gaining. Without his phone, he didn’t have access to the full functionality—no map overlay and real-time movements. But he could tell when he was getting closer or when she was gaining ground.

  John checked his watch. At this rate, Emma would reach the cabin before dawn. If he hustled, he could make it there by midday. A six-plus hour head start to warn Sanchez and get out of dodge. From what he’d seen of Emma, she wasn’t a fast mover. There would be crying and confusion. Uncertainty and fear. It bought him a bit of time.

  Not good odds, but not impossible, either.

  He slung his bag over his shoulder, checked his Sig was safe and secure in his holster, and took off down the gravel road. Still annoyed at his lack of foresight, he ran over his missteps in his mind. A phone he kept checking, but not explaining. Constant denials about service. Unwillingness to share any information. Amateur hour and he knew better.

  Dane would have his head if he knew. John smacked his cheek, half in annoyance and half in an effort to wake up. It had been so long since he’d spent time with anyone apart from Dane and the other guys in their pseudo-unit, he’d forgotten how to blend.

  Memories surfaced as he walked, and John welcomed the distraction. Dane had been the first officer he’d met upon checking in at Camp Lejeune. Ten years older and full of knowledge, John had eaten him up at the time, listening to every piece of advice and following every order. When they deployed to Afghanistan, Dane had been the reason he came home alive. If it weren’t for his quick thinking the day the IED exploded, there would have been three body bags instead of two.

  John exhaled. He owed Dane more than a good job. More than a completed mission. He owed him his life.

  He was the closest thing to a father John ever had. Disappointing him was the last thing he wanted, but John couldn’t shake his misgivings.

  Emma had gotten to him. Holly and Tank, too. They weren’t bad people. They weren’t trying to steal or cheat or hurt someone else. They were trying to do the right thing.