Tactical Force. Elle James
to send home in body bags.
No matter how long he’d been separated from active duty, the images of his friends never faded. Often they appeared in his dreams, waking him from a dead sleep in cold sweat as he relived the operations that had claimed their lives.
He’d get out of his bed, dress and go for a ride on his motorcycle in the stillness of night, letting the wind in his face blow the cobwebs from his memories.
Tonight was different. He’d dreaded even going to bed. Tonight was the anniversary of the death of his high school sweetheart. Yet another reason to lose sleep.
He’d met Kylie in the eighth grade. They’d been together throughout high school and had big plans to go to the same college after graduation.
Though Jack had made it to graduation, Kylie had not. The weekend before the big event, they’d gone to the local mall. Kylie wanted a special dress to wear beneath her cap and gown. Jack had gone with her to help her choose.
That day, a man who’d been dumped by his fiancée days before their wedding had entered the mall, bearing an AR-15 semiautomatic rifle with a thirty-round magazine locked and loaded. Tucked into his jacket pocket was a .45 caliber pistol with a ten-round magazine. He’d come to take out his anger on his ex-fiancée working in a department store. But he didn’t end there. Once he started firing, he didn’t stop until he ran out of bullets in the rifle’s magazine.
Jack and Kylie had just left an upscale dress shop when the bullets started flying. Before they could duck back into the shop or even drop to the ground, the gunman turned the barrel of his AR-15 on them, firing indiscriminatingly.
Jack grabbed Kylie and shoved her to the ground, covering her body with his.
When the first volley of bullets slowed to silence, he looked up.
The rifleman fumbled with another magazine for the AR-15, dropped it and bent to retrieve it.
Jack didn’t stop to think about what he was doing. He lunged to his feet and charged the man before he could reload, hitting him with his best linebacker tackle, knocking him to the ground. The rifle flew from the gunman’s hands, skittering to a stop several yards away.
The man tried to reach for the handgun in his jacket pocket but couldn’t get to it with Jack lying on top of him, pinning him to the hard tile floor.
The mall security cop had dashed to the scene but hadn’t wanted Jack to move for fear the shooter would manage to get to his feet and regain control of his weapon.
The police had arrived shortly after, taking over from Jack.
That was when he’d turned to find Kylie still lying where he’d left her, facedown and unmoving.
She’d taken a bullet straight to her heart and died instantly.
Jack had been devastated.
Her death was the main reason he’d chosen to join the Marines rather than go on to college like many of his classmates. He needed the physical challenge to burn away his anger and the feeling he should have gotten her to safety sooner. He should have done more to save her.
Those deployment nightmares, combined with the traumatic one from his school days, had kept him moving, afraid to stand still for a moment. If he did, the memories overwhelmed him.
He stared at the shadowy figures of the steel soldiers. They were so lifelike Jack felt as if he could fall in step with them and complete the mission.
His heartbeat quickened. As he took a step forward, a vibration against his side brought him back to reality, making him stop.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. The name on the screen read Declan O’Neill.
Jack didn’t hesitate. He pressed the talk button and pressed the phone to his ear. “Yeah.”
“Dude, where are you?” Declan asked, his tone crisp.
“Downtown DC near the war memorials. What’s up?”
“Got a mission for you.”
“Give it to me.” He needed action. Anything to take his mind off the anniversary of Kylie’s death and the loss of his friends in battle. Declan’s call was a lifeline thrown to him in troubled waters. A reminder that he was still among the living, and he had a team of friends to work with.
Declan gave him the address of a pub not far from where he was. “There’s a female there who’s afraid to leave. Someone tried to grab her on her way to the Metro station.”
“What does she look like?” Jack asked.
“Long, straight black hair, blue eyes. Wearing a business suit. Tell her Mrs. Halverson sent you.”
“Got it. I can be there in less than ten minutes.”
“Make it five. The pub is closing. Let us know when you get her to safety.” Declan ended the call.
Slipping his helmet over his head, Jack left the steel soldiers to their mission, mounted his motorcycle and commenced with his own mission. He’d hoped for something more than escorting a damsel in distress home for the evening, but at least it gave him a purpose and something else to think about besides Kylie and dead comrades.
Ignoring the speed limit signs and only slowing for the occasional light, Jack made it to the pub in four minutes. A few men straggled through the door, laughing and shaking hands.
Jack scanned the surrounding area for anyone lurking in the shadows, waiting for a lone woman to step out of the pub and into his path. When he didn’t see anyone or any movement in the shadows, he parked his bike on the curb and entered the pub, passing by a large man standing near the door.
“Sorry, we’re closed,” someone called out from the bar.
“I’m not here for a drink. I’m here to pick up a lady.”
The bartender snorted. “Sorry, we’re closed for that, too. Always. Unless the lady wishes to be picked up.” The man chuckled at his own humor.
A black-haired woman in a dark blazer and skirt slid off a bar stool and faced Jack. Her blue eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed into a thin line. She stood stiff, and silently maintained her distance, looking as if she’d bolt if he made a move toward her.
This had to be the woman he’d been tasked to collect. “Mrs. Halverson sent me,” Jack said.
The woman drew in a deep breath and the stiffness seemed to melt from her frame. “Oh, thank God.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and nodded. “Let’s go.”
“Hey, lady,” the bartender called out. “You gonna be okay?”
She turned toward the man. “I think so.” She smiled. “Thanks.”
Before they left the building, the woman stopped and frowned. “I guess I should know your full name.”
With a half smile, Jack held out his hand. “Jack Snow.”
She took his hand in her smaller, softer one and said quietly, “Anne Bellamy.”
“You want to tell me what happened?”
She handed him her cell phone with an image of a map with the directions painted in a bright blue line. “Not here. Not now. I just want to go home. That map will get you there.”
He shrugged. “Have it your way. My ride is outside.”
When she started to go through the door, he placed his hand on her arm. “Me first.”
Anne nodded and let him go through the door ahead of her.
He stopped on the other side and glanced in both directions, taking his time to be thorough in his perusal of the buildings, alleys and every shadow. When he was fairly certain they were alone, he held out his hand.
Anne placed hers in his and let him guide her to the curb, where his motorcycle