Striking Distance (17 page)

She focused on her answer, careful not to rush her words. “I refuse even to speculate. These men were my friends. We’d traveled the world together for more than two years, and they lost their lives trying to save mine. Did security measures fail that day? Yes, but not because any of us were negligent. To paraphrase the State Department report, we were in the wrong neighborhood at the wrong time.”

“The wrong neighborhood at the wrong time. A dark day.” Gary paused for effect. “Thanks for joining us this evening, Laura. It’s great to have you back. It’s been a long time.”

“Thank you, Gary. It’s good to be back in the studio.” Laura gave the camera her warmest smile, held it.

The tally light went dark.

She shot to her feet, yanked out the earpiece, ripped off the microphone, letting both fall on the desk, her heart still pounding, her stomach in knots.

“Great show!” Martin walked over to her, his face split by a wide grin. “That was fantastic. I can’t wait to see the numbers. I bet they’re through the roof.”

Everyone was smiling, laughing, talking.

But not Laura. She felt sick. Enraged. Hurt.

She tried not to take her anger at Gary out on them. This wasn’t their fault. She shook hands, people seeming to crowd in on her, names and faces blurring together—Martin, Temple, Diane, Tania. “Thank you. Thanks, everyone.”

Then Javier was there beside her. He leaned in and spoke for her ears only, his presence giving her something to hold on to. “Do you want to change first, or do you just want to get the hell out of here?”

She was too upset to think, let alone make a decision, her hand reaching for his. “I . . . I don’t know.”

“Let’s go.”

People moved aside for him, seeming to want to get out of his path as Javier led her back to the dressing room, where Janet was waiting for them.

“We’re going to grab her things and go,” he said to Janet, who passed the message on to the deputy U.S. Marshals in the hallway beyond.

Laura entered the dressing room and walked over to her clothes, which hung on a hook beside the empty garment bag. “That jerk! He said he wouldn’t show the footage, that he wouldn’t ask for details about my captivity.”

She hoped no one was listening outside the door, because she couldn’t keep her voice from shaking, repressed anger and adrenaline surging through her.

“I used to like the guy. He used to be my favorite news dude. Now I want to bust his nuts.” Javier pointed to the vials and tubes of makeup sitting next to her makeup kit on the dressing table. “Are these yours?”

She nodded, wadding her jeans and shoving them into the garment bag. “He’s never forgiven me for giving that interview to Diane Sawyer. He wanted to be the first one to interview me after I returned to the U.S., but I went with Diane because she agreed to respect my boundaries. He wouldn’t.”

“Yeah? Well, he’s a grade-A piece of shit if you ask me.” Javier opened her makeup kit, held it edge to edge with the dressing table, and swept everything—every vial, brush, tube, and bottle—into the kit with his forearm.

Laura gaped at him. “That stuff is worth hundreds of dollars.”

He shrugged, then shut the kit. “That’s how SEALs pack makeup.”

The absurdity of his words made her smile.

Only Javier could do that—make her smile when she felt this shaken.

She grabbed the rest of her clothes, shoved them into the garment bag, and zipped the bag shut. She turned to find Javier holding her Kevlar vest. He’d just finished helping her fasten it in place when Janet appeared at the dressing room door.

“There’s a lot of media out there. Ready to go?”

“Just about.” Javier grabbed Laura’s coat and held it for her.

She slid her arms into the sleeves, then turned to face him.

Their gazes met, locked.

“Thanks for being here, Javi.”

He ran a finger down her cheek. “You bet.”

With Janet in front of her and Javier behind her, Laura walked out of the dressing room, down the hallway, and out the back door into the cold night, the two DUSMs who’d watched over the station’s rear entrance following them.

The night exploded with flashes and the
click-click-click
of cameras.

“Did you know Gary Chapin was going to play the footage from your abduction?”

“Do you plan to sue Derek Tower for slander?”

“Look this way, Laura! Just one shot!”

Thankfully, the engine of the SUV was already running, its back door open for her, a DUSM sitting in the driver’s seat.

Half blinded by the light, Laura caught the heel of one shoe in a crack in the asphalt and stumbled—just as a distant
crack
rang out, something whooshing above her head, striking the wall beside her, a spray of what felt like pebbles hitting her face. She didn’t even have time to react before she found herself on the ground, breath knocked from her lungs, Javier on top of her, firearm in his hand.

“Sniper!” he shouted in a deep voice she’d never heard before. “Nine o’clock!”

Gunfire. Screams. Running feet.

It was happening again.

CHAPTER

15

¡PUÑETA!
FUCK!

On a single inhale, Javier weighed his options. He had no infrared drone overhead to give him the big picture, no radio contact with the DUSMs, and no damned assault rifle. There were ten feet between Laura and the station’s rear entrance and a couple of lateral feet between her and the SUV’s open door. But judging from the hole that first shot had left in the building’s concrete wall, these were armor-piercing rounds. Bulletproofing was
not
going to stop them from penetrating the vehicle—which meant they couldn’t take shelter inside it—and lying here on the ground and trying to use it for cover was a fucking bad idea.

They had to move
now
.

But moving was risky, too. If this sniper had any training, he’d be watching, waiting for Laura to pop into his sights again in her attempt to flee.

“Stay low!” Javier caught her hard around the waist and dragged her up with him, lunging for the studio’s back door, Agent Killeen behind them.

“Get back!” he shouted to the station’s staff, who stood just inside the door staring in horrified surprise. “Get back, goddamn it!”

Two more shots, and Killeen went down with a cry.

Javier didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

Laura would be dead if he did.

The best thing he could do for Killeen and the others was to get Laura out of the line of fire. As long as she was in the shooter’s sights, he would keep firing, putting every DUSM, reporter, and bystander out here at risk.

Javier threw himself and Laura through the open doorway, the two of them landing on their hands and knees just as the shooter opened up on the entrance.

More screams.

Javier jumped up, dragged Laura to her feet again, and hurried her down the hallway. “Everyone get out of the hallway and away from the door! Those rounds can penetrate concrete. Go!
Move!
”

He didn’t stop moving until they reached the dressing room. Both hands gripping her coat, he pressed her up against the wall. “Are you hurt,
bella
? Talk to me.”

She looked at him with dazed blue eyes, blood running down her temple, her entire body shaking. “I-I’m fine.”

Shit.

“Like hell you are.”

She was in psychological shock—acute stress reaction.

He quickly removed her coat, checked her for other injuries, and found abrasions on her palms and right knee from hitting the asphalt so hard.

God
damn
, that had been close! If she hadn’t stumbled . . .

His stomach lurched at the very thought.

She reached up, pressed her hand to her bleeding temple, and looked down at the blood on her fingers, as if she couldn’t understand what had happened, the expression on her face reminding him of the expression she’d worn in the helo after he’d carried her out of Al-Nassar’s compound. Slowly, she sank to a sitting position on the floor.

He draped her coat over her to keep her warm and pulled out his cell. “McBride, it’s Corbray. Yes, she’s safe but in shock with contusions on her right temple, her hands, and one knee. She’ll need an ambulance. We’re inside the building. Killeen is down. I think the shots came from the top of a parking garage to the north of our position. He’s probably using a flash suppressor.”

Through the walls of the station Javier could hear the wail of sirens, but it sounded as if the shooting had stopped. Oh, how he wished he were out there, rifle in hand. He would run that fucker down and catch him trying to make his getaway.

But Javier couldn’t leave Laura.

“We’ll stay put. Roger that.” He hung up and slipped the phone into his pocket, then walked to a nearby sink, grabbed a paper towel, and wet it. “One of the deputies is taking care of Killeen. Ambulances are on their way.”

Laura was silent, her gaze focused on nothing as he knelt beside her.

He pressed the wet paper towel to her temple, gently wiping away the blood, something in his chest constricting when the light pressure made her flinch. “Sorry. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to get a look.”

Her temple had a few deep abrasions, and it looked as if some debris had embedded itself in her skin, probably from ricocheting bits of concrete. Once it was cleaned out, it would heal fine. She was lucky it hadn’t struck her eyes.

“Look at me,
bella
. Talk to me.”

She met his gaze, her eyes still unfocused, pupils dilated, body trembling, her arms wrapped protectively around her middle. But she said nothing.

And Javier understood.

She’d been forced to watch the footage of her abduction and had then stepped out the door into a hail of gunfire. Together, it was just too much.

He pressed his forehead to hers and looked straight into her eyes. “Laura, do you hear me? You’re safe. You’re here with me, and you’re safe.”

A voice came from the dressing room doorway. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

Javier looked up—and found himself staring into a camera lens.

“Turn that fucking thing off!” He reached out, put his palm over the lens, got to his feet, and slowly pushed the cameraman out the door. “You got any shame, man? She’s one of yours. If she were lying there bleeding to death, would you film that, too? Yeah, you probably would. Ratings, right?”

Martin spluttered, glaring at him. “Do you know how expensive that piece of equipment is? You can’t—

“The hell I can’t.” Javier stepped back, slammed the dressing room door in the cameraman’s face, and locked it. He sat beside Laura and drew her trembling body into his arms. “It’s going to be all right.”

* * *

IT WAS THE
reassuring sound of Javier’s voice that reached her.

“Javi?”

“I’m right here,
bella
. You’re safe now. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

Head throbbing, Laura realized she was in the station’s dressing room. She’d done the broadcast. Gary had played the footage of her abduction. And . . .

Oh, God! Someone had tried to shoot her!

“Wh-what . . . Who . . . ?” Her heart pounded as if she’d been running, her stomach churning, her body shaking uncontrollably.

He looked into her eyes. “You don’t need to worry about that. McBride, the cops—they’ve got this locked down. It’s over. You’re safe.”

It was then she remembered, her heart giving a hard knock, the breath leaving her lungs in a rush. “Janet. Agent Killeen! She was shot!”

It was happening again. People were dying because of her.

“The ambulance is almost here. There are marshals with her now. She’s not alone,
bella
. Just take deep breaths.”

Laura closed her eyes, tried to do as he said, but the sound of gunshots and screams echoed in her mind, memories of another time, another place.

Cries. AK fire. So much death.

Cover her! Cover her!

No. No. No!

She clung to Javier, the strength of his embrace and the reassuring tone of his voice holding her together, horror from the past threatening to drag her under. She lost any sense of time, aware only of Javier and the thrum of her own pulse.

A knock.

“Paramedics!”

“They’re here,
bella
.” Javier pulled away from her, reached over, unlocked the door. “They’ve come to help.”

Two men in paramedic uniforms entered, both carrying red medical kits.

“She’s got some abrasions, and I think she’s in shock—acute stress reaction,” Javier said.

The paramedics knelt down beside her. “You’ve had a rough night, but we’re going to check you over and take good care of you, Ms. Nilsson.”

One of them clipped something to the end of her finger and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her left arm, puffing it up until it was tight.

But Laura wasn’t the one who needed help. She tried to draw away. “Go to Janet—Agent Killeen. She’s been shot.”

Javier took her right hand and leaned in close where she could see him. “There’s already a team with her, Laura. These men are here to help
you
.”

They were here to help her? There was nothing wrong with her.

“I-I’m fine.”

None of them seemed to agree with her.

“Those contusions aren’t serious, but she’s definitely shocky. Pulse is ninety-eight. BP is seventy-five over forty.”

“We’ll get some fluids in her, give her some IV Ativan and some oxygen, and get her under transport.”

It took a moment for their words to hit her, but when they did, she shook her head.

“No. I’m not going to the hospital.”

“You’re in shock,
bella
. You need—”

“No! Take me home. I just want to go home.”

* * *

IT WAS ALMOST
midnight by the time they reached The Ironworks and parked in the secured underground garage. Zach opened Laura’s door, Javier meeting her at the rear of the vehicle. Marc and Julian pulled into a visitor’s space near Laura’s car, which sat looking abandoned and forlorn, not having been driven in almost a week. Two other unmarked vehicles, each carrying two deputy marshals, slowly circled the garage, while the security detail that had her building under surveillance kept watch on the street.

She ought to feel safe, but she didn’t. Maybe it was recounting the details of what had happened for Alex for his news story. Or maybe it was just stress or exhaustion. Regardless, she couldn’t shake the sense of dread that had crept over her. She felt hunted, the world closing in around her.

They walked to the elevator, Laura sandwiched between the men, their footfalls sharp against the concrete floor, the echo eerie. She pushed the elevator call button, and they waited.

Ding.

Laura gasped, jumped.

It was just the elevator car arriving.

Javier slipped an arm around her waist.

She let herself lean into him, needing him, needing his strength, his confidence. How could anyone live with this kind of violence as part of his job? She glanced up at the men around her, each of them willing to risk his life for hers, each of them ready and able to kill, each of them . . . so much taller than she was.

She let out a laugh, surprising herself as much as anyone else.

“What’s funny?” Javier asked.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been the shortest person in the room before.”

The men didn’t say a word, but Laura saw grins on their faces.

The elevator door opened, and they stepped out, crossing the small hallway to her door. Laura fished in her handbag and drew out her keys.

Zach held out his hand. “Hunter, you and I will clear the place. You two stay here with Laura.”

Laura gave him the keys and waited, Javier and Julian beside her. She heard the click of the dead bolt and looked up to see Kathleen Parker and her husband peering out of their front door.

“Yes, I’m still alive. I know you don’t want me here, but this is my home.”

The door shut hard, the bolt turning with a quiet
click
.

“What the hell was that about?” Julian asked.

Laura was about to explain, but Javier beat her to it. “The day after the car bomb, Ms. Nosy Yoga Pants there came over to tell Laura that she and her hubby and some other folks in the building would sleep better at night if Laura sold her flat and moved somewhere else.”

“I guess I can understand why they’re nervous, but seriously?” Julian rested a hand on Laura’s shoulder. “Sorry you had to put up with that, Laura.”

Zach returned. “The place is clear.”

Laura walked inside—and stepped on something. She looked down to find a large manila envelope with her name on it lying on the floor. Pretty sure she knew what it was, she bent over and snatched it up, tucking it beneath her arm.

But Javier had seen. “What was that?”

“Oh, just some files I requested.” She hoped he would assume she was talking about her job. “You all feel free to make yourselves comfortable. Grab whatever you want from the kitchen. I’m going to take a shower and call my mother.”

She walked into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She set her purse aside and looked down at the envelope. There on the front, Agent Killeen had printed her name with black marker.

Poor Janet!

Laura sat on the edge of her bed, ran her fingers over the letters, and found herself blinking back tears. Janet had fought to stay on Laura’s protection detail and had ended up taking a bullet for it. Was she out of surgery yet? How badly had she been hurt?

What if Javier had been shot, too? What if he’d been killed?

Laura couldn’t stand to think about it, the very idea making her stomach knot.

And suddenly she felt weary to the bone.

She was tired of being afraid, tired of seeing good people get hurt and killed, tired of feeling like every day was an uphill battle. Life had been challenging enough just trying to put body and soul back together, hold down a job, and find Klara.

But now . . .

What had happened today had reopened something dark inside her, punctured a deep hole in her sense of self, and exposed the brokenness that was still inside her. For a time, she’d been shut down. She hadn’t been able to think clearly.

Had she made any true progress? How could she still be a prisoner of this terror?

Allt kommer att bli bättre med tiden.

Everything will get better with time.

Would it?

Laura got to her feet, tucked the thick envelope into one of her drawers, then walked toward the bathroom.

* * *

JAVIER HEARD THE
water go on in the shower and nodded to the others.

McBride spoke first. “Our guys found Derek Tower with a bullet in his chest on the top level of the parking garage. He was armed—an HK Mark 23 and a tricked-out AR-15 that was loaded with five-five-six green tip.”

Armor-penetrating rounds.

“Is he dead?”

McBride shook his head. “He’s in surgery at University Hospital. No word on his condition, but it doesn’t look good.”

A cold sense of loathing settled in Javier’s chest. “So Tower is our man after all.”

“What’s the first rule of assassination?”