Homefront Defenders, page 5
“Good to hear.” He motioned to Locke. “Stick with the director, he’ll look out for you.” Alana nodded. What else could she do? He thought she needed Locke to look after her.
Locke said, “That’s actually what I wanted to speak with you about, sir.”
The governor of Hawaii broke off what she’d been saying to the person beside her and glanced at Locke and Alana, like Why are these people important? Alana resisted the temptation to smirk. That just wouldn’t be professional, and neither would accidentally tripping the woman like she was imagining. Not that Alana had a vindictive streak, she just had a serious problem with anyone who considered others beneath them.
The president nodded in reply to Locke’s statement. “Director Matthews filled me in on everything that happened today on the way here.” He glanced to her, including her in his statement. “I can’t believe some random beach bum would try to hurt you, Agent Preston.”
Alana couldn’t answer. She was stunned, but was it Matthews who’d told the president it was random, or was that the conclusion the president had drawn himself?
Locke said, “Sir—”
“Make that appointment with my aide, James.” The president motioned to the governor to continue on and gave Alana a compassionate smile as he moved away.
The aide paused long enough to say, “Seven thirty tomorrow morning.”
Locke didn’t look happy, but he nodded anyway. She knew he liked his morning routine, whether they were in the White House or Hawaii or anywhere else in the world. She’d seen him with his coffee, reading his Bible. Fact was, he probably just didn’t want to wait until tomorrow, and Alana wasn’t that happy about it, either.
Director William Matthews strode over, wearing sunglasses and the same earpiece with the clear coiled wire they all wore with their suits. The older man’s hair was silver and shined as brightly as his shoes. His tie was red because it was Thursday—Alana had figured that out after the first month.
“Let’s go, Patricia.” William nodded toward the president. The aide turned and scurried along beside him.
Alana glanced around again. Why did it feel like she was being watched? Likely there were multiple sets of eyes on her—Secret Service, local police and residents there to spot the president. Now that he’d moved through the area, they could take a break. The team who traveled with the president were tasked with his protection and kept a short distance from him. Director Matthews brought up the rear with the aide, Patricia.
Alana hung back with Locke, the rest of their team around them. Nothing to do for the rest of the evening but field phone calls and man the office they’d created in a hotel conference room. She sighed. This was the team she was on, and if she wanted to get out of the rookie seat, she had to prove she was a team player. Too bad surfing was usually only a one-person sport.
“Okay?”
His question jerked her from her thoughts. Alana pasted on a smile. “Fine.” The sweat hadn’t let up. Her palms were sticky. What was wrong with her? She glanced around again. Staring. Locke’s attention was on her, but there was something else.
“You’re not fine.”
Alana kept her gaze moving. “Someone…”
“You feel it, too. I thought it was just the president’s arrival, but maybe it’s something else.” He shifted closer to her. “Your instincts may very well be spot-on. Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“Like I’m being watched.” She shook her head. “I mean, we are being watched.”
“You said I, and that’s fine. It might be important. Someone targeted you this morning. Tried to kill you. Your instinct is telling you it’s you that’s in danger, not us in general as Secret Service agents. That instinct isn’t a bad thing.”
She heard the edge in his voice, but he didn’t look at her. Logically she knew he cared. Probably because if she was killed it would be a pain to fill out all those incident reports and then find someone to replace her. Fine, he’d probably cry at her funeral. Or at least get a little teary. Afterward he’d go back to work, though. That was Locke.
“Alana? Someone tried to kill you, remember?”
“You think I forgot?” Alana turned. Too late she realized she’d twisted her torso without moving her hips and shoulders at the same time. Pain sliced through her middle, and she groaned.
“Easy,” Locke said.
Alana hung her head, hands on her abdomen as she sucked in the fresh air of home. They needed to follow up with the cops, find out how her sister could be linked to the sniper and why a yakuza soldier had tried to kill her this morning. She had a whole lot of questions, and while getting answers wouldn’t make her stomach stop hurting, it would help them get to the bottom of this.
“She okay?” one of the team asked.
Locke set his hand on Alana’s shoulder. “She will be.” He gave it a squeeze. “Let’s go, Preston.”
Time to suck it up. Alana straightened. “I’m good.” Her stomach flipped over. She took a step, and her knees buckled.
Locke grabbed her elbow. “Let’s get you to the car, and then we’ll get some food in you.”
Alana nodded. “I know a place. It’s not far from here.”
*
“It’s right here.”
“The restaurant?” Locke slowed the car to a crawl past the fourplex in a complex of buildings that were all exactly the same. Still, these looked like they were on the higher end of the rental spectrum. The cars outside were nicer, but that was hardly a gauge of upward mobility. So many low-rent, low-income neighborhoods had parking lots full of brand-new cars.
He pulled up to the curb and put the SUV in Park.
“That’s my sister’s place.” Alana motioned to one of the units, all lit by street lights. “Upstairs, left side. Lights are out, so she probably isn’t home. The car that’s registered to her isn’t here.”
“Any reason why you couldn’t just tell me we were going to stop by your sister’s on the way to eat?” He wanted to say more, but the woman was seriously flagging. She’d deflated onto the seat, and though she’d thought he wasn’t watching, he’d seen her take painkillers. Why did she feel the need to hide it?
Alana’s attention didn’t leave her sister’s apartment. Locke said, “Do you want to go knock on the door?”
She bristled. “No, I’m sure she’s not there.”
“Did you try to call her again?”
“Sure. A couple of times.” Alana’s face gave nothing away.
“I know you’re not close.” He didn’t know what else to say. “I could go knock on the door, if you want.”
“No!” She didn’t even hesitate.
“Okay.” Locke studied her. Maybe this was all because she’d had a long, rough day. They both needed rest—but they needed food first. “So is there a restaurant?”
Alana told him where it was. Locke entered it on the GPS, which came up with the name. Not a chain restaurant—this seemed more like a hole-in-the-wall diner. “Is this place good?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Of course it’s good, and the coffee is thick enough it’ll put hairs on your chest.”
There was no way he was going to let that throwaway comment go by. “Because I…”
A tiny smile played at her lips. “It’s a dumb expression, but you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
He drove to the restaurant, aware of her attention on him in his peripheral vision. When they pulled into a space outside, he said, “Okay, do I have mustard on my face or what?”
“Sorry.” She shifted in her seat. “You just seem…I don’t know, relaxed?”
“As opposed to uptight?”
“Locke—”
“It’s fine. I know what everyone says about me.” Uptight was the least of it, so he didn’t blame her for being weirded out. He had let his guard down since they left the airport. The harder part of their trip was over, but something had changed between them today.
“I shouldn’t have made it obvious.”
Locke shook his head. “It’s okay, Alana.” Her face softened at his use of her name. “It’s been a long day, and no one can keep their guard up forever.” Though he could see her still hanging on for dear life to her solid plan of proving herself, sooner or later she was going to have to admit that getting attacked that morning had rocked her.
He’d thought she would do it at the airport, when she’d nearly collapsed. But she’d soldiered on. Locke admired her tenacity. Alana was determined to get everyone to see her as a capable Secret Service agent. But she also needed to know when to accept help. She wasn’t a one-woman task force—they had to be able to rely on each other, and not just as a backup plan.
But this wasn’t about work. Today had changed them. He’d pulled her out of the ocean bleeding and not breathing. Locke had chased her attacker from the scene and then from Beatrice’s house after he’d successfully murdered the old lady.
Locke had been bested, and Alana had been hurt, and there was nothing he could do to change either of those facts. What he could do was make sure it never happened again. And that started with both of them being on their game.
He grabbed the door handle. “Food, coffee. Sleep. The cops are searching for Brian Wells and his yakuza associate. Tomorrow we’ll figure all this out. Sound good?”
Alana nodded. She got out first, so Locke brought up the rear just because deliberately passing her would be too awkward. Cars drove past, and music poured from a bar two doors down. People talking, laughing—the night crowd had come out.
The windows of the restaurant were wide, and the orange light from within illuminated the busy tables. Nearly every one of them was occupied by someone, most by two or three people. A couple of families. Half a dozen of the patrons were uniformed police, and Locke figured at least three of the men eating in plain clothes were detectives or off-duty officers.
Alana reached the door. He caught her gaze and said, “This is a cop restaurant.”
She didn’t rub in the fact she’d surprised him, but neither did she react like this might be a ruse and she was mad he’d figured it out.
Locke said, “We’re not here to eat, are we? Or we’re not here just to eat, at least.” Was she going to take a break ever?
Alana didn’t answer; she simply wandered inside. A red dot on the door frame caught his eye. As quickly as he saw it, it disappeared. Had it been his imagination? Locke glanced around at businesses across the street. Rooftops. Hair pricked on the back of his neck, but no lone gunman sat waiting for his moment. Locke shook off the feeling and followed her in. Probably he hadn’t seen anything, and he was just amped up, riding on adrenaline from the crazy day they’d had.
Alana spoke with a couple of uniformed officers and then sat on a stool at the counter. Locke wandered over just as the waitress flipped two mugs upright and filled them with thick black coffee. He was going to be awake all night if he finished that.
The waitress tossed menus on the counter. Locke said, “Thanks,” but she’d already moved away. He glanced at Alana.
She gripped her menu and stared at it with her eyebrows raised. “So, the president calls you James, does he?”
“Only when he feels he needs to chastise me.”
“If it pleases your honor, let the record state that I didn’t even know that was your name.”
Locke laughed and she glanced at him, a gleam of humor in her eyes. He said, “So noted.”
“James Locke.”
Boy, he liked the way that rolled off her tongue. So he used his spy-enchanting-a-lady voice and said, “Alana Preston.”
It was her turn to laugh. She cleared her throat, and Locke spotted the smallest of blushes pinking her cheeks. He looked at his menu to try to diffuse some of whatever this was between them. He had to brush it off, or she’d know it was a thing. It wouldn’t help them if they lost focus and drifted off the map into feelings territory instead of spending their time figuring out why someone had tried to kill her that morning, and what it had to do with her sister.
Alana couldn’t know he cared about her enough that seeing her get hurt had rocked him. His reaction had torn down a wall—surprising him as much as it seemed to surprise her. She couldn’t know it was because he was attracted to her. That wasn’t going to help him keep the president safe.
Locke looked up from his menu. Next to the opening to the kitchen where plates were being delivered to the waitress, was a wall of framed photos.
“Four down, three across.”
Locke counted frames. Four down, three across was a picture with an ’80s feel to it—two men in suits and a little girl. Dark hair down to her waist, the girl smiled wide as she leaned against one of the men. “Is that…”
“That’s me. Kaylee had dance class, so we came in for pie before we had to go pick her up. She was so mad she never got on the wall.”
Locke set his menu down. The waitress made her way back over and refilled Alana’s already empty coffee. He’d barely touched his.
“What can I get ya?”
Alana said, “I’ll take a—”
The front window smashed. Bang.
Bang.
Bullets flew, the sound of shots like fireworks popping. Between each was a split second of deathly silence. No one moved, every patron too shocked to speak.
Bang. Someone screamed.
Locke pushed off the rungs of the stool, slammed into Alana, and they hit the floor with him covering her.
SIX
Locke’s elbow smarted. His ears rang over the distant sound of men yelling. Cops sprang into action as drywall dust settled around them, and Locke rubbed the grit from his eyes. Alana lay beside him on the tile floor, her eyes shut for the second time that day. He hated doing it, but Locke pressed his fingers against her neck.
When he felt her pulse thump under his fingertips, Locke swiped them across her jaw. She looked so much younger, and all those protective feelings he’d discovered that morning swelled to life again. He was not going to let her die.
Alana’s eyes flew open, and she sucked in a breath.
“Easy.” Locke looked her over. There was no blood, as neither of them had been injured, but the spots of red on her shirt—over where she’d been cut that morning—weren’t good. The wound was bleeding again. “Don’t move until I get someone to come look at you.”
An officer—Joe Morton from that morning—crouched by them. “You guys okay?”
Locke nodded.
“I’m good.” Alana started to get up.
“Easy,” Joe said. “Maybe you should stay there until we can get you checked out.”
She shook her head. “Save it for someone who really needs it.”
Locke supported her as she sat up. If she’d tried to stand, he’d have pulled rank and made her stay sitting, but thankfully he didn’t have to.
Joe got up and walked away, and Locke surveyed the room. The ringing in his ears had stopped. Bullet holes peppered the walls. One man was down—a plainclothes cop, badge on his hip—and two EMTs were there already. Across the room a uniformed officer helped another to his feet, blood running from a nasty gash on his temple. It was a lot of carnage for a sniper. A wide smattering of bullet holes and no one dead yet—though the EMTs were scrambling. They lifted the man and raced out with a handful of officers surrounding them.
Had this been a targeted attack and all this was simply collateral? If the shooter had been aiming for Alana, he hadn’t done a good job. In fact, shooting up a busy restaurant was a really bad way to try to kill Alana. If this was their sniper, Brian Wells, he was either rusty or just trying to send a message to them.
Alana hissed and touched her abdomen. “That smarts.”
“We should have a doctor look at it.”
She waved off his concern with her other hand. “I’ll be fine, I just jarred it when you landed on me.”
“Sorry for saving your life.”
She pressed her lips together. “That’s not what I meant.” Still, tears filled her eyes.
“Hey.” Locke touched her cheek.
Alana looked at him like he’d grown two heads. “You’re softening the blow. You’re going to report all of this, and it’s going to go in my file that you saved me and I didn’t even do anything.”
“Of course I’m going to write a report,” he said. “But what does it matter that I moved first?”
“Because I didn’t do anything. I didn’t react fast enough.” The tears gathered and threatened to spill over. She touched her stomach again and winced.
“It isn’t a competition. Of course I was faster,” he said. “Do you know how long I’ve been a Secret Service agent?” When she didn’t answer, he continued, “At this point I just about flatten my nephew on the driveway when the fireworks go off on the Fourth of July. It’s a reflex, and I do it without thinking. I’m just worried I hurt you. I’m pretty heavy.”
“But why didn’t I grab you and dive? What’s wrong with me?”
“Alana—”
“No, I want to know. I’ve had the same training as you. Why didn’t I dive to the floor? I didn’t even react.”
She really thought that was a problem? After the day they’d had? “You were injured this morning, and we’ve been on since then. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Alana shook her head.
He didn’t let her argue. “No, listen to me. This isn’t a training exercise. Nothing that happened today is anything you were prepared for. You reacted perfectly adequately.”
“I don’t want adequate.” She lifted her gaze. “I want to be as good as you.”
“You will be.” His heart warmed with the thought that she’d aspire to be like him, but Locke wasn’t anything special. “In time, you will be. But right now you need to give yourself a break. You need rest.”
“You’re going to write this up, and I’ll look bad.”
_preview.jpg)
