Trust Fall

by Alex Ander

  Hawkins glanced at the narrow alley three stories below. “All teams, the suspect’s jumped to the structure to the immediate east. Cover both exits. Make sure he doesn’t get out of that building.” He turned around and saw his partner removing her vest. “What are you doing?”

  “This thing’s too restrictive. It’ll also,” she tossed the garment at him, “weigh me down.”

  “I—” approaching her, he caught the clothing, “that’s not what I meant. You,” he shot a look at the other roof and came back to her, “you can’t do this, Jess. It’s too far.”

  Hiking up her skirt for more freedom of movement, Devlin filled her lungs and exhaled. “Sure I can. I’ve got,” she bobbed her head downward while lifting one boot, “long legs. And we’re one story higher.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I won’t let you do it. This is crazy.”

  “Crazier than letting a child molester get away?” Squinting, she found a landing place and lowered her center of gravity. “Meet me downstairs.” Devlin took off running.

  Hawkins lunged for her, “Jessica,” but she was beyond his reach.

  Three strides from the metal lip, she felt her heart beating faster. A dozen years ago, she had competed in the long jump in high school; however, she had done so in tennis shoes and shorts, not high-heeled boots and fishnets. She planted the sole of her left boot on the metal lip. Tennis shoes, boots... she pushed off, it can’t be that much different.

  Flying through the air, Devlin discovered one difference—traction. Her plant foot had slipped upon takeoff. Pumping her arms and legs as if she were still running, she saw her landing spot, further away than she had envisioned. Resisting the urge to look down at the darkened alley, she focused on her target while propelling her arms and legs faster. She brought her feet together and leaned forward.

  Her heels touched down two inches from the edge of the building. Throwing out her hands, Devlin scraped her right knee and both palms, and fell onto her right hip before rolling through the landing. She stuck a boot spike into the rubber-coated, flattop roof to slow her momentum. Her knee boot skidded a short ways, and she came to a halt, down on one knee, one hand on the roof. Getting to her feet, while rubbing the smarting knee, she glanced over her shoulder.

  One hand on his hip, the other holding the Glock loosely at his side, his lips mashed together, Hawkins slowly shook his head at her.

  Drawing her Colt 45, Devlin flashed a smile. “See? I told you...long legs.” She hobbled a few paces, feeling a throbbing in her hip, before her gait returned to normal, and she ran toward the door she had seen closing moments ago.

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 3

  Dear God...

  After following a short service entrance hallway, Devlin swung open an interior door and darted into a large space. Half-drawn window shades let in moonlight and ambient lighting from neighboring structures and streetlamps. After ducking behind a stack of boxes, she peeked out and saw rows and rows of more stacked boxes. Shelving units against the walls held additional cartons. She gave the loft another quick look. Must be a storage area.

  With her 1911 in both hands and in front of her chest, the deputy marshal slowly advanced down the aisles while aiming the weapon at emerging dark corners. “All teams,” her voice was a whisper, “report.”

  “This is Alpha. Front door of adjacent structure is secure. No movement—over.”

  “This is Bravo. Back of the building is covered. No movement—over.”

  Devlin rounded a corner and swung her 45 in the same direction. “Copy that.” Sticking two fingers into her left boot, she retrieved a skinny Pelican 1970 flashlight and slipped the tool’s lanyard around her left wrist.

  Employing the Harries Technique—backs of hands pressed firmly together, light and gun pointing in the same direction—she briefly thumbed the Pelican’s rubber tail switch and lit up an area. A half second later, she released the on/off button and quickly moved to another position.

  Using this method, Devlin cleared the near half of the storage loft and stopped at the edge of an open space. More piled boxes and a door were on the other side of the expanse. Swallowing, she heard the gulp between her temples. She looked left and right, her eyes trying to burrow through the brown cardboard and see possible threats waiting behind.

  A moment later, her mind recalled the pledge she had made two years ago: ‘I promise you, Cassie. I will always come home to you.’ Devlin shut her eyes for a split second. Dear God...shaking her head, she dismissed the urge to call on the Divine for help. Expanding her lungs, she set her jaw and lowered her chin to her chest. I can do this. I must do this. She saw an image of Cassandra in her mind’s eye. Someone I made a promise to is depending on me.

  Slightly crouched, she crept forward into the open area, whipping the Colt and Pelican in all directions while intermittently thumbing the 1970. Flashing and moving, flashing and moving, she had traversed a third of the exposed stretch when the beam from the flashlight zipped by a disappearing dark mass to her right. Feeling an overwhelming interior voice telling her to do one thing—Run—Devlin took off running. To the sound of gunfire, she sprinted the final two-thirds of the vastness.

  Bullets punctured the boxes to her left, sending pieces of cardboard into the air behind the fleeing deputy marshal.

  Dropping to her right hip—the same one that had taken the brunt of the rooftop landing—Devlin grunted and slid along the floor. She did a counter-clockwise quarter-turn and went to her back. Twelve inches later, her right shoulder and hip slammed into a concrete wall.

  The boxes above her head blew apart. Bits of packing peanuts floated down, coating her black hair and black jacket in a white dust.

  The right side of her body on fire, the government agent lowered her head to the floor. Beneath closed eyelids, her eyeballs rolled backward. She pitched onto her left shoulder and inched closer to her cover, cutting the shooter’s angle.

  Devlin went to her belly, exposed her right eye and the Colt, and got off four shots. The reports from the forty-five caliber handgun eclipsed those from the nine-millimeter. Getting her feet under her, she put her left knee on the floor.

  More incoming rounds shredded the box in front of her nose.

  Ducking, putting her free hand on her head, she made herself small.

  The noise stopped.

  She leaned right, emptied her gun, and swayed back behind cover. Letting go of the Pelican, she fished out a spare magazine from inside her jacket and rammed the thin, metal rectangle home. “The building’s surrounded.” With the 1970 dangling from her wrist, “Drop your gun and,” she gripped and ripped the 45 ACP’s slide, chambering a cartridge, “come out with your hands up.”

  The loft was silent.

  Devlin heard radio chatter in her ear. Alpha and Bravo Teams were preparing to breach the front and rear doors. “There’s no escape. Surrender now before this gets out of hand.”

  More silence.

  She squeezed her pistol, bracing for another blast of gunfire.

  Something heavy skidded across the floor before a voice said, “Don’t shoot. I’m unarmed.”

  Making a compact circular motion with her left forearm, Devlin caught the Pelican and tapped the button at the end of the flashlight. The device’s beam centered on a gun in the middle of the open space. She swung the Colt and the 1970 to the left.

  Hands held high, a Latino man came out from behind a stack of boxes and stood in the circle of light, his eyes blinking rapidly.

  She squinted at him, Mendoza, before rising, and sidestepping to the right. “Turn around and interlock your fingers behind your head.”

  Mendoza complied.

  “Walk backwards, toward the sound of my voice.”

  He backpedaled.

  “Keep coming...keep coming...keep coming.” Devlin kicked the empty firearm further away. “This way. Keep coming...stop.”

  Mendoza stopped.

  “Get on your
knees.”

  He kneeled.

  “On your belly.”

  He went to his stomach.

  After retrieving a pair of handcuffs from a pouch on her skirt, she drove a knee into his back, slapped one cuff onto his left wrist, and brought the same arm behind his back. She holstered her Colt and reached for his other wrist.

  Hearing metal scrape across plastic, like the bottom wrestler in the ‘Referee’s Position’ hearing the starting whistle, Mendoza jerked his body and twisted away from her grasp.

  Devlin dropped to both knees and grappled with the wanted man before delivering three elbow strikes to his head and neck.

  Mendoza flopped over and swung an arm back and forth.

  Devlin heard the blade rip her jacket sleeve on the first pass. She rolled away to avoid the knife’s second swipe. Leaping to her feet, she threw back the right half of her jacket.

  The criminal charged and thrust out the switchblade, slicing at the deputy marshal.

  Retreating, while arching her back and lifting her arms, she dodged the attacks.

  Mendoza lunged and brought his cocked left arm forward.

  Reversing course, Devlin got inside the arc, grabbed the offending wrist with both hands, pivoted clockwise, and wrenched her left arm backward. Her elbow caught the side of his nose.

  Mendoza staggered away holding his face. Red liquid oozed from between his fingers.

  Devlin drew her Colt and leveled the 45 ACP at his chest. “Drop the weapon! Drop it now!”

  Lowering his hand, revealing a crooked and bloodied nose, he glimpsed his stained palm and glared at her.

  She cocked her head at him. “Don’t be stupid. You’re outgunned...and federal agents will be here any second now.”

  Standing taller and wrinkling his twisted nose, Mendoza toyed with the knife, tossing the switchblade from one hand to the other.

  Devlin barely shook her head. “This ends with you in handcuffs or a body bag. Make the smart choice.”

  He snorted a red glob out of his nose before spewing a vulgarity, a word unique to the female anatomy.

  Her eyebrows bounced once. Sticks and stones...

  Raising the weapon above his head, “You’re dead,” he rushed her.

  She sidestepped left, lowered her aim, and got off three shots in less than a second.

  Howling, Mendoza grabbed his left knee and toppled to the floor.

  Devlin stomped on his wrist.

  His hand opened.

  She kicked the knife away, buried one knee into his back, and thrust the other into his neck, pinning him to the tile. “Lucky for you this,” she repeated the name he had called her, “didn’t follow protocols...or you’d be dead right now.” Devlin had violated one of the most important self-defense shooting tenets when she moved her pistol away from the target’s center of mass; however, she wanted to see Mendoza in prison, not in the ground.

  The door to the loft burst open, and the S.O.G. team stormed the room.

  She whipped out her cred pack, held the badge high, “U.S. Deputy Marshal,” and dipped her head. “Secure this prisoner.”

  The two closest tactical operators slung their short-barreled Colt 9mm SMG rifles and pounced on the downed man.

  Mendoza writhed in pain.

  Devlin stood, holstered her pistol, and spied the slices on her leather jacket. She saw skin, but no blood. That was close.

  Hawkins wove his way between the other five S.O.G. team members and hurried toward his partner. “Jessica, are you—” he spotted her jacket’s shredded sleeves, “did he cut you?”

  “I...” she slipped out of the black covering and inspected her forearms, “I don’t think so.”

  His chest falling, he let an audible sigh slip by his pursed lips and slid his Glock into its belt holster. “Thank God.”

  “In fact,” she gave her arms and body a second look, “there isn’t,” before flashing him a quick smirk, “a scratch on me.”

  He shook his head and huffed. “If you think I’m laughing at that,” he wagged his finger toward the ceiling, “after the stunt you pulled on the roof...”

  “Come on.” She showed him her palms. “That was a little bit funny.” She lightly slapped his shoulder. “And everything worked out fine.” She motioned toward the man in restraints. “We got Mendoza.”

  Hawkins eyed the captive and came back to her. After holding her gaze for a few moments, he plopped a hand onto her shoulder. “Do me a favor. The next time you’re planning something foolish like that...tell me first.”

  Devlin half grinned. “If I told you first, you’d never let me go through with it.”

  He snorted. “Damn straight I wouldn’t.” He gently squeezed her shoulder for a split second before patting her upper arm twice and smiling. “I’m glad you’re okay, Jess.”

  Matching his expression, she twirled her jacket around her shoulders, slid arms into sleeves, and flipped out her hair. “You can’t get rid of me that easy, Hawk.” She flattened the coat’s collar. “Let’s go. I have a family to get home to.”

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 4

  Always

  11:19 p.m.

  alexandria, virginia

  Located near the center of Alexandria’s Southwest Quadrant, within walking distance of parks, schools, supermarkets, and restaurants, the two-story, brick townhouse had a small footprint, but offered its residents plenty of interior space; three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a large, combined living room/dining room/kitchen area that encompassed most of the first floor.

  Although built only thirty years ago, the cozy structure had a design that appeared to date back to Colonial times, blending modern convenience with old-world charm; all while managing to remain detached from the Capital Beltway noise levels.

  While overlapping the ends of the black full-length bathrobe, and cinching the belt around her waist, Devlin crept across the bedroom carpeting and stopped at the side of a twin bed. For the next couple of minutes, her mind took her back to Mendoza, a man who had skipped bail and missed his court date, a man charged on three counts of child molestation. Interlacing her fingers in front of her body, she peered at the side of her daughter’s face. You’re the reason I do what I do...to keep you safe.

  After regarding the six-year-old for another minute, Devlin brought the quilt up to the innocent one’s chin and tiptoed toward the door. Pulling on the handle, she heard a muffled voice behind her.

  “Thank you, Mommy,” the girl yawned, “for keeping your promise.”

  Devlin looked over her shoulder and beamed at the rustling lump under the covers. “Always, babe,” she whispered. “Always.” She sneaked out of the room, eased the door shut, and ambled down the hall. Yawning, she made her way into her own bedroom. Gently scratching her scalp with all ten fingers, she closed the door with a backward swing of an elbow.

  The door stopped two inches from shutting, allowing the hallway nightlight to bathe a portion of the room in a subtle, warm glow.

  Devlin yawned again, disrobed, and tossed the fluffy garment over the back of a chair. After taking off her leather jacket, revealing a white low-cut blouse and deep cleavage, she draped the coat over the robe.

  “Whoa. You weren’t wearing that when you left this morning.”

  Still in her miniskirt, fishnet stockings, and knee boots, she glimpsed her attire and eyed the man, her husband, lying in her bed, bedcovers up to his waist. “Yeah,” she drew out the word. “I was,” unbuttoning the shirt, she drew closer and sunk one knee into the mattress, “on a stakeout...pretending to be a,” she wavered, “lady of the night shall we say.” She undid the last button and the shirt opened a bit, showing a black push-up bra. “I...” she tipped her head toward the robe she had used for concealment, “didn’t want Cassie to see me in this outfit.”

  On his back, bare chested, “Well I,” the man curled hands around her lower back and pulled, “certainly don’t mind seeing you in it.”

  S
niggering, Devlin planted hands on his pectoral muscles to stop her fall. “Did I wake you?”

  He flexed his biceps.

  Relaxing her arms, letting him reel her in, she admired the twenty-seven-year-old in the faint light—black hair, dark eyes, long eyelashes, and a square jaw. His rugged good looks had caught her attention the first time she laid eyes on him. She kissed him long and slow. The prickly stubble on his cheeks and chin tickled her face.

  Seconds later, their lips parted.

  He smiled. “Feel free to wake me up anytime.”

  Smiling, she went to her left side and nestled against his warm body.

  He wrapped his right arm around her shoulders.

  She lifted her top leg and carefully rested a bent knee on his stomach. “How was your day?”

  He took hold of the leg she offered, his pinky and ring finger touching the shaft of her boot. “Good.” His thumb played with her fishnets. “It was good.”

  “And Cassie?”

  He chuckled. “We had fun.”

  Hearing the joy in his voice, she looked up at him. “What did the two of you do?”

  “We made cookies. And we ate cookies. Lots...and lots of cookies. In fact,” he patted the side of her knee, “your leg is resting on a good dozen of them.”

  She laughed. “So what you’re saying is you fed my daughter junk food all day?”

  He nodded. “Yup...and we had a blast.” He hugged her tighter. “She’s a great kid.” A moment passed. “So tell me about your day? Take down any bad guys?”

  Devlin propped herself onto her left elbow and gazed at her mate.

  He scrunched his eyebrows at the tenderness on her face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  She shifted her focus to his chest. Her fingers toyed with the hair that obscured the muscular physique beneath. “I’m lucky to have you, Curt.”