Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Protecting New York (Kindle Worlds Novella) (9 page)

F
aulkner hung
up his cell slowly and with great care. He felt old, as if the last five minutes had aged him a dozen years. Miguel Delgado in New York City and at their hotel. It had to mean bad news for everyone involved. After Shy’s call he’d immediately contacted Wolf, the first one of his SEAL team that came to Dude’s mind in a situation like this. Less than two minutes and Wolf had confirmed one thing; Miguel was not in Riverside.

It was enough for Faulkner to be convinced.

With a groan, he leaned his back against the wall for support and barely registered the bump when his head met drywall with a loud crack.

“Faulkner.” Brice Marshall came toward him in a ground-eating stride and there was urgency in every line of his impressive build. “I just got off the phone with Terryn. Did Cheyenne get a hold of you yet?”

The halls were filled to bursting with both on- and off-duty police, as well as other people in law enforcement for the convention.

“Yeah. She just called,” he answered as the most likely reason for Miguel’s presence here settled in his gut like a cancer. “He’s going to blow up the hotel, Brice.” Faulkner felt the weight of certainty settle on his shoulders like a hundred pounds as the muted rumble of over a thousand law enforcement officers echoed in his ears. “We gotta evacuate and sweep the building.”

Brice looked as concerned as Faulkner felt, which he appreciated because at a time like this, the last thing he needed was a Doubting Thomas slowing up what needed to be done.

“All right.” Brice checked his watch. “My captain just started his lecture in the Liberty conference room in the west tower. He should be wrapped up in an hour. Maybe we get an additional fifteen minutes after for Q and A. But no more.” He stepped closer when a group of uniformed cops poured into the hallway from a nearby elevator. “That doesn’t give us a helluva lotta time. We gotta either find the kid or find the bombs before he’s free. Because no way in hell is the captain going to okay an evac on ‘I think I saw someone who might be’. No way in hell.”

“Dammit.” Faulkner knew Brice was right. No one in their right mind would take such drastic measures on what amounted to nothing more than a hunch. It didn’t change the fact that he knew he was right though. Not one bit.

“All right. Kid’s in the system already. Think you can arrange to get his mug shot passed around here? Maybe get the hotel to print it up for us at the desk?”

Brice nodded as he worked his cell. “Already on it. What else you need?”

“I’m going to hit the laundry rooms, storage rooms and the like to start looking for bombs.”

“Great. I’m going to snag Kent and a couple guys from my squad. We’ll start looking for witnesses and we’ll look for anything that might be planted up here while we’re at it.”

“Perfect.” Faulkner stood and extended his hand, and the two clasped in a firm grip of unity. “Do me a solid. Tell your women to keep Shy the hell away from here until they get the all clear from us. That woman is hell-bent on getting herself blown up in these situations.”

“No shit? Yeah, my Red put herself in harm’s way before. Once. About killed me,” Brice said, and from his expression, Faulkner knew he understood the soul-wrenching fear that only happened when the love of your life was in danger.

“Yeah,” Dude said. “I like her all in one piece though, selfish bastard that I am. So I’d like to keep her as far away from here as possible.”

“I second that. In fact, I’ll text the whole crew and make sure they all steer clear till this is settled.”

Faulkner was relieved to see he was true to his word as Brice was already tapping away on his phone before he’d turned to leave.

He knew he should call Cheyenne and keep her in the loop on what was happening. If Faulkner believed she’d do nothing with that information and stay put, he would. However, he knew his woman, and Cheyenne was not the type to sit idle when she knew people were in danger. Especially if she thought she could help. In this case it was even worse. Faulkner knew Shy would somehow feel responsible.

She was a sensitive and empathetic person who always felt deeply for the pain of others. It was what made her such an incredible 911 operator. She put herself in everybody else’s shoes and talked them through the tragedies and triumphs of their lives.

So naturally, she’d been heartbroken for the dirty, underfed boy whose family had been literally blown apart.

Cheyenne had made several anonymous donations to a bereavement account for him until the news had broken with a story about the mother squandering all the money.

Cheyenne never quite shook the unwarranted sense of duty she’d felt for the kid and although he couldn’t claim to share the feeling, Faulkner understood
her
. That was why he knew that unless the others physically prevented it, Cheyenne would show up here and try to help.

Brice said they had an hour to find proof before they went to the captain. Faulkner figured he had half that to find the kid before Shy broke away from the others and came charging in on a white horse.

“Fuck.” At Brice’s exclamation, Faulkner turned toward him. “They aren’t answering their phones.” Brice looked again at his, as though by the power of his will, he could make one of the women respond.

“I got a bad feeling about that,” Faulkner told him.

“Me too.” Brice spotted his partner headed their way. “Change of plans. Hold one second.” Then jogged to meet him halfway.

There a brief, intense discussion that ended with Kent bolting away while barking into his radio. Then Brice was back.

“Kent is gonna organize and start the search. Let’s go find our women.”

I
n an alley two blocks over
, Miguel threw his burner phone to the ground and smashed it with a brick—one he’d taken off the pile of trash he was hiding behind.

Tears he’d thought had run dry over the last ten hours started up again and rained down his dirt-smudged face, leaving trails in their wake.

The sharp impact when the rock hit plastic and the crunch that resulted was a relief. So he hit it again. Shards flew in all directions. One tiny sliver lodged itself in the back of his hand.

The symbolism wasn’t lost on him. The complete destruction of something by the force of his actions.

So he hit again, harder, and again with a sound like a wild thing rising in his throat. Then he couldn’t stop. Not the cry, nor the pounding because Miguel knew, no matter what the outcome, he was going to die today.

* * *

“
A
re
you sure we should be doing this?” Terryn asked in a whisper as though their husbands might overhear them from two blocks away.

“No, I’m not sure about this at all,” Cheyenne confessed. “But I do know I will go crazy if I don’t at least try to help.”

“I think it’s good we are sneaking in through the back entrance. They’re probably going to have uniforms posted at the main doors to keep people from coming in and to look out for Miguel.”

“Yeah,” Terryn agreed. “They would spot us for sure and then we’d get nowhere fast.” She shot them both a look that made it clear she wasn’t so sure that would be a bad thing. “I have to say this, guys. But are we sure that we won’t be more of a hindrance than a help? We don’t know how to sweep for bombs, and they are bound to be evacuating the hotel by now. I just would hate it if we were in the way and made things worse instead of better.”

“I know,” Cheyenne said on a gust of an exhale since she was fretting over the same thing. “You’re probably right and if we get there and see that they do have everything under control, we can bail. But I just can’t shake this feeling that I have to try. I know it’s crazy to feel responsible for him, but now that I remembered it, I can’t get Miguel’s face out of my head. He looked scared, guys. He looked like he was about a million years old. If there is any way I can help him, I need to try.”

She didn’t voice the other reason she had to go. It was the same reason Terryn and Riley were coming with her instead of letting her go alone. Their men were in that hotel too. Trevor was there. He was going to speak about the drop in crimes committed by teens when there was a well-funded rec center in place. Even though the center was mostly run by Trevor and Riley, Cade was involved as well.

So both of Riley’s men as well as Terryn’s and Cheyenne’s were in harm’s way. Not one of them were willing to sit on the sidelines and wait like a bunch of wilting violets from a bygone era while the men they loved were in danger.

“Let’s cut through here,” Terryn said and headed down a particularly ominous-looking alley. “It’ll be faster than trying to circle the building for the back door once we get there. We can approach from behind instead.”

Ominous or not, it was a solid plan so Shy and Riley followed the redhead in.

“Oh.” Riley’s gasp was a soft exhale of compassion. “Poor thing.”

With each step they got closer and closer to a person hiding behind a huge pile of what looked like construction rubble. Pitiful weeping and unintelligible words could be heard from that direction.

Cheyenne felt her heart clench. She was no stranger to homelessness and poverty. They had more than their fair share where she came from too. However, thanks to movies and the news, Shy had this low level but unshakable—and yes, unreasonable—fear that all homeless people in New York City were knife-wielding lunatics out to steal her shoes. Of course, she also secretly believed that sharks could get her even in swimming pools, so she kept her weird paranoia to herself.

Nevertheless, Shy felt her heart break. The pain was palpable in his soul-wrenching sobs.

Determined to walk by without drawing attention, since she was fairly confident he was back here in search of privacy, Cheyenne and the others quickened their steps. She didn’t see the rebar protruding from the pile until she tripped over it.

“Son of a—”

Sharp, intense and severe pain—the likes of which only happen when you bang your shin or step on a Lego block—brought Shy to all fours. She hardly noticed when the others gathered around to check on her.

Stunned by the sharp throbbing, it took her a full thirty seconds to register that the person crying in the rubble was none other than Miguel Delgado.

“
I
can’t do it
.” Miguel looked right at Cheyenne and felt no surprise whatsoever—it was like he’d been expecting her. “She’s gonna kill me.” He wiped a grimy sleeve under his runny nose like a lost and frightened kid, but he didn’t see scorn on any of the faces surrounding him, like he’d expected. No, these faces showed him nothing but pity. “Aw, fuck,” he amended, “she’s—she’s gonna hate me. But I can’t do it. I c-can’t.”

And like the child he was, he collapsed against her chest and clung while grief and fear and sorrow poured out of him. She should hate him. They all should, for what his family had done, and for what he had set up in that building. Instead, the three women standing in that alley with him were sharing his grief, crying as they gathered close and wrapped their arms around him.

A boy who’d never known the embrace of his own mother, now in his most dire moment, found himself surrounded and embraced by three. As the years of abuse and neglect, anger and pain bled out of him like an open wound, they held him and soothed and murmured words every child should have grown up hearing, but he never had. Until now.

“It’s going to be okay.”

“We’re here now.”

“We can fix it.”

“We’ve got you.”

“You’re not alone.”

“Wait.” Miguel moved to pull back even though he was still losing the battle for control of his tears. His small chest heaved and his bottom lip quivered as he valiantly fought for composure. “I gotta go back. You guys don’t know what I did. I gotta stop it before someone gets hurt!”

Urgency and tension grew in him with each uttered word—an urgency the women seemed to share.

“Let us help,” the redhead told him softly.

“I can’t.” A lock of lank, greasy hair fell over his eyes when he shook his head. Even as one of them brushed it back with gentle fingers, he pulled farther away. “I can’t take the chance you might get hurt. Any of you.”

“Miguel?” Cheyenne didn’t bother to address how she knew who he was, which didn’t surprise him. The situation was beyond that.

“Honey, whatever it is. We can help. You don’t have to do this alone.”

As he continued to shake his head and back away, Cheyenne and the others matched him step for step.

“Can you at least stop moving and tell us what is going on?” The dark-haired one spoke soothingly, as though to a toddler or a cornered animal. In his fragile state, both images fit. Then she firmed her wobbling chin as well as her voice and scolded. “We know it’s probably about Cheyenne here, and probably involves bombs. Tell us now and we will help you fix this before it’s too late.”

Maybe it was the way she tried to sound fierce when the little brunette was anything but scary, but it worked.

“I put ’em in the hotel,” he said in a quiet, shame-filled whisper. Then he took a hold of himself and squared shoulders that felt far too small for the weight of the next words he spoke. “There is one that will definitely blow when I take it out.” His eyes were dry now, as he locked gazes with Cheyenne and spoke about his own death. “Will you call your husband and tell him to clear your hotel? All but one of the bombs has a basic trigger that anybody could figure out. But there’s one that’s foolproof. It’s a small one, I thought I was being a big shot and that even if all the others came down, this one at least would kill the person disarming it.” His eyes filled with tears and shame as he looked Cheyenne face to face and owned up to his actions. “I rigged it for your husband. Thought at least, no matter what, he’ll die for what he did. I was so wrong. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have even come here.” He took a deep, cleansing breath. Confessing felt right, it steadied his resolve and his nerves. “I don’t know for sure what kind of damage it’ll make, but nobody else has to get hurt. But I’ll do my best to make sure it only gets me. Just me.”

“Oh no, Miguel.” Cheyenne and the others surrounded him again.

He stood stoic and brave—at least that was what he intended. His violent shaking betrayed him though, broadcasting his fear in Technicolor. “Nobody is dying today. Nobody.”

“You know, that’s how Faulkner saved me. He can dismantle whatever you set faster and cleaner than you can imagine.”

“And it’s a police convention,” Terryn reminded him. “Whatever poetic justice you thought you were extracting before, now that just works in our favor. The people with the know-how and experience to fix this are already there.” She smiled encouragingly and gave his hair a tug.

Miguel looked from one to the other of them.

Cheyenne watched him struggle with literally life-and-death decisions. And Miguel saw pity in her expression. Not a pity that made him feel ashamed, but one that he took strength from; one that showed him there was kindness and compassion in the world. It only strengthened his resolve to do what was right.

His voice cracked and croaked when he started to talk, the pent-up emotions tangling with the words he needed to speak.

“Okay, but I still have to go. For the one that’s booby-trapped.” His eyes filled anew. “Not even I know how to disarm the thing. So it
has
to be me who does it. I can’t stand back and let someone die because I couldn’t stand up for what’s right.”

When his brave face crumpled to reveal the frightened child beneath, he was embraced once again.

* * *

“
W
hat the
fuck
?” Faulkner watched in baffled disbelief as Shy, Riley and Terryn sprang apart from their huddle around Miguel. Then experienced the feeling multiply when the three of them closed ranks around the kid.

“What in the hell is going on?” He wanted to know.

“Where have you been?” Brice added for good measure.

“We can explain,” Shy told him.

“It’s not what you think,” Riley added.

“He’s just a scared kid, Brice,” Terryn told her husband as he stared at them, dumbfounded.

Then Dude couldn’t understand a damn word as the three women rushed to talk all at once.

Suddenly, all hell broke loose. Miguel turned and ran like he was a fucking Olympic sprinter.

“What the—?” Brice shouted. “Freeze! You little shit, get back here.” And Brice bolted into pursuit.

“I can’t!” Miguel yelled back as he gained distance. Just before he rounded a corner, he shouted, “I’m sorry! Get everybody outta there! I’ll stop what I can. I promise.” And then he flew.

No matter how hard he and Brice pumped their legs, Miguel’s lead on them only grew. “Goddammit!” Brice said and grabbed Faulkner by the arm and slowed them both to a stop. “Hold up. He’s gone. Let’s hope the girls knew what the hell he was talking about.”

They turned and Faulkner was impressed to see all three of the women had joined the impromptu race. Due to shoes chosen for fashion over speed, they were about half a block behind, but not one of them was slowing down, and all looked hell-bent on their mission.

Shy got to him first, but she was too winded to speak and stood with her hands braced on her thighs as she tried to catch her breath.

“He told us the bombs are in the boiler room and where the backup generators are,” Terryn panted as she reached them and wrapped her arms around Brice for a quick but fierce hug. “The hotel needs to be cleared. He says one of the bombs is booby-trapped and it’s going off no matter what.”

“That’s why he ran.” Riley grabbed Brice’s arm as tears fell unheeded down her lovely cheeks. “He says he can’t let anyone die. Anyone but him.”

She turned away from Brice and eyes of liquid brown locked onto Dude’s. Faulkner was not immune to their impact.

“Can you help?” Riley’s voice cracked as she spoke. “He said he made something that can’t be defused. Do you have any SEAL tricks for a situation like this?”

“SEAL tricks?” Shy said with an eye roll. Leave it to his Shy to bring a little light into this dark situation. “Like balance a beach ball on his nose?”

Dude kissed the top of her head and rubbed a soothing circle on her back. He knew she often used humor when she was under pressure. “She’s just kidding, Ry. Bad jokes help her stay calm and keep things in perspective when she’s scared. As it happens, I got a lot of tricks up my sleeve.” He answered Riley while Brice argued with someone on his cell about disrupting his captain’s lecture. “I’ll find Miguel and his booby-trap. Then I’ll do my damnedest to get us both out in one piece.”

Brice hung up and put his phone back in his pocket.

“Since it’s moved from hunch to fact, I went ahead and called it in. We need to move on this, now. Let’s go.”

Both men looked at the women.

“Don’t waste time, honey. Let’s walk while we talk.” And Terryn was off, leaving the others with no choice but to follow. She was right—arguing would obviously get them nowhere and this was an
every second counts
situation.