Marine Force Recon

Chapter Two

Grace Lawrence had been on her way to interview for a job when the attack began and she’d been dragged to the ground and covered by the hulking hunk of a man. Too stunned to resist, she’d lain still, listening to the popping sound of shots being fired and the screams and shouts of women and men as they dove for cover.

All too soon, the man on top of her shifted and shoved his backpack at her, telling her to keep it safe. Left unprotected, she lay as flat to the ground as she could. Afraid of getting shot, Grace remained still for a few seconds after the man had left her with his camouflage rucksack. Gunfire seemed to blast from all around her. Some women continued to scream or sob, while other people fled.

She lifted her head high enough to see an older woman being hauled out of the limousine and shoved toward a white van.

Her gaze scanned the area, searching for the stranger who’d left the rucksack with her. She’d seen him dart toward a vehicle and roll beneath the chassis. Then she’d lost sight of him.

Her heart raced as she considered what could be happening. The man could have left her with a bag full of explosives. She could be holding on to a bomb that was about to blow her and the entire block to hell and back.

She shoved the rucksack away from her, knowing it wouldn’t be far enough. And she couldn’t get up and move...not with bullets flying through the air. Then she spied Mr. Rucksack running from the front of one vehicle to the back of another, edging his way toward one of the men holding a submachine gun. What man would leave a bag full of explosives and then go after an armed shooter, barehanded?

As she watched, the hunky rucksack owner took down the gunman without being noticed, and then dragged the guy out of sight. The next moment, her guy’s feet appeared beneath the carriage of another vehicle, heading toward the white van.

Was he out of his mind? There had to be a dozen gunmen scattered around the vans, limousine and security vehicles. How could one man stop all of those attackers?

Grace pulled the rucksack toward her and clutched it close to her chest. He’d asked her to watch his bag. Hell, he could end up dead before the attack was over. She might hold the only clue to his identity and be called upon to help identify his body.

A shiver ran through her. Grace sent a silent prayer to the heavens that the crazy man trying to stop a deadly attack didn’t die that day. She didn’t want to visit a morgue, and he was too good-looking to leave the world just yet. He deserved to live long enough to grow old and gray and develop a gut and wrinkles. Which would probably look good on him, as well.

When the sirens sounded in the distance, the group of attackers fired off rounds and backed toward the white vans. One of the men held the gray-haired woman at gunpoint, shoving her ahead of him. When they reached the van, the side door slid open and the man and woman were yanked inside.

Remaining attackers fired again and ran toward the second white van at the rear of the limousine.

The van with the woman inside backed away from the limousine and spun around.

At the same time as the side door slammed shut, the back door of the van swung closed. But not before Grace saw who had climbed into the rear of the van.

Her breath caught and held. The man who’d saved her from being mowed down by the gunmen had entered the back of the van.

Had she been wrong? Was he with the bad guys after all? She glanced at the rucksack, afraid to move in case it would explode.

Then the white van veered erratically and gunfire sounded from inside.

“Get up and move!” someone yelled. A hand reached down and dragged Grace to her feet.

Despite her misgivings, she grabbed the rucksack and ran, stumbling away from the commotion.

Police cars and SUVs converged on the street, blocking the other white van. The one her guy was in drove up on a sidewalk.

People scattered.

The van swerved back out onto the road and crashed into a delivery truck, bringing it to a stop.

A police car arrived beside Grace and officers leaped out. One pulled his weapon and aimed at the white van, while the other waved his arms. “Move back. The show’s not over.”

Herded like cattle, Grace and the others caught in the attack were urged to run until they were a full two blocks away from the scene.

The crowd thinned enough that Grace was finally able to stop and turn around.

She waited with the rucksack clutched to her chest, the weight of the bag making her arms ache.

“Lady, move along,” a police officer advised. “You don’t want to get hit by stray bullets.”

Beyond the police officers now blocking the sidewalk and street, Grace could see the white vans had been stopped. The men inside the one farthest away dropped to the ground, hands high in the air.

The other was still for what seemed like a very long time before the door slid open and Mr. Rucksack stepped out and dropped to the ground on his knees. Shortly afterward, the gray-haired woman stepped out with her hands up.

That was him, her rucksack guy. Grace recognized his faded gray sweat jacket and short dark hair.

Grace took a step forward.

A police officer blocked her path. “Sorry, ma’am, I can’t let you go in there.”

“But, that man...”

The officer shook his head. “You’ll have to stay back.”

The SWAT team secured her guy’s hands behind his back and led him to a waiting squad car. A moment later, it sped away.

Grace stared down at the rucksack. Now what was she supposed to do with it?

She found a bench and sat. Holding the bag between her feet, Grace waited for most of the people passing by to clear the area before she opened the bag. Then she drew in a deep breath and unzipped one of the sections. She told herself that if it exploded, she wouldn’t know what happened. It would kill her instantly. Still, she couldn’t help closing her eyes. When nothing happened, she opened them and searched through the interior of one compartment after another. Inside, she found a pair of worn jeans, a couple of T-shirts, several pairs of boxer shorts and a shaving kit. No plastic explosives, sticks of dynamite or detonators were hiding inside the bag.

She pulled out an envelope filled with photographs of men in marine uniforms, fully outfitted with weapons, helmets, rifles and ammunition. They stood in what appeared to be a camp in the desert.

The man who’d entrusted his rucksack with her was military or prior-military. No wonder he’d taken on the attackers like he knew what he was doing.

Her heart squeezed hard in her chest. And the police had treated him like one of the terrorists who’d gunned down innocent men and women.

Grace found a cell phone in a side pouch and touched the power button. Nothing happened. The screen wasn’t cracked, but the battery might be dead. On the outside of the bag, embroidered on a strip of camouflage, was the name O’Neill in bold green letters.

Grace would call the local police station and see what she could find out about the mysterious Mr. O’Neill. For now, all she could do was head home. She’d have to call and reschedule her interview when she wasn’t bruised and dirty from having lain on the ground, crushed beneath a man who’d proven to be a hero.

Slipping one of the rucksack’s straps over her shoulder, she headed for the metro station and caught the train out of the city to Alexandria where she shared an apartment with her roommate from college. Once on the train, she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and searched through the recent calls for the one she’d taken to schedule the interview.

Once she found it, she dialed, lifted the device to her ear and covered her other ear.

“Halverson Enterprises, Margaret speaking,” a woman’s voice came on the line.

“This is Grace Lawrence. I was supposed to interview with Mrs. Halverson today.”

“Oh, yes. I was just about to call and advise you Mrs. Halverson will not be available today. She has been regrettably detained.”

“Oh,” Grace said. “Okay.”

“I’ve been asked to reschedule your interview for tomorrow morning at 8:30 a.m. Mrs. Halverson will see you then.”

“Thank you. I look forward to meeting her.”

“Wait,” Margaret laughed. “You called me. Was there something I could help you with?”

“Oh, thank you but... I was just calling to confirm the interview,” Grace said. Margaret didn’t need to know Grace had called to say she couldn’t make her scheduled appointment.

Grace ended the call and released a sigh. At least she hadn’t blown her chances by being a no-show.

By the time Grace stepped off the train at her stop, the shock of the day had set in. Her knees shook as she walked the few blocks to her apartment complex, and she fumbled with her keys before she could open the front door.

Once inside, she set the rucksack on the floor, kicked off her heels, collapsed on the couch in the living room and dug her cell phone out of her purse.

A text message displayed across the screen.

Leaving work on time tonight. What’s for supper?

The message was from early that morning. Grace had just noticed it. She snorted out a laugh, the sound catching on a sob. What a day. Her roommate, Riley Lansing, wouldn’t believe what had happened to her. Grace would have to wait until Riley arrived at the apartment before she could tell her about it.

In the meantime, Grace needed to find out where O’Neill was and arrange to get his rucksack back to him.

She spent the next hour calling police stations, trying to locate the man, but with no luck. After hitting one brick wall after the other, she set her cell phone aside and wandered into the kitchen, looking for something to eat.

A glance at the clock on the stove made her frown.

Riley had said she’d be leaving work on time, which would have been over an hour ago.

Grace abandoned the refrigerator and retrieved her cell phone from the coffee table in the living room. She texted Riley.

Did you stop at the store?

She waited for Riley’s response. When it didn’t come, she tried again.

Hello? I thought you’d be home by now.

Grace shrugged and headed for the kitchen again. Perhaps Riley had stopped at a store with lousy reception, or her cell phone was buried at the bottom of her purse, or she’d turned off the sound. Riley wasn’t one to say she’d be home on time and then take a lot longer, without calling.

A bad feeling washed over Grace. She tried to shrug it off as residual nerves from the earlier attack in DC. But the longer she waited for Riley, the more worried she became.

Since Grace had moved in, she and Riley were the other’s support system. Grace’s parents had been an older couple when Grace was born and had since passed away. Riley’s folks were on a world cruise and not scheduled to be back for another twenty days.

Grace called Riley’s number and listened to it ring six times before it went to her voice mail. She called again and the voice mail picked up immediately.

She left a message. “Riley, call me. I’m worried about you.”

By midnight she was past being worried and beginning to become frantic. She called the police and reported her roommate as missing.

“How long has she been missing?” the dispatcher asked.

“At least five hours. She’s never late. She texted me this morning, saying she’d leave work on time tonight. Leaving work on time means she would have left more than five and a half hours ago.”

“Could she have stopped at a friend’s house?” the dispatcher asked.

“Not without calling to tell me,” Grace said.

“Where is her last known location?” the woman on the other end of the line asked.

“She was leaving work at Quest Aerospace Alliance.” Grace gave the address and waited.

“We’ll have a unit check it out. If you hear from her, please let us know to call off the search.”

“Thank you.”

The dispatcher ended the call.

The simple act of reporting her friend as missing did nothing to allay Grace’s fears. She couldn’t stay in the apartment, waiting. She had to go out and look for herself. If the police found her in the meantime, they would contact her on her cell phone. She’d have it with her.

Grace scribbled a note to Riley and left it on the counter. If Riley came home while Grace was out, she was to call her immediately.

Grace shrugged into her jacket, grabbed her purse, slipped the Taser Riley had gifted her at Christmas inside the front pocket and left the apartment, heading...

Hell, she didn’t even know which way to go.

Squaring her shoulders, she walked through the dark streets to the train station, her gaze searching the shadows for potential threats. When she reached the metro stop, she climbed aboard the train headed toward Quest Aerospace Alliance. She’d start there and work her way backward, praying she’d find Riley at a bar or hanging out with a friend.

Deep down, Grace knew she wouldn’t. She was Riley’s friend and they didn’t have anyone else they hung out with.

Grace tucked her hand into the pocket of her purse, curling her fingers around the Taser it concealed. Riley had an identical device. She’d been the one who’d often insisted that they needed some kind of protection in the big city.

Grace didn’t feel any safer, but a Taser was better than nothing. She just had to be prepared to use it. Perhaps Riley hadn’t been as prepared. When she found Riley, she’d be sure to ask. Because she would find Riley. Alive.

* * *

DECLAN SPENT TWO hours in a holding room, where he was repeatedly grilled about his part in the attack in downtown DC. Thankfully, he’d had his wallet on him, but the majority of his money was in his rucksack. If...no...when he was released, he only had a five-dollar bill to get something to eat, but no money to get around. He might as well stay the night in the jail. At least he’d get a free meal and a bed to sleep on, out of the cold, rain or whatever the weather was doing outside.

The police had allowed him to make one phone call. When he’d dialed his number, the phone service indicated his phone was not online at that time. Meaning the battery was dead and the woman he’d entrusted all of his worldly goods to had yet to find or charge it.

His one call wasted, he was escorted back to the holding room, where he was questioned all over again by yet another detective.

“What organization are you with?” the detective asked.

“I’m not with any organization,” Declan responded.

“Witnesses reported you were armed with a submachine gun. One like the other attackers carried.”

“I was in the right place at the wrong time. I watched those men kill the security detail surrounding a limousine, and then they kidnapped that woman. While others stood around gawking, I took it upon myself to do something.”

“So, you just waltzed in with your submachine gun and jumped into the back of a van?” The man snorted. “Highly unlikely.”

“I was unarmed. However, I was able to disarm one of the attackers and confiscate his weapon.”

“Convenient.” The detective’s lips pressed into a thin line. “By all accounts, the attackers were highly trained. How is it you were able to relieve one of them of his weapon?”

Declan shrugged. “You obviously aren’t buying anything I have to say. Why should I bother talking to you?” He looked past the detective. “I want to talk to a lawyer.”

The detective glared. “You’ll be talking soon enough.”

Though his hackles rose on the back of Declan’s neck, he stared back at the detective, wiping all emotion from his face. “I’ll talk when I have a lawyer.”

The detective smirked. “You got one?”

“I will as soon as you let me make a call.”

“You had your chance to make a call.”

Declan sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

The detective leaned forward, his lip curling back in a snarl. “Look here, jerk, I have ten dead tourists, nineteen injured, and the DC mayor and the President of the United States breathing down my neck for answers.”

Declan clamped his lips tight. He was done talking.

The door opened behind the detective and an older man in uniform stuck his head in the door. “Solomon, a word with you.”

The detective gave Declan a narrow-eyed glance. “We’re not through here.”

As far as Declan was concerned, they were.

Detective Solomon left the room. A moment later, a different officer entered. “Mr. O’Neill, please come with me.”

Declan rose, fully expecting to be led to the rear of the building and stuck in a cell. His stomach rumbled. He was all for being incarcerated if it meant getting a meal out of it.

Instead, the man led him out of the holding area and back to the front of the building.

A group of men in dark suits stood in a cluster around a woman. She waved them aside and strode toward him, her head held high, her blood-stained clothes worn like a suit of armor.

She was the woman he’d saved from the kidnappers.

“Declan O’Neill?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. That’s me.”

“You have been cleared of any charges. These kind officers are releasing you.” She raised her eyebrows and stared around at the policemen standing by, as if challenging them to say anything different.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“What do you not understand about your being released?” she asked. “I told them that you saved my life and fought valiantly against my attackers, risking your own life to save mine.” She frowned. “I’m appalled they took you into custody to begin with. Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one who witnessed your heroism. Between my account and those of others who were nearby, you’ve been cleared of any wrongdoing.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Please don’t call me ma’am. Makes me sound like your grandmother.” She sniffed. “As well I could be. But that’s neither here nor there. My name is Charlotte, but my friends call me Charlie. I prefer Charlie. And if you don’t have a ride, I would gladly take you anywhere you want to go. And the sooner, the better. It’s almost midnight, and I’ve had a hell of a day.”

“Thank you, Charlie.” Declan squared his shoulders. “I don’t need a ride,” he lied, unwilling to admit he was homeless, possessionless and broke.

“Then we’ll wait until your ride arrives.” The woman looked around, found a chair and promptly sat.

“You don’t have to wait,” Declan said. Appalled that he would be caught out in his lie.

“I want to make sure the police don’t decide to reacquire their prisoner.” She glared at the nearest officer. “He’s not one of the terrorists who attacked me,” she reiterated.

The officer held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not saying he is, but we can’t have a crowd in the building. We have work to do.”

The older woman harrumphed and rose to her feet. “Fine, we’ll wait outside for Mr. O’Neill’s transportation to arrive.” She nodded toward the four men in suits. “Come along.”

Charlie led the way to the exit. Before she could open the door, Declan stepped in front of her. “Let me,” he said.

Charlie smiled. “Such a gentleman.”

“No, ma’am.” He stepped through the door and closed it in her face. After scanning the area around them, he turned and opened the door for her to come out.

She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, a frown wrinkling her brow. She leveled her glare at the men in suits. “You should have gone out first and checked for potential attackers. Instead, you let this young man do it for you.” She flicked her fingers. “You’re all fired.”

The men in suits frowned. One of them stepped forward. “But—”

Charlie held up her hand. “Uh, uh, uh,” she said. “No excuses. You may go home. I won’t be needing your services.” She dug in her purse and pulled out a one-hundred-dollar bill and handed it to the man who appeared to be in charge. “To get you back to your own transportation.”

The man took the bill and left with the other three to find a taxi back to wherever they’d parked their vehicles.

Charlie sighed. “Now what am I supposed to do?” She gave Declan a bright smile. “I don’t suppose you would like to come to work for me, providing my protection?”

A job? Declan didn’t want to appear too needy, but hell, he’d just been offered a job.

“What exactly would it entail?”

“Oh, I don’t necessarily want you to be a bodyguard. However, I’d want you to be in charge of hiring a bodyguard for me, or four or five. I lost three good men today. And two more are in the hospital, fighting for their lives. I’m tired of terrorists getting away with murder, and the authorities are doing so very little about it.

“And after I’m situated with personal protection, I might want you to do a lot more.”

“More what?”

“More making things right where they’ve gone completely wrong.”

He held up his hands. “I’m not into being a vigilante.”

“And I’m not into spending years on red tape and bureaucratic nonsense while good, honest people are taking the fall, literally. Like today. Not that I’m all that good or honest, but what happened shouldn’t have.”

“Why did it happen? What did they want with you?”

“I’m sure they were going to hold me for ransom or some such nonsense. I’m loaded. Everyone always wants to get their hands on my money. Hell, if they asked for it nicely, I’d probably give it to them.” Charlie waved her hand. “You haven’t answered my question. Do you want a job or not?”

He wanted one, even if it was with a slightly deranged older woman. But she had to know the truth about him. “Don’t you want to see my résumé, do a background check, see if I have a criminal record?”

She ran her gaze from his head to his toes. “I’ve seen all I need to see.”

He bristled at her perusal. “I’m not a gigolo.”

She laughed out loud. “Now, that conjures way too many tempting thoughts.” Her smile faded. “Not that you’re hard to look at. But I loved my dearly departed husband completely, despite what the tabloids might have said. I don’t anticipate any man filling his shoes anytime soon, if at all.”

With the possibility of being hired as a sex toy cleared up, Declan still had one more obstacle. “I was dishonorably discharged from the US Marine Corps.” There, he said it flat out. It still hurt to say the words. He’d put his entire life into his career as a Force Recon marine.

Charlie slipped her purse over her shoulder. “I know.”

Declan stared at the woman, shocked. “You know?”

“You don’t think I’d offer you a job if I didn’t know what I was getting into, do you?” She looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“No, ma’am.”

“Charlotte or Charlie. Not ma’am.” She held out her hand. “You’re coming to work for me?”

He hesitated only a moment longer before taking her hand. “Yes, ma’—” he took her hand “—Charlie.”

“How soon can you start?” she asked.

“As soon as you want me,” he said. “Preferably sooner than later. I don’t have a ride and the five dollars in my wallet is going toward a hamburger.”

“Dear Lord, why didn’t you say so?” She nodded toward the parking lot. “I’m hungry, too. I haven’t had a decent hamburger since I hired a French chef. It’s well past time to indulge.” She held out her arm.

Declan gripped her elbow and glanced at the parking lot, where a long black limousine stood, blocking police cruisers into their parking spaces. He chuckled. “I’m surprised you don’t have a handful of tickets on that boat.”

“I left my driver in the driver’s seat for just such an occasion.” She waited for him to open the door before slipping inside. Charlie patted the seat beside her. “I’d feel better if you rode back here with me. Although, you might not want to. My other bodyguards—God rest their souls—didn’t fare well earlier today.” Her smile dipped into a frown. “Those bastards deserve to die for killing my men and all of those innocent bystanders.”