by Alex Ander
Spying her watch—9:39—Devlin rose from the chair. “I don’t think they’ll make a move before midnight.” She eyed him. “Let’s get some rest...an hour each. I’ll...”
He stood upright. “I call...”
“...take the first watch.”
“...first shift.” Randall plucked a quarter from his pocket. “I’ll flip you for it.”
She waved him off, “You win,” and ambled toward the back of the brick, ranch-style home, located in the countryside. Making it halfway down a hallway, Devlin spun on her heels and doubled back a few paces. “Hey.”
Holding an afghan, he fell onto a couch and propped his feet on a cushion. “What’s up?”
She crossed arms and ankles and put a shoulder to the wall. “I just...uh...wanted you to know,” she glanced down, her eyes darting left and right, “well...I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you throughout all this.”
He smiled at her while spreading the covering over his legs and feet. “You didn’t know anything about me. For all you knew, I could have actually been a wanted man, a criminal.”
Still looking downward, she nodded at a large knot in the pine flooring.
For the next twenty seconds, Randall watched her, waited for her.
She lifted her head. “Two years ago, I lost my husband.”
He pressed his lips together. “I’m sorry.”
“He was a police officer...killed in the line of duty. My world shattered. But, with a four-year-old counting on me, I had to pick up the pieces as fast as I could. For me...that meant relying on myself. Jonathon was gone. And I had everything to do. So,” Devlin pushed away from the wall and stepped closer to Randall, “that’s what I did...everything...all by myself. I counted on no one, and I believed in no one, but me.”
Lowering his gaze, the prone man crossed his arms over his chest and ran a thumb over the point of his chin. “Must’ve been a tough load to carry.”
Her shoulders hunching a bit, Devlin remembered the barrenness that had taken residence in her soul, the long nights spent crying into Jonathon’s pillow. It was. “I managed. I got by.” She stood erect. “Anyway, I’m now married to a great man, whom I trust not only with my life, but with my daughter’s as well.”
Randall smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“However...I know there’s a big part of me—the old me, the distrusting me—still hanging around inside.” Devlin blinked a few times, took a deep breath, and ran fingers through her hair before holding her locks behind her head. “Look at me, blabbering on. You’re probably over there thinking I’m some weak, feeble-minded woman.”
“Are you kidding me? That,” he rubbed his jaw while half smiling, “right cross was anything, but weak.”
Ogling him, she snickered privately until a twinge of guilt for punching him overshadowed the humor.
“Anyway, the way you’ve been able to focus on the mission while separated from your family,” he squinted at her, “it takes a strong-minded person to push aside their feelings and do what needs to be done.” He pointed at her, “You’re strong, Devlin,” before tapping his temple and his chest, “right where you need to be.”
She regarded him. You’re strong...right where you need to be. Lips pressed together, she gave him a single down and up with her chin. “Thank you for that.”
“My pleasure.”
A few moments passed.
“Well,” she recalled her speech from a minute ago, “I guess what I wanted you to know from all that was,” she faltered, “just like Jonathon and Curt, I think you’re a good man too. One that I,” she locked eyes with him, “one that I’ve come to believe I can put my trust in.”
He lifted one corner of his mouth a fraction of an inch. “Thank you, Devlin.”
Half turning around, she stopped, poked a finger at him, and added her own faint grin, “Jessica,” before walking down the hall.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.
Chapter 26
Smells Like Roses
4 may—12:23 a.m.
potomac, maryland
With Cassandra in bed and Father Mahoney in the room next to hers, Ashford, Hardy, and Cruz had stayed up to enjoy a fire in the fireplace. As the flames slowly died, the temperature in the living room dipped.
Sitting on the couch, Hardy beside her, Cruz leaned into him, brought ankles to her butt, and threw a blanket over her and her man.
Reclining in the easy chair, on the couple’s two o’clock, a bowl on his lap, Ashford slipped a potato chip into his mouth. “I still,” he spoke in between crunches, “can’t believe it. I’m happy for you, Cruz...you too, Hardy.”
Admiring the ring on her finger, she smiled. “Thanks Ash.”
Hardy shot a look at the other male. “Thank you.”
She faced her former partner. “How are things between you and Jessica?”
“They’re,” he paused for a split second, “great.” Ashford rocked the chair forward and moved the chip container to a table. “I mean...we’re still newlyweds. We’re in that phase where even our poop smells like roses.”
Hardy and Cruz laughed.
Ashford never cracked a smile.
She stared at him for an extra moment, noting his demeanor. “So why am I getting the feeling that something’s not right?”
He peered at her. An instant later, he rocked the chair backward and jabbed a finger her way. “You’ve always been able to see through me.”
Hardy and Cruz exchanged glances before she eyed Ashford. “What’s going on?”
Both hands clutching the armrests, Ashford pitched the easy chair back and forth while examining the ceiling. “It’s not what you think. Jess and I are fine.”
Cruz lowered her feet to the floor and sat upright. “And yet...”
“I’m...I’m thinking of applying for SWAT...with the FBI.”
Hardy shifted his position on the sofa. “That’s great. You’d make an awesome SWAT officer.”
“Thanks, but that’s not the problem.”
“So what is?”
Ashford paused. “The problem is...I’m concerned my decision to go back to active duty will be worrisome for Jessica.”
Hardy nodded. “Because of what happened to...” he shot a look at Cruz.
“Jonathon.”
“Right...Jonathon?”
Ashford interlaced fingers behind his head. “She says she’s okay with the idea of me going back to work, but,” he made a face, “I...I’m not so sure that’s how she truly feels. The last thing I want to do is cause her undue stress.” He confronted his hosts. “How do you two do it? You both have dangerous jobs.”
“Well,” Hardy clasped hands with Cruz under the blanket and flashed a smile, “our relationship is a bit different from yours. I think working together—on the same team—has helped us.” He squinted at a picture on the wall beyond Ashford’s shoulder, a picture of Hardy and Cruz on a beach, several boats on the water behind them. The photo had been taken in another country following one of their clandestine missions. “Working together helps us keep an eye on each other...keep each other safe.”
Cruz grinned and nuzzled closer to her man.
“Believe me. In the beginning, it was tough. The thought of something happening,” Hardy tilted his head toward Cruz, “to her, drove...me...nuts.”
Ashford half closed an eye at his male counterpart. “How’d you get over it?”
Hardy shook his head. “I didn’t. I haven’t.”
Ashford lifted eyebrows.
“Every time we head into the action, there’s a few seconds where my heart is in my throat. Then, I realize she’s a capable woman who can take care of herself. And you know as well as I do that,” he admired her for a moment, “she’s good at what she does.”
Ashford raised a corner of his mouth at the woman. “Amen to that.”
She smiled at him.
“And, thankfully,” Hardy pulled her hand from beneath the covering, “I get to work beside
her.” He pecked her hand and regarded Ashford. “What I’m trying to tell you, Ash, is you can’t control what happens. The same goes for Jessica.” He shrugged. “She said she’s okay with you getting back out there. Until she says otherwise, believe her.”
His forehead wrinkling, Ashford looked away.
Cruz spied her onetime fellow agent. “Jessica’s madly in love with you, Ash. I’m sure she’ll support your decision...whatever that turns out to be.”
Chuckling, he got up from the chair. “That’s exactly what she said to me.” He shoved fingers into pants pockets and studied the floor. “I just want to make sure I’m making the right choice here...for the both of us.”
Hardy and Cruz stood. She put a hand on Ashford’s upper arm. “You will.”
He half smiled at her, “Thanks,” before letting out a big yawn. “Well, I’m heading up to bed.” He gave his friends a long look. “Thanks for listening to me whine.”
She snickered. “No problem.”
Catching Ashford’s eye, Hardy smirked. “I know. I was just about ready to set the tissue box on your lap, you big baby.”
Cruz elbowed her man’s ribcage. “Aaron.”
Putting his arm around her lower back while holding the spot she had nudged, Hardy shared a laugh with the other man.
*******
an hour and a half later
2:04 a.m.
Under a bedspread, spooning Cruz, his right arm around her belly, Hardy opened one eye and stared at the side of her face. “Cruz,” his voice was a whisper, “you awake?”
The woman never stirred.
He propped himself onto his left elbow and regarded her for several moments before listing closer and gently nibbling on her earlobe. Pulling back, he noticed her cheek twitch. “Are you asleep?” After a silent moment, he took the same earlobe between his lips, his tongue feeling the pointed end of her stud earring. He let go of the ear. “Cruz, are you—”
“Kind of hard to do...” she mumbled into her pillow before rolling onto her back. She smiled at him, their noses an inch apart, “...with someone chewing on my ear.”
Hardy grinned before going in for a kiss and retreating. “I’m not sleepy.”
“I,” covering her mouth, “can,” she yawned, “see that.”
“So...” his grin doubling, “I was thinking we could,” he dithered, “fool around.”
She matched his expression. “We’re not married.”
“I know.”
“So you should also know...the only reason we’re sharing this bed is so Father Mahoney can have his own room.”
“That’s why I said fool around.” He kissed her chin twice. “Because fooling around,” he gently pecked her cheek, “can be,” before digging his fingers into her sides...
Cruz squealed.
“...just as fun.” He buried his mouth into the crook of her neck.
Writhing on the mattress, she hunched a shoulder and clamped a hand over her mouth to hold back the laughter.
Hardy tickled her.
“Stop it.” Giggling, she slapped his arm. “You’re going to make me...”
The room darkened.
Halting his playful assault, he glimpsed the wall above the baseboard; the nightlight plugged into the outlet was off. He rolled over and tipped his head backward; the ceiling fan’s rotating blades had slowed.
Cruz performed a muted stomach crunch and supported her upper body on both elbows.
“I think,” he glanced at the lighted clock, That has battery backup, “I think the power went out.”
She peeped between the half-drawn window curtains, toward her neighbor’s house. “Jack’s is out too.”
The bedroom door burst open.
Hardy reached for his right hip.
Cruz’s right hand zipped under the covers.
Entering the room, holding Cassandra, Ashford stood erect and stared down the barrel of two guns. He showed a palm. “Whoa. It’s me.”
They lowered their weapons.
“The power’s out.”
Cruz flung off the covers. “We know.” Fully clothed, she jumped out of bed.
Hardy leaped to his feet and stood next to her, already dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. “What about the rest of the neighborhood?”
Sidestepping them as they put on socks and shoes, Ashford laid Cassandra on their bed. “As far as I can tell, the whole neighborhood is dark.”
After tying her second tactical boot, “So it could be something unrelated to what’s going on with Jessica,” Cruz stepped into a closet. She punched buttons on a keypad, and the metal latch securing a Mossberg 500 to the wall released. She grabbed the shotgun, racked a round into the chamber, and plucked a spare cartridge from the six-round ammunition sleeve on the stock.
Rubbing his eyes, Mahoney made an appearance. “What’s with the early morning rousing, Curt? Is everything okay?”
Ashford whirled around and motioned toward his daughter. “I need you to watch her, Father, while we,” he drew a Glock 22 from a hip holster, “look into this power outage.”
“I can do that.” From the waistband at the back of his pants, Mahoney retrieved his own firearm, a stainless steel Colt 1911, and headed for his granddaughter.
Ashford lifted eyebrows.
Hardy stood straight.
Cruz stopped shoving the twelve-gauge round into the Mossberg and eyed Mahoney’s gun.
Noticing the extra attention, Mahoney slowed his pace. He flicked his eyes toward the 45 ACP. “I’m sorry. I hope it’s okay...that I brought a pistol into your home. I just thought...under the circumstances and all...”
Hardy tied his bootlaces. “This is a gun-friendly house.” He added a faint grin. “All we ask is that you don’t point the guns at the friendlies.”
“I assure you. I can handle a weapon...safely.”
Following Ashford, with Cruz on his heels, Hardy brushed by the priest, slapping him on the shoulder as he passed. “Glad to have the added firepower, Martin.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.
Chapter 27
Here We Go
2:05 a.m.
15 miles southwest of
alexandria, virginia
One minute ago, the sudden loss of power, accompanied by the usual audible whoosh, had sent Devlin scrambling out of bed. Before that, outside of the hour of sleep she had gotten from ten to eleven, the deputy marshal had been awake for the last three hours. She had rested, but had never shut her eyes. Sleep was tough to get when you are the bait, the worm dangling on a hook.
Her Colt 1911 in one hand and a Pelican 1970 flashlight in the other, Devlin sneaked out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Every light switch and electronic device she had tried produced no results. In the country, away from city lights, the darkness indoors matched the blackness out-of-doors.
With her wrists crossed, backs of hands pressed together, gun and light pointed in the same direction, Devlin squinted toward the living room. She had last seen Randall sitting on the couch, preparing for his watch. She thought about calling out his name or lighting up the area; however, both of those acts would give away her position to intruders. She squinted at the nothingness. Where are you, Randall?
*******
His back to the street-facing, front wall—Glock 22 in both hands—Randall whipped his head back and forth, keeping an eye on the figures cutting across the moonlight and casting shadows inside the house. He had seen three, distinct silhouettes. He gripped the gun tighter. Most likely a four-man assault team. He spotted movement at the other end of the home, near the last bedroom. Devlin...sure hope she doesn’t shoot me.
An outline filled a window.
Randall pivoted his head toward the window on his two o’clock. He zeroed in on the human form’s odd-shaped head. Under his breath, he groaned at the protruding forehead. NVG’s. At his three o’clock, he saw the front door moving inward. Here we go.
*******
Straight ahead of her, toward
the front of the house, Devlin saw a sliver of moonlight breaking into the structure. The thin slice of illumination grew bigger. They’re breaching. She ducked into the next bedroom on the left. Squatting, she leaned right, exposing only her right eye and her forty-five.
The outside light became a large rectangle, a man’s crouching form in the center.
Devlin made out a rifle when the man pivoted sideways. She also saw night vision goggles. Her heart beat faster, Crap, as she put the Colt’s front sight on the area just above his torso and below his neck. She touched the 1911’s trigger and applied a pound of pressure.
The door slammed shut, and the man’s shadow intermingled with another.
She moved her trigger finger to the gun’s frame. What the...
*******
Behind the invader, his left arm around the man’s neck, Randall arched his back and wrenched on the interloper’s Adam’s apple, nearly lifting the man off the floor. He put his Glock’s muzzle up to the man’s ear, looked away, and pulled the trigger.
The man’s body went limp and dropped to the floor.
Randall took a knee, holding his left ear, his mental voice spewing curse words. Whipping his head from side to side, trying to clear the ringing in his brain, he stripped the night vision goggles from the dead man and patted the corpse.
Glass shattered to his left.
His buzzing ears had registered the sound as coming from the right. He aimed his gun in the same direction, but saw nothing. Swinging the Glock to his nine o’clock, he spotted the attacker’s rifle, already pointed his way. Oh sh—
*******
Hearing the forty-caliber blast, Randall, Devlin used the distraction to scurry to the edge of the living room.
Glass shattered to her right.
She pivoted toward the source of the noise and let loose with three rounds of 45 ACP.
Leaning in through a window, a dark figure’s upper body seized and bent over the sill before lying motionless, half inside the structure.
Glass broke on her ten o’clock, and the front door burst open again. One man somersaulted in through a window while a second charged through the doorway.
