Mia Sheridan - Stinger

Leland grunted in pain as I dragged him with me, my own grunts of exertion mingling with his. I looked behind me and saw a rock big enough that I thought we could both fit behind it, and picked up speed. I rounded the rock a couple seconds later and lay Leland down and collapsed to the right of him, just as a spray of bullets took out a piece of the top of the rock, small pebbles raining down on us as we covered our heads.

Leland looked at me, pale and expressionless and passed out again. I saw more blood coming through his jacket and moved it open with my forearms. Thank God it was unzipped. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I grunted out. He had been shot in the chest too, and the blood was slowly spreading, soaking his shirt underneath. I glanced back down to my mangled hands, so swollen now, they were entirely useless. I leaned over him, putting pressure on the bullet wound with my arms, closing my eyes and picturing the only thing that brought me true calm–the sunrise. In my mind, I pictured it coming up slowly over the horizon, bathing the world around it in light, in hope.

The world swam around me. I heard the sound of a helicopter propeller and more shots rang out, followed by more yelling and another explosion, and then finally, quiet. I looked down. My arms were now entirely drenched in Leland's blood. If he lost much more, he wouldn't survive.

The helicopter landed and I heard footsteps running toward us. "Here," I called out. "He needs a medic." Why did I feel so damn cold and tired? Why did the SEAL kneeling down in front of me look like he was moving further and further back, through a long tunnel? I blinked my eyes, my head feeling heavy on my shoulders. The last thing I heard was, "He's shot too–he's going down." Who? Who was going down? The world went dark.

Three months later, October

Grace

I looked down at the diamond on my finger, smiling a small smile, before picking up the brief that I had been working on.

A small knock sounded at my office door. "Come in!" I called.

The door opened, and Alex came in and shut it behind him. "Hey gorgeous fiancé," he said.

"Hey yourself," I said, smiling, but not getting up.

He came around my chair and put his hands on my shoulders and started massaging them as he leaned down and kissed the top of my head.

"Ahhh," I moaned out. "Don't stop, that feels great."

"You almost done here?" he asked.

I frowned. "Probably not. Another hour?"

"I'll wait. We'll grab a late dinner."

"Okay. I'll come get you when I'm done." I looked back over my shoulder, smiling up at him.

He kissed the top of my head one more time and then headed out the door, closing it behind him.

I glanced back down at my ring again. I was still getting used to seeing it there, as it had only been three days since Alex had proposed.

I leaned back in my chair, thinking of the whirlwind the last three months had been–getting settled in a new job, which I loved, and meeting Alex, my sweet Alex. We had only dated for three months, but as I had told Abby and my sisters, when you know, you know. I was twenty-seven years old. I knew what I wanted. And so when Alex dropped down on one knee during dinner at Joël Robuchon, I had immediately said yes. We hadn't set a date yet, but I was thinking a fall wedding. I looked at my ring for another minute and then I got back to work.

Carson

I threw back the last of my beer and sat it down on the bar in front of me. Leland, sitting to my right, his crutches propped up on the bar next to him, gestured to the bartender for two more bottles.

The bartender put a finger up. "Hold on, man," he said on a smile.

Leland nodded and looked over at me. "Last time I heard those words, I was on a helicopter spouting blood," he chuckled.

I laughed a humorless laugh. "Yeah. Can't say I remember much of that flight."

We were silent for a minute before the bartender put our bottles in front of us. I nodded thanks.

"So, Carson," Leland said, "have you decided if you're gonna take the medical discharge?" He looked over at me cautiously, taking a sip of his beer.

I closed my eyes for a minute. "I think I'm gonna stay," I said, thinking that I was grateful the Navy had given me the choice. Turned out, the bullet wound to my chest had just missed my heart. A centimeter to the right, and I'd have died on the spot. The burns to my hands had all but healed, except for some slight scarring in several places on my fingers and palms, but the nerve damage would take a lot longer. It would be at least a year before I could be trusted to fire a weapon properly. It'd suck to sit at the base cleaning weapons while all my buddies came and went, but that was the way it went. I had no other option.

Leland hadn't gotten so lucky. The internal injuries from the bullet wounds had been repaired, but his leg was fucked up badly enough that he'd been medically discharged, no choice. At least he hadn't lost it though. He'd always walk with a limp, but he'd walk on his own flesh and bone.

Leland nodded, looking like he was deep in thought. Finally, he looked over at me. "Would you make a different choice if you had a job, something meaningful, to go back to?" he asked.

I furrowed my brow. "I'm not worried about finding a job when I get back. Being a SEAL, having that on my résumé, I figure I could do a lot of things. I'll just have to figure out what. You have all that opportunity too, man."

He nodded. "Thing is, I have a built-in job. My father is gonna want me to run the hotel when I get back. I've been thinking a lot though, these last three months man, and I know you have too." He ran his hand through his dark hair. "Shit, about a lot of things–about you saying we needed to do something, Carson. You were the first one to say that." He was silent for another few beats as I nodded, acknowledging that I had said that, and I had meant it.

"If you'll listen to me, I might have a job offer you can't refuse," he said quietly.

I chuckled. "Already have my dream job, Leland. You know that."

He studied me for a second. "Not even for Ara?"

I froze. Now he had my attention. Ara. Sweet Ara. He knew I'd do anything for her. All the guys knew it.

"I'm listening," I said quietly, and he started talking.

Two months later, December

Grace

I walked into my boss's office and smiled at him as I took a seat in the chair sitting on the other side of his desk.

"Grace," he greeted me on a smile.

Lawrence Stewart was the D.A. in Clark County, a large man with kind eyes and an easy smile. He was fair and generally easy to work for, although he could be a little set in his ways. I hadn't found any reason to go up against him yet, but I knew from observation that I should pick my battles wisely.

"How are you, Larry?" I asked. It's what he had asked me to call him the first day we spoke, during my phone interview.

"Good, good. And you? How's wedding planning?"

I smiled. "We haven't even set a date yet. You know, we work for a slave driver."

He laughed, a big belly laugh. "I could probably spare you both a weekend."

I grinned at him. "Okay, then, we'll get on it."

I had initially been nervous to let people at the office know Alex and I were dating, especially since I was new. But at a company gathering, two months after I started, Larry had come up to me and smiled at me warmly as he said, "Alex is a good kid, I'm glad you've found a friend in him."

After that, we still didn't make a show of the fact that we were dating, but I knew that it wouldn't be frowned upon. The whole office had been happy for us when we'd announced our engagement.

It was easy to work with Alex, even though we were engaged too. We didn't live together yet and so that probably helped, but I thought it would be fine when we saw each other both at the office and at home. Alex was easygoing and calm, very go-with-the-flow. In the courtroom, he came across as the trusted boy next door, and his win record reflected that.

Larry sat back in his chair. "Murder two nights ago, Grace. Police found a young girl shot in the head, left on the side of the road near Red Rock Canyon."

I blanched. I could picture the area. I had been there once upon a time...

"Any evidence found at the scene?" I asked.

"Plenty. Police got a print off a bracelet the victim was wearing. And she was holding a rock with blood on it. They ran the print and it came back to," he picked up a piece of paper off his desk and read the name, "Joshua Garner, twenty-eight. He was recently honorably discharged from the Navy–served as a SEAL for almost ten years, and had just started life as a civilian again. Moved here a couple months ago. No family in the area. When the police went to his address to arrest him, they found that he had a head wound that matched the rock the victim was holding. When they tested it, blood on the rock was a match to Mr. Garner. Not to mention, the bullet in the girl, came from his gun. They arrested him yesterday for murder."

I furrowed my brow and tapped the pen I was using to write down the information he was giving me on the legal pad on my lap. This case sounded about as "full-proof" as you could hope to get as a prosecutor. "Is he talking?"