Pamela Clare - Striking Distance

Laura squeezed Javier’s hand. She knew how much he regretted causing Edwards’s death.

“That’s it exactly,” Zach said. “And it almost worked. You played a key role at a critical moment, Corbray. You both played key roles in this. Laura, your insights into what had really happened with Ali Al Zahrani were vital.”

Petras took over again. “From what we can tell, he planned to go into hiding for a while, but then you called and offered to come to him. He didn’t have much time, so he bought gas—we found receipts for a half dozen gas stations—and used what was actually a garage door opener to convince you he had a detonator.”

“A garage door opener?” Laura was astonished. She looked over at Javier. “Did you know it wasn’t a detonator? Is that why you just went ahead and shot him?”

Javier shook his head. “Stupid cabrón had it clutched tight in his hand. I couldn’t see what it was.”

“Thank God it’s all over.” Laura didn’t want to think about it any longer.

“Being on a terrorist kill list is a lifetime commitment,” Petras said.

What did he mean by that?

Javier glared at him. “A month ago you gave her shit for wanting you to take the threats against her seriously, and now you’re telling her she faces a lifetime of this?”

“I don’t know that it’s that grave.” Zach glared at Petras, too. “In the wake of the bombing, various federal agencies that monitor suspected terrorist sympathizers found an uptick in interest in you, Laura. As a result, we’ve upgraded our threat assessment. There’s no immediate danger, but you should continue to take precautions. You have my word that we will stay on top of it.”

Laura refused to let this news shake her. “Thank you, Zach. Thank you both.”

* * *

LAURA AND JAVIER ignored the world for the next two days. No news. No Internet. No e-mail. Javier played his guitar and sang love songs for Laura in Spanish. They talked and laughed and made love with the same abandon they’d known in Dubai. Except that this wasn’t a fling between two people determined to maintain their independence. It was love between a man and a woman who knew how easy it was to lose everything.

* * *

AS MUCH AS Laura tried to ignore it, Sunday came, dawning far too early. She made Javier’s breakfast while he packed, checked in with his flight, and printed his boarding pass. They ate together, Laura doing her best to be cheerful when inside she felt like she was breaking.

She’d vowed to herself she wouldn’t cry. He was returning to his job, a job for which he’d spent his life training, a job few men could do, one that was vital to the security of the nation. How selfish it would be of her to try to hold him back or make him feel worse about leaving by forcing him to deal with her tears. He was a special operator, a SEAL, and loving him meant accepting the fact that he would be gone—and in danger—much of the time.

She drove him to the airport, where Nate was waiting to say good-bye. Javier checked in his duffel bag and guitar case, and the three of them stood talking, the minutes seeming to race by until it was time for Javier to go.

He and Nate embraced, slapping each other on the back.

“Thanks, bro. You’re the best friend a man could have. Do me a favor and watch over Laura, okay?”

“You got it. She’s welcome at the ranch any time.” They shook hands. “Happy hunting, Corbray. Damn, it was good to see you.”

“I’ll be back.”

Nate glanced over at Laura, raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you will be.”

And then it was time for Laura to say good-bye.

She sank into Javier’s embrace and held him tight, savoring the precious feel of his arms around her. She turned her face up to his and kissed him, unable to hold back her tears. “Promise me you’ll do everything you can to stay safe. I love you, Javier Corbray. My world wouldn’t be whole without you in it.”

“I promise.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “I don’t know when I’ll be in touch again, but you’ve got my numbers. I’ll answer e-mails when I can and call you whenever I get the chance. If you need anything, call Nate or McBride.”

She nodded, sniffed, tried to smile.

He ducked down, kissed her. “I love you. Remember that, okay? No matter what, bella, you remember that.”

Laura nodded, then watched, her heart aching, as he turned and walked away.

Two months later

JAVIER CROUCHED DOWN, his suppressed HK416 raised and ready, NVGs giving him a clear view of the darkened street beyond. He watched for motion, for any sign that they’d been noticed, covering for Ross as he placed an explosive charge on the locked front gate. They took cover.

BAM!

A dog across the street barked, roused by the blast.

The gate swung open.

They moved swiftly and silently toward the front door, the men lining up on either side, staying out of the line of fire.

Javier tested the handle, found it unlocked. He nudged it open and caught a glimpse of an empty hallway.

He entered, Desprez and the rest of the team following him in a tight line. They cleared room after room, finding mostly sleeping women and children, Javier making a mental inventory of people old enough to offer resistance—men, women, older boys.

They found him in a room upstairs. He lay asleep on the floor on a bed of cushions, an AK propped against the wall near his head, a young woman sleeping beside him—one of his wives. Javier confiscated the AK and handed it to Reeves, who was watching his six with Tower, the rest of the team downstairs to cover their exfil route.

Javier moved in on the bastard and jabbed him in the head with the tip of his suppressor. “Wake up, motherfucker.”

Salman Al-Nassar’s eyes opened, and he sat bolt upright, staring wide-eyed at Javier, reaching for the missing AK and muttering something in Arabic.

“Look at him,” Javier said to Tower. “It’s a nightmare—and it’s real.”

Tower barked something at the bastard in Arabic.

Javier stuck with English. “I know you understand me, so listen very carefully. We don’t want to hurt any of the women or children here, but if you fuck with us, we’ll take this place apart—starting with you. Have I got your attention?”

Salman nodded, sweat beading on his forehead. “Yes.”

“You know why we’re here?”

The man nodded again. “You came for the girl.”

“Wake the woman. Tell her to be quiet. Send her to get the girl.”

The man shook the woman beside him and woke her, covering her mouth to keep her from screaming. She stared wide-eyed up at Javier as her husband spoke in rapid Arabic. She climbed out of bed and hurried past Javier and out the door, her long, dark hair hanging down her back, Tower following behind her.

Salman glared at Javier. “My brother is going to be a martyr.”

“Your brother is a murdering, raping terrorist asshole. He’s going to rot in hell. Keep talking, and I’ll make sure you join him.”

From somewhere nearby, he heard a woman cry out.

And then Tower was there, a sleeping toddler in his arms, dark hair spilling over the blanket, her little face so much like Laura’s that Javier didn’t need a DNA test to know this was Klara.

A woman appeared in the doorway, a distressed look on her face. She spoke in Arabic to the man, who hissed at her. She fell silent.

Javier walked over to her. “Safiya?”

Her eyes went wide.

He held his rifle against her chest and glared down into her face, letting the full force of the hatred he felt for her come through. He asked Tower to translate. “Tell her that this little girl was never hers to take or hold. Tell her that it is only for the sake of her children that I don’t pull this trigger right now.”

Tower translated, but the translation went on so long that Javier was pretty sure the man had added a few thoughts of his own.

Trembling, Safiya sank to the floor, terror on her face.

Javier turned back to Salman. “This ends here, dawg. You or any of your terrorist buddies try to harm Laura Nilsson or her baby girl, and I will personally hunt you down and rip your balls off. Got that?”

Salman nodded.

Javier turned to Tower and Reeves. “Time to go.”

* * *

LAURA BENT DOWN so that Karima Al Zahrani could kiss her cheeks.

“You have restored Ali’s memory, Laura. Please know that you are always welcome in our home.”

“Thank you.” Laura forced the words past the lump in her throat. “It was the least I could do.”

Laura had spent the past few weeks putting together a feature package about Ali—his life, his dreams, his accomplishments—her way of helping Denver face the murder of an innocent young man whom most had been only too hasty to condemn. The article, which Laura had felt deeply driven to write, had finally run in today’s paper. She’d called Karima and Yusif to ask whether she could drop a copy of the edition by their house and had arrived to find their entire family gathered together. When they’d invited her to stay for dinner, she hadn’t been able to refuse.

It was a balm to her heart to see smiles on their faces.

Yusif offered her his right hand. “Thank you, Laura. You are a woman of good heart. Ma’salaam.”

Farewell.

“Thank you. And farewell.”

Then Hussein Al Zahrani, Ali’s uncle, stood. A proud man and devout, he did not offer to shake her hand. Instead, he stood before her, a sheen of tears in his eyes. “As Ali was my nephew, so you are my niece, Laura. If there is anything you need, call upon me. I will help you if I can. Inshallah.”