Surrender at Dawn

Published by Laura Griffin

Copyright 2011 Laura Griffin

Cover by Rae Monet, Inc. Designs

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at laura@lauragriffin.com.

All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author's imagination.

www.lauragriffin.com

Chapter One

Phuket, Thailand

2200 hours

Jack’s senses went on alert, and it only took a glimpse at the mirror behind the bar for him to know why. The woman making her way through the scattered rattan tables and chairs was American, clueless, and on a mission, and the combination tripped an alarm in Jack’s brain.

He eyed her from beneath the brim of his Dodgers cap as she approached the counter. She claimed the empty stool three down from his and tucked one of those yellow corkscrew curls behind her ear. Then she flashed the bartender a smile.

“I’m looking for John Brenner, of Brenner Aviation.”

Kai responded with a blank look, and she leaned closer to him.

“Do you speak English?”

Kai nodded.

“I’m looking for John Brenner,” she repeated, and Jack caught the Southern drawl in her voice. “He’s a pilot. American. I was told he hangs out here?”

Jack savored one last swill of beer. He plunked the bottle on the bar, and the noise caught her attention. She cast a glance in his direction, did a double-take, then slowly turned to face him.

“Mr. Brenner?” She slid off the barstool and walked over.

“Who’s asking?”

She held out a hand, and he glanced down at the French manicure. It went well with her loose-fitting white shirt and snug designer jeans. Heeled sandals, too. Jack would bet his Cessna she’d stepped off a plane from the States just this afternoon.

When it became clear he wasn’t going to shake her hand, she rested it on her hip. “I’m Charlotte Whiteside. I need your services.”

He looked her up and down, hoping she’d read the intention behind his gaze.

She cleared her throat. “You fly seaplanes, is that right?”

“I fly lots of things.”

“I need you to fly me to an island not far from here.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Ko Aroon.”

Kai’s hand stilled on the tap. Every pair of shoulders at the bar tensed.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of it,” she went on. “It’s supposed to be one of the best dive spots in Thailand.”

Jack slid his empty Singha across the counter and stood up. “It’s not on my route,” he said.

“I’d like you to put it on your route.”

He gazed down at her, and she didn’t act the least bit intimidated by his size, although he knew she was. Despite the ballsy attitude, he could tell Charlotte Whiteside wasn’t comfortable in this seedy watering hole surrounded by leering men.

“Sorry, sweetheart. No can do.”

“I’m prepared to pay you well.”

Jack traded looks with Kai as he took out his wallet and left some baht on the bar.

He put a hand on her shoulder and felt her muscles stiffen. He leaned close, but kept his voice just loud enough for the barflies on either side of them to hear.

“How ‘bout we go back to your place,” he said, “and I’ll show you exactly where I can take you?”

Confusion filled her brown eyes. He squeezed her shoulder--much too hard--and understanding seemed to dawn.

“All right.” She smiled up at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Lead the way.”

John Brenner was tall and muscular, and looked exactly like Charlotte had expected, except for the meanness. She hadn’t expected a decorated veteran and a former Navy SEAL to have that meanness about him. And despite his warm hand at the small of her back, she knew as he steered her out of the bar that he couldn’t stand her.

Three paces onto the busy sidewalk, he turned to face her.

“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a shithole like that?”

She gazed up at him as taxis and motorcycles and rickshaws rushed by. She hadn’t imagined it. He really, truly disliked her, and they’d only just met.

This was going to be much tougher than she’d thought.

“Listen, Mr. Brenner--”

“It’s Jack,” he snapped. “And if you have a brain in that pretty head of yours, you’ll get your butt back to the Two Palms, where you belong.”

She glanced up and down the street. Bars, strip clubs, and massage parlors, as far as the eye could see. She looked up at him again. “How’d you know I was staying at the Two Palms?”

“Lucky guess.” He slung a leg over the nearest motorcycle and gave her a hard look. “Get on. I’ll take you.”

She stared at him, all broad shoulders and Levis and bad attitude. He was a dangerous man; she knew that for a fact. It was crazy to trust him. But almost everything she’d done in the past forty-eight hours--starting with leaving her job in the middle of a workday and catching a flight to Thailand--was just as crazy.

Charlotte looked at the motorcycle. She glanced at a nearby doorway, where a man she recognized from the bar now stood smoking a cigarette and watching her from the shadows.

“Get on,” Jack repeated.

She met his gaze. Then she threw her leg over the back of his bike and settled in.

The engine growled, and they lunged into traffic. He sped through streets and alleys and black puffs of car exhaust. Charlotte’s hair whipped into her eyes, but she didn’t dare let go to push it aside. Instead, she tucked her forehead against his back and clutched his waist, trying not to cling too tightly as he dodged in and out of cars. She was close enough to smell him over all the exotic smells of the city--male heat and sweat and that vague, indefinable scent she hadn’t smelled in a long time.

He took a corner, and her hands and thighs clutched tighter. She peeked up as they sped through a narrow alley, then turned onto another congested street. Moments later, they were on a two-lane highway flanked on either side by coconut trees. She closed her eyes as he leaned into the curves--left, then right again, then suddenly a sharp left. Her eyes popped open and they were on a familiar driveway lined with bougainvillea. He glided up to the beveled glass doors of her hotel and cut the motor.

She unclenched her hands from his T-shirt and realized they were trembling. Her knees were trembling, too, and she didn’t know whether it was the place or the man or the thing she was about to do, but Charlotte felt rattled, right down to her bones.

What now? Was she supposed to invite him up to her room and persuade him to take her to Ko Aroon? Just two days ago, such an idea would have been unthinkable.

At this moment, she was thinking about it.

Her throat went dry as she pictured herself taking her clothes off for this man. That’s what he’d insinuated… wasn’t it? That if she’d sleep with him, he’d take her where she wanted to go? It was, and yet… as she looked into his face now, she saw nothing but loathing.

“Stay away from Aroon Island,” he said.

“But--”

“Yeah, it’s one of the best dive spots around. It’s also been taken over by dirtbags who would like nothing better than to get their hands on a blond American traveling alone. Get out your travel guide and find someplace else to play.”

“But I need to--”

“Stay away,” he said, and roared off.

Charlotte awoke with the sun in her eyes and the unmistakable feeling that she wasn’t alone. She sat up and blinked across the ocean of her king-size bed.

She jerked the sheet up. “How did you get in here?”

Jack Brenner stared at her from across the room, arms folded over his chest. “You didn’t tell me you knew Mark Colter.”

She pressed back against the headboard as he came to stand at the foot of the bed. “Would it have made a difference if I had?”

“Mark and I went through BUD/S training together,” he said, as if that answered her question.

“How…” She shook off the grogginess and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Eight fifteen. It must be the jet lag. She’d never felt so out of it.

Jack just stood there, watching her.

“How did you find out about Mark?”

“Simple background search,” he said. “You’re from Lazy Springs, Texas. It’s a small town. You two graduated high school a year apart.”

She brushed her hair out of her eyes and looked at him. Something had changed since last night. The hostility was still there, but he’d come back, which could only mean one thing.

“So… will you help me?”

His gaze drifted down, and she adjusted the sheet again. Then his gray eyes met hers, and they were hard as stones. She wondered how many men had looked into those eyes and hadn’t lived to see another day.

“What’s on Ko Aroon?” he asked. “And don’t give me some bullshit about the coral.”

Charlotte paused a moment, trying to remember how she’d planned to explain herself. Jack was a straightforward man, so she decided to go with simplicity.

“I’m looking for my brother.”

“How’d your brother get mixed in with a bunch of two-bit mercenaries?”

“I don’t know. He’s a reporter. I can only assume he’s following a story.”

He let out a stream of curses. But with every word that spewed from his mouth, Charlotte relaxed a little because she knew it meant he was going to help her.

He grabbed the terrycloth robe off the chair beside him and tossed it at her. “Get dressed,” he said. “Meet me at the marina across from the hotel in ten minutes.”

He moved for the door.

“But where are we--”

“Pack light,” he added, as he jerked shut the door.

She stared after him in shock. They were going somewhere in his plane. He was taking her to Ko Aroon.

Charlotte scrambled out of bed and pulled on the robe. She went to the safe in the closet and, with shaky fingers, entered the code. It was her brother’s birthday. Tears stung her eyes as she punched the numbers.

Hang in there, Davey. I’m on my way.

She grabbed the stacks of bills--all the money she’d been able to withdraw on a Wednesday afternoon on short notice--and shoved them into the small black backpack she’d bought at DFW Airport. She’d chosen the bag because it was sturdy and came with a padlock.

Charlotte glanced around her room, feeling the adrenaline coursing through her system now. They were going. Finally. She was doing something, and action was always better than inaction.

She spent about five seconds in the bathroom, barely taking time to splash water on her face. She dressed quickly in khaki shorts and the white button-down she’d worn yesterday. It was wrinkled, but it was made of linen and she needed an airy fabric in the stifling tropical heat. She shoved her feet into sandals, dropped a change of clothes and a few toiletry items into the backpack, and rushed across the street to the marina. There, she saw fishing boats and dive boats and tour operators milling about, but no six-foot-three former SEALs.

She did, however, see a seaplane. It was a small and silver, and as she neared it, she discerned the words BRENNER AVIATION stenciled across the side.

“You’re late.”

She jumped at the voice and turned around. Jack brushed past her on the dock, his arms loaded down with wooden crates. She trailed him down a rickety pier to his plane. He wore cargo shorts, sport sandals, and a drab olive T-shirt that stretched taut across the muscles of his back. He ducked through the doorway of the tiny aircraft, and Charlotte stood on the dock as he loaded the crates. He reappeared and held a hand out for her backpack.

“That can go in with the cargo.”

Her fingers tightened on the shoulder straps. “I’ll hang onto it, thanks.”

His expression darkened, but he didn’t comment. She moved closer to the plane and took a tentative step up the ladder. Jack clamped a hand around her elbow and practically lifted her aboard. Charlotte glanced around. There were several jump seats in back, but they were folded up to make room for crates of produce and cases of wine from New Zealand.

Charlotte lowered herself into the only available seat, which was up in the cockpit. Defying the laws of physics, Jack squeezed his immense body into the seat beside her. He reached over to fasten her harness. His knuckles brushed the tops of her thighs as he yanked the strap, and she flinched. When he met her gaze again, his cool gray eyes looked amused.

She turned to face the window. “Where, exactly, are we going?”

He ignored the question as he began flipping switches and jabbing at the controls. Then he put on a headset and started talking with someone over the radio.

Conversation time had ended, apparently. Charlotte busied herself taking in scenery as they maneuvered away from the pier and across the lagoon. The engine changed pitch as Jack turned the plane to face the mouth of the harbor and the western horizon stretched out before him.

“You ready?”

She glanced at him and nodded.

He shifted the controls, and an invisible force flattened her against the seat, and then they were speeding across the water’s surface. Her stomach dropped as they suddenly lifted into the air and the only thing she could see was sun-drenched sky.

After a few long moments, they leveled off. Charlotte gazed down at the azure water, the white shoreline, the emerald-green coconut groves. The blue became darker as they gained altitude and moved out over the ocean.

Charlotte’s heart pounded. She stole a glimpse at the man beside her and marveled at his perfectly relaxed features. This was routine for him, just a regular morning. She wondered what he must think of ordinary people who spent their days in office buildings and SUVs and subway cars, caught up in the endless rat race of American life.

He handed her a headset. She put it on and the snug cushions over her ears blocked out the engine noise.

“Tell me about your brother.” His voice came through to her, and it no longer sounded as hostile as before. He was on board now. They were in this together, and he probably wanted as much information as he could get so he could perform his mission.

And yet he hadn’t said a word about payment. She cast a tentative glance at him. Would he accept money from her, or would he want something else?

“Davey’s a year younger than I am,” she told him. “He and Mark were best friends growing up.” She looked out the window at the shimmering ocean below. They passed over a tiny island covered in palms, and she pictured Mark and Davey as kids playing G.I. Joe in the woods behind her house. It seemed ironic now that Mark had gone on to become the real deal, while Davey had become a roving reporter.

“Last I heard,” she said, “he was in Kandahar, Afghanistan, covering the war for an online news site. Ten days ago he posted a comment on Facebook, saying he was onto something ‘big’ and that he was hopping a flight to Phuket. One of his friends told me he sent him an e-mail mentioning Ko Aroon. That was the last anyone’s heard from him.” Charlotte’s chest tightened as soon as the words were out.

“Ten days isn’t a lot of time.”

She glanced at him. “It is for Davey. Our mother was diagnosed with lung cancer a year ago. He calls home every few days to talk to her, see how her treatment’s going. But in ten days we haven’t had a word, and I’ve left him dozens of urgent messages.”

Jack glanced at her, his face unreadable. “Any ransom demands to your family? Maybe to his employer?”

“No, nothing like that. But he works free-lance, so it’s not like he’s got a boss breathing down his neck.”

“And I’m guessing Mark’s deployed, right?”

“I assume,” she said. “The only thing I have for him is an e-mail address. When I contacted him, I got back a brief response with your name and the name of your company. Davey’s his oldest friend in the world, so that tells me he was pretty tied up.” It also told her Mark was worried--worried enough to send her to one of his SEAL friends for help.

Charlotte glanced at Jack and wondered what he thought of being second-in-line for this job. She would have preferred Mark, obviously. She wasn’t comfortable asking a total stranger to do something dangerous for her, but she didn’t exactly have a long roster of military-trained badasses to call on.

Jack glanced at her. “Ever since the coup, Ko Aroon’s been overrun by criminals. Drug runners. Gun runners. You name it. Going in there as a reporter would be suicide.”

“I know.” Charlotte could hardly talk around the lump in her throat. Hearing him say it made it all too real.

“And just what were you planning to do? Wade ashore and ask if anyone’s seen him around?”

She heard the scorn in his voice and knew it sounded crazy. It was crazy. But Davey was her kid brother. She’d been bailing him out of trouble all her life and she wouldn’t run away now.

“I brought money. I thought I’d hire someone to go in there and try to buy him out.”

Jack didn’t respond, and she wondered what he thought of this plan. She wondered what his plan was, because he obviously had one.

“Where are we going?” she asked again.

“Reconnaissance.”

The right wing dipped, and Charlotte gazed down at a cluster of green islands. Not Ko Aroon. From the map she’d studied, she knew it was an isolated chunk of land about twenty miles from anything else.

The wings leveled again, and Charlotte took a deep breath.

She was in good hands. Not Mark’s hands, but good hands. Jack Brenner was highly trained and Mark trusted him.

So why did she feel like she was about to throw up?

“It’s coming up on your right.”

“What’s that?”

“Aroon Island. Up ahead, about three o’clock. Keep your eyes peeled because if I fly over more than once, it’ll attract attention.”

“What are we looking for?” she asked, as a green dot came into view.

“Boats, docks, buildings. Anything that gives you an idea of who or how many we’re dealing with.”

A chill slithered down Charlotte’s spine as they neared the island. It looked like a patch of jungle, hardly larger than a few football fields. Was her brother down there, amid all that tangled vegetation? Was he alive?

“I’ve got three motorboats, two long-tails, and a kayak,” Jack said. “What about you?”

She swallowed down her fear. It wouldn’t help Davey. “I see two sort of primitive buildings set back from the beach.”

“Quonset huts,” he said. “There’s one on that south hill, too. Okay, we’re going to go directly over. Look carefully.”

She peered out the window. “I see a tower of some kind on the hill to the north.”

“Cell tower.”

“And there’s a rectangular clearing. It looks man-made.”

“Any clearing around here is going to be man-made.”

“Is it an airstrip?”

“Not long enough,” he said. “Looks like a firing range. And it wasn’t here last time I did a flyover. Neither were the Quonset huts. Looks like Chanarong’s been making some capital improvements.”

“Chanarong?” she glanced over at him.

“The big bad mofo who runs the place. He deals in heroin, arms, and pretty much anything of value he can get his hands on.”

“He’s famous around here?”

“Infamous would be more like it.”

“Infamous enough that someone like Davey might want to interview him?”

“Who knows? I don’t know what your brother was working on. Do you?”

“No. But he prides himself on always getting the impossible story, the most unattainable interview.” Charlotte’s stomach filled with dread. Had Davey really risked life and limb just to interview some Thai drug lord?

They passed over the island and the water turned turquoise, with an abrupt shift to indigo.

“That’s the reef,” Jack said. “Used to be a popular dive spot before Chanarong moved in. Not much going on on this side of the island. It’d be a good insertion point, if it weren’t for the current.”

She looked at Jack as the wings tilted again and they veered east. Charlotte pressed her hand to her chest. Her heart was hammering. She was sweating, too. Just being this close to the island had way too many terrifying thoughts racing through her brain.

Jack glanced at her. “You okay?”

“Fine. Why?”

“You look pale.”

“I’m not used to flying, that’s all.”

“Paralegals don’t travel much, I take it?”

She looked at him. That must have been some background check. She wondered what else he knew about her. She turned to gaze out the window. “Not in my office, they don’t. We’re one of Dallas’s ‘boutique’ law firms, which sounds cool, but what it really means is there’s a limited budget.”

“And do you like the job?”

She took a deep breath. He was trying to distract her, and she was happy to let him.

“The work is interesting,” she said. “I like the people, for the most part. And they pay is decent, the benefits are good.” She shook her head ruefully. Her job at Bakers and Bindle and the problems she’d thought she had just a few days ago seemed light years away now.

“Sounds like a nice gig.”

She shot him a look. Was he being facetious?

He smiled at her. “Add a two-story house and a black Lab, and you’ll be living the American dream.”

She nearly choked on her laughter. “I have a Lab. She’s at my neighbor’s right now.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s her name?”

She took a deep breath. “Daisy,” she said, and closed her eyes. She could breathe again. Jack’s voice in her ears had calmed her, and she wasn’t going to have a panic attack.

They flew in silence for a while, and the vibration of the plane soothed her. She stole a glance at him. Underneath all those muscles, there was some sensitivity.

“Ko Phi Phi, coming up on your right,” he said.

She looked out the window. “What’s that?”

“Popular tourist spot. It’s two islands, actually. Phi Phi Don and Phi Phi Leh.”

They dipped suddenly, and her stomach dropped.

“What are we doing?”

“Landing. I’ve got to off-load this stuff, then make a plan for tonight.”

“We’re going at night?”

“I’m going.” He looked at her. “You’re staying at the resort.”

“I most certainly am not! It’s my brother we’re going after. With my money.”

“That’s non-negotiable.”

“But this is dangerous. I hardly know you. I can’t possibly allow you to--”

“Trust me, I’m much better off with you back at the resort.”

She gaped at him. “My brother’s life is at stake. What the hell am I going to do at a resort?”

“Have a Mai Tai. Get your toenails done.” He cut a glance at her. “You can do whatever you want, just as long as you stay out of the way.”

Phi Phi Island

2300 hours

Jack slung his waterproof rucksack over his shoulder and left his bungalow. He didn’t bother locking it. Although it served as his temporary home whenever he touched down on Phi Phi Island, there was nothing inside worth stealing, and the resort manager kept an eye on the place for him to keep out squatters. Jack walked down the beach, passing a few bars, all fairly empty because it was the low season. He glanced up at the sky. Mostly cloudy with a slight breeze out of the south. Perfect weather for a swim.

Provided he could lose the tail he’d picked up.

Jack trudged across the sand, using the glow spilling from the beachfront hotel rooms for guidance. He passed a line of sleeping jet skis and a dive shop. He spotted his dinghy on the sand between a pair of long-tail boats, right where he’d asked Sajja to leave it. What he didn’t spot was Sajja. Jack tossed his gear into the rubber raft and glanced around, but he didn’t see the man anywhere.

“You’re taking a boat?”

This from the blonde who’d been on his six for ten minutes.

“You got something against boats?” he asked her.

“But… it’s like thirty miles away. I thought the quickest way to get there was by seaplane.”

“Quick, yes. Quiet, no.”

She stopped beside the dinghy, which would serve as his aquatic headquarters tonight. She wore the outfit she’d had on before, right down to the backpack that contained something near and dear to her heart--most likely her life savings. She scraped a curl back from her face and looked up at him.

“I want to come with you.”

He’d expected this. “Not happening.”

“I only just met you. It’s not fair for you to risk your life all by yourself for someone you don’t even know.”

He stepped closer and gazed down into those big brown eyes that had been even bigger this morning when he’d snuck into her hotel room.

“Who ever told you life was fair?” he asked. “And anyway, you’re paying me. Believe me, the risk is built into my fee.”

She looked uncomfortable at this, which was just what he’d intended. Maybe she’d think twice about being alone with him. She should. She should stay far away. If she had any sense, she’d lock herself in that bungalow she’d rented and not come out until he returned with her brother.

If her brother was even alive, which was a huge if. A reporter dumb enough to go to Chanarong’s private island to chase down a story probably didn’t have much in the way of survival instincts. Charlotte seemed to know this, which accounted for the desperation he’d seen on her face for the last twenty-four hours. It also probably accounted for her willingness to sleep with a man who clearly scared the hell out of her.

Jack checked his watch and muttered a curse. Where was Sajja? They had approximately three hours to get this job done before the cloud cover was scheduled to dissipate. Tonight was a full moon, and Jack much preferred to work under cover of darkness. He glanced up and down the beach.

“Who’s meeting you here?” she asked.

“No one.” He stepped into the boat and checked the plastic gas jug sitting beside the motor. It was full, as was the backup jug. His friend had done everything Jack had asked him to, except stick around to drive the boat.

“They stood you up, didn’t they?”

He glanced at Charlotte now and caught the excitement in her tone. Beneath those powder-puff looks was an opportunist.

Jack rummaged through his rucksack and checked his phone. No messages.

“Let me go instead,” she said eagerly. “I can do whatever you need help with.”

“Oh, yeah? What if I need you to slit someone’s throat? You any good with a knife?”

She stepped back. “You really think you’ll have to--”

“I don’t know what I’ll have to do. But whatever it is, I’d sure as hell rather do it before the moon comes out.” Jack searched up and down the beach again, but still no Sajja. Shit. He didn’t mind working alone. And he didn’t mind being outnumbered, because he relied on stealth, not firepower, to get himself in and out of tight situations. But he was going to have his hands full retrieving the hostage tonight. And given the sheer number of unknowns, this op would be much, much easier if he could get the lay of the land before committing to an extraction point.

He checked his watch again. Almost 2330. Jack rested his hands on his hips and looked at Charlotte. “You ever driven a dinghy?”

She smiled up at him and stepped into the boat.

Jack checked the GPS on his watch. He was just where he wanted to be, and only a few minutes behind schedule. He took another look through the night-vision binoculars before turning and handing them to Charlotte, who was seated beside him on the narrow wooden seat.

“Here, have a look.”

She lifted the binos to her face as he glanced around for landmarks. They’d motored their way to within two miles of the island, and then Jack had cut the engine and rowed, to minimize sound. They’d been going against the current, and now he was covered with sweat and had a good dose of adrenaline pumping through his veins.

“You see the guards?” he asked her.

“Where?”

“There’s one on the beach, leaning up against a palm tree. Another pair is positioned near the Quonset hut at the top of the hill.”

“Okay, I see them,” she said. “What does it mean for your plan?”

“The man on the beach looks asleep. The two men on the hill are conducting a patrol. Which tells me there’s something in that hut up there worth guarding.”

“You think it’s Davey?” she asked, and he heard the hope in her voice.

“Possibly,” he said. Though not likely. Charlotte had shown Jack a photo of her brother. The man wasn’t exactly a bodybuilder, so it should have been no problem for Chanarong’s men to keep him in check, even if he wanted to leave. Jack felt pretty sure those guards were more about keeping people out than in.

“Look again at the shoreline,” Jack said. “The rest of the activity is concentrated in two buildings down on the beach, near the boat docks. I’m guessing that’s where Chanarong is, assuming he’s on the island.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Two generators and a satellite dish. He’s got power, television, access to boats. It looks a lot more comfortable than that hut on top of the hill.”

Charlotte lifted the binoculars again. She sighed quietly, and the little female sound tugged at him. She was worried. And scared. For the past hour, she’d been practically vibrating with nerves.

She turned to look at him. “How well do you know Mark Colter?” she asked.

“Well enough. Why?”

“Because this is an incredible amount of trouble to go to as a favor for an Army buddy.”

“Navy,” he said, taking the binoculars. “And anyway, I don’t think of it as trouble. I’d swim through shark infested waters for that guy,” Jack said. He had, in fact.

“That’s crazy.”

“That’s the way it works in the teams. He’d do the same for me.”

She paused, digesting this. The SEAL code was hard for most civilians to understand.

“If you feel so strongly about it, why did you quit?”

“I didn’t.” He stowed the binoculars under the seat.

“But why--”

“Injury,” he said, and left it at that. He didn’t really want to talk about how he’d shattered his knee falling off a mountain in Afghanistan. He didn’t want to talk about how even after three surgeries, he’d never be the same, and how he’d chosen to leave the teams rather than be the weak link that someday, somewhere got one of his teammates killed. He never discussed that part of his past with anyone, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to discuss it now, with Charlotte Whiteside, while he needed to be prepping for an op.

Jack rummaged through his bag, inventorying gear: SIG Sauer 9mm, ammo, knife, radio. He tossed a couple extra flashbangs into his pack just for good measure. Then he stripped off his T-shirt and pulled his fins on over his coral boots.

“You’re swimming from here?”

He glanced at Charlotte. It was too dim to see her face well, but he heard the emotion in her voice.

“It’s no big deal.”

“Yeah, right.” She snorted. “A half-mile swim. With all that stuff on your back.”

“Trust me, this is nothing. I once swam twice this distance in forty-degree water carrying a twenty-two-pound haversack full of explosives.”

She went silent at that, and he wasn’t sure whether he’d alleviated her fear or made it worse.

What was it with this woman? He couldn’t remember the last time someone had worried about him, and her concern was getting to him.

Or maybe it was the image he couldn’t get out of his head, the image from this morning. In one of life’s nicer surprises, he’d learned that Charlotte Whiteside liked to sleep in the buff.

“Jack, I’m scared.” She edged closer to him now on the narrow seat. “Maybe we should try this another way. Davey’s never been a strong swimmer.”

“He doesn’t need to swim a stroke.”

“But how can you possibly--”

“Relax.” He took her hand, which he could tell surprised her. “I’ve pulled people out of much worse situations than this. This is going to be fine.” Provided he’s still alive in there.

Her hand was cool in his, and damp too, which for some reason made him feel good. He’d be willing to bet this woman had never been so terrified in her life. And yet she was sitting here, trusting him to do the most important job she’d ever asked of anyone. He planned to do it, too, and it wasn’t just because of Mark.

“Remember what I told you about the radio,” he said. “Silence means you wait for me here, but if I call and give the signal, then I need you to move around to the other side. Stay away from the reef. Just wait for me about fifty yards out.” He dropped her hand and picked up his mask. “And if anything goes boom, that means my plan to tiptoe in and out of there is shot to hell, and I’ll need you to meet me at the easiest extraction point possible, which is that strip of beach. You got it?”

“I got it.”

He pulled his backup weapon from his rucksack and folded her hand around the grip. “You ever used a Glock before?”

“No.”

“Just point and shoot,” he said. “No safety. Don’t be afraid to use it.”

He looked at her wide brown eyes and knew that it was a ridiculous thing to say. She was afraid of all of this. But she nodded anyway and put on a brave face--so brave, in fact, that he wanted to kiss her.

Instead, he swung his legs over the side of the raft. “Listen for that radio.”

“Wait.” She caught his arm. And then she kissed him. It was an explosive kiss. A bomb blast. Her mouth fused with his and sent a shot of fire straight to his groin. She smelled good. She tasted like heaven and sin rolled into one. And when she finally pulled back, he could barely remember his own name.

He stared at her.

“Come back quick,” she said.

He pulled on his mask and slipped into the water.

Chapter Two

In the clear, warm waters of the Andaman Sea, a night swim is a psychedelic experience. Phosphorescent particles swirl around. Fish dart by, leaving little glowing trails in their wake. Jack loved the ocean, and normally it was one of those weird nature shows that he really appreciated. But when embarking on a mission it was fucking distracting.

About forty yards from the shore, he surfaced and filled his lungs. Then it was a straight shot underwater until turbulence told him he’d neared land.

He removed his fins and clipped them to his rucksack, then hit the beach. A sprint across the sand had him concealed in the jungle inside of three seconds.

He crouched at the base of a coconut palm, motionless for a moment as he got his bearings. Noise from the Quonset huts on the shore. The hum of one--no, make it two separate generators. Nothing but silence and shadows behind him.

Jack slipped into the darkness without a sound. The terrain went from flat, to steep, to nearly vertical, and he used branches and tree roots to haul himself up the hillside. There was definitely an easier path to the top, but he wasn’t feeling particularly social tonight, so he’d opted for the steep and solitary route. When he reached the top, he turned north, toward the structure he’d seen from the boat. He moved to the edge of the thicket where he’d be more exposed but less likely to make a sound.

Cigarette smoke drifted over on the breeze, beckoning him directly to the hut where a pair of clowns with AK-47s were talking loudly and sharing a smoke. These guys were strictly amateurs--Jack could tell from the way they held those Kalashnikovs. Their voices provided extra cover as he crept around the building and peered into the sole back window.

A kerosene lamp glowed from the center of the room, atop a table covered with papers. Beside the lantern--looking completely out of place--was a sleek silver laptop computer.

Jack’s gaze skimmed over the chairs and overturned crates scattered across the floor. No hostages stashed in the corners. No inhabitants at all, in fact. What the hell were these guys guarding? But the instant the thought entered his head, he knew. He shifted his position so he could see the part of the wall directly beneath the window.

A narrow bed. And on it, a lump. A pale hand dangled off the edge of the mattress, attached to the bed frame by a handcuff.

He’d located the hostage.

But that wrist didn’t belong to a man.

The lump shifted, and a sneaker peeked out from under the grungy blanket. It was definitely a woman’s shoe, with a lavender Nike swoosh.

Jack gritted his teeth and went through a silent litany of curses.

Okay, change of plan. A female hostage was a no-brainer, but it sure as shit complicated things.

The lump shifted again, and Jack settled on a plan. Good thing he’d skipped the face paint. If he’d bothered to cammy up, he’d no doubt scare the spit out of this girl. He tapped, as lightly as possible, on the window pane.

She bolted upright and turned to face the glass. She had a mane of tangled brown hair, grimy cheeks, and green eyes that had gone wide with terror.

Don’t scream.

Jack flashed a peace sign, followed by the universal signal for shut the hell up.

He pointed at the window lock. Fear flitted across her face. She cast a frantic look at the door, then turned back and used her free hand to unlock the window. The pane didn’t want to budge, but Jack used his knife to pry it up. Silently, he slipped into the hut and crouched beside the metal bed.

He motioned again for her to keep it zipped. He didn’t know if she even spoke English, but her rumpled Northwestern University T-shirt and denim cutoffs told him she was most likely American. He made quick work of taking apart the metal bed frame, then slipped off her cuff.

“Can you walk?” he whispered.

She scrambled to her feet in response. He started to pull her to the window, but she jerked her hand away and pointed at the table. Jack followed her across the room and watched as she lifted the corner of the big map and pulled out a pair of passports. She stuffed them into her pocket and crept back toward the window as Jack frowned down at the map.

He recognized the city. And his blood ran cold as he recognized the building circled in red. A metal squeak at the window snapped his attention back to the job at hand. She was getting the hell out of Dodge. Jack rushed over and poked his head outside to check for threats. He helped her through and quickly followed. Then he took her arm and led her into the woods, but she suddenly freaked out and tried to pull away. He kept a grip on her until he knew they were out of earshot.

“We have to go back,” she whispered. “My boyfriend’s back there.”

“Where?” Jack hissed.

“The other hut. The wooden one.” She tugged his arm urgently. “They beat him to a pulp. I think he’s unconscious.”

“What’s his name?”

“David Whiteside.”

Charlotte thought she knew what fear was when Jack had pulled on his scuba mask and left her alone in this dinghy. But that was nothing compared to the raw, stark terror she felt right now as she heard the roar of a boat motor closing in on her. She had no cover, nowhere to hide. She thought about starting the engine and taking off, but the very last thing she wanted to do was tip anyone off to her presence.

She flattened herself against the bottom of the boat and prayed for the moon to stay hidden behind clouds. The noise drew nearer and nearer, and then finally--just when she thought she was about to get run down--the roar receded. The dinghy bobbed over a huge swell, and she knew they’d left her in their wake.

But they were going toward the island.

Charlotte peeked over the side. She groped for the binoculars and peered through them in time to see the motorboat pull up to the dock. The base camp hopped with activity now as newcomers piled off the boat. Six, seven, eight… when she reached twelve, she stopped counting and grabbed the radio.

“Are you there?”

Nothing. She waited. And waited. And her mouth went dry as she watched the men assembling near one of the Quonset huts. They carried big black guns and milled around like some sort of ragtag militia.

“Hello? Bravo, you there?” Still nothing. What was she doing wrong?

“Bravo here.”

“Do not, I repeat, do not return to the beach.” She clutched the radio in her quivering hand as she surveyed the activity on shore. “There’s a boatload of new arrivals, and they’re heavily armed.”

Silence on the other end.

“Did you hear--”

“Roger that.” He sounded out of breath, like he was running. With a heavy load. “Go to Plan B, over.”

“Plan B.” Plan B was the other side of the island. “I’m there, over.”

Did he have Davey? He must, or he wouldn’t be leaving. She clung to the thought as she scrambled into the seat and picked up the oars. She was too scared to start the engine, at least until she put some distance between herself and that crowd of armed men. She rowed for all she was worth until her shoulders screamed in pain and her arms felt like they were on fire. The current picked up as she neared the tip of the island. Finally, she stashed the oars and found the pull cord Jack had shown her when he’d demonstrated how to start the engine. Just one simple pull….

After the third unsuccessful attempt, she was nearly in tears. She got up off her knees and stood in the middle of the boat. She gripped the handle and took a deep breath. She yanked fiercely, and the engine sputtered to life.

She sat down and grabbed the rudder. She skimmed across the choppy water and rounded the tip of the island, praying all the while that no one could see or hear her.

At her feet, the radio crackled. She snatched it up.

“Bravo… dock… south end.”

“What?”

“I said… dock… side.”

“There’s a dock?”

“Affirmative.”

“How will I--”

“Flashlight… you… close as you can.... Roger that?”

Pop!

Charlotte dropped the radio at the sound of the gunshot. Someone was shooting at them! She groped for the radio and finally got her hands on it. “Jack? Jack, are you there? Jack?”

Panicked, she headed for the island. She hadn’t caught every word of what he’d said, but she’d gotten the gist of it. She was looking for a flashlight signal. Assuming he was still alive to signal her. Heart racing now, she curved around the southern tip of the island. Her stomach clenched as she saw nothing but the hulking shadow of the island itself. No lights. No signals. She tried the binoculars, but didn’t see any warm bodies or even anything resembling a dock. She maneuvered closer to the shore, hoping she wouldn’t get caught up on the reef she’d seen from Jack’s plane.

Suddenly a flicker, there in the darkness. She peered through the binoculars. A large figure moved quickly toward the shore. Jack. And he had someone in a fireman’s carry.

Please, please, please be okay. She didn’t know whether she was praying for Davey or Jack. Both, she decided.

Another blink, close this time. Charlotte stowed the binoculars and steered the boat towards it. When she was almost there, she cut the engine and the dinghy drifted right into the dock. A shadow crouched to catch it.

“Nice work.” Jack’s voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

“Are you okay? I heard a gunshot!”

“Yeah, one of the guards wasn’t too happy when he noticed his hostage was gone. Good thing his aim isn’t worth shit.”

Jack lowered something into the boat. Davey. She grabbed hold of the body and instantly recognized her brother as she helped ease him aboard.

He groaned, and Charlotte’s heart skipped. She got to her knees beside him. “What happened?”

“He took a beating.”

She jumped at the words.“Who--”

“I’m Jane.” A woman stepped aboard the boat. It was too dark to even see her in the shadows.

“Yeah, you didn’t tell me your brother had a girlfriend.” Jack finally stepped aboard, and they were packed together like sardines. He didn’t waste time jerking the cord and bringing the engine to life.

Gunfire erupted from the beach. Jack shoved Charlotte’s head against the floor of the boat. “Everybody down.”

The boat lurched forward, and they were skipping over the waves. Charlotte clutched Davey’s hand as the rat-tat-tat of machine-gun fire shattered the night.

“Hurry!” Charlotte pleaded. “They could hit the raft!”

Jack tossed a glance over his shoulder as they rocketed across the water.

“What if they follow us?” This from the Jane.

“By the time they figure out which way is up, we’ll be airborne,” Jack said. “Now everyone hang on. It’s time to haul ass.”

Chapter Three

Jack ended his cell phone call and gazed across the treetops at the marina where he’d left his plane. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, he was in Charlotte Whiteside’s hotel room. She was down the hall with her brother and his girlfriend, who were being checked out by some Thai doctor the concierge had managed to scare up at 0400 hours.

David Whiteside was safe. Mission accomplished. Jack had about sixteen things he needed to be doing right now and not one of them involved standing on Charlotte’s balcony, waiting for her to come back here and collapse on that giant bed.

He needed to leave. Now. He’d fulfilled his obligation to Mark, and the honorable thing to do would be to disappear into the night like the elusive Spec Ops warrior that he was.

But Jack didn’t want to do the honorable thing. He wanted to do Charlotte.

A lamp went on in the room behind him. The sliding glass door scraped open, and he turned around to face her.

She nodded at his phone as she stepped outside. “Who’d you call at this hour?”

She still wore the sea-soaked clothes she’d had on in the dinghy, and the wind had turned her hair into a riot of yellow curls. She looked drained and disheveled and so goddamn pretty he wanted to pull her inside and throw her down on the bed.

Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets right along with his phone. “Just talked to a buddy of mine at the embassy. They’re sending someone down from Bangkok to talk to Davey and Jane.”

“Why do they need to talk to him?”

He gazed down at her, knowing he couldn’t give her too many details, but wanting to, so maybe she’d understand better what he was about to do. Because she wasn’t going to like it. He didn’t know Charlotte very well, but he knew that much.

“Did Davey tell you what he was doing on that island?” he asked.

“He went down there for an interview. Jane’s his photographer, so she went, too. He said they were invited.”

Yeah, invited to be used as jihadists.

“He give you a name?”

She shook her head, and Jack breathed a sigh of relief. It was the one smart move the kid had managed so far.

She eased closer, watching his face carefully. “I’m guessing it’s not Chanarong.”

Jack just looked at her.

“I’m also guessing it’s someone affiliated with Al Qaeda. Someone important.”

“Where’d you get that?”

“Jane told me. She said some of the people on the island were speaking Arabic. She thinks the place is some sort of training camp.”

It was. It was also a staging ground for a major operation, but Jack didn’t say that. Jane had told him the name of the man they’d come to interview. He was a leader of Jemaah Islamiyah, an Al Qaeda affiliate based in Southeast Asia.

“Looks like Chanarong’s got himself some new friends,” Jack said vaguely.

The less Charlotte knew about all this, the better. But he had a feeling she understood much more than she was letting on because her eyes were shadowed with wariness.

“Your brother and Jane were very, very lucky to get out of there alive.”

That hadn’t been the plan. Jack didn’t know the plan--not exactly--but he felt pretty sure it involved the building he’d seen circled in red on that map of Manila. What better way to smuggle a bomb into the American Embassy than to have two American tourists waltz it right through the door?

Or maybe just one of them. Probably Jane. It was certainly no accident the militant leader on that island had selected an American couple to come interview him. He probably figured his men could threaten the stronger one with torture to get the weaker one to do his bidding.

Charlotte eased closer, and Jack felt a sharp stab of protectiveness. He didn’t want her anywhere near this thing, and yet here she was, caught in the middle because of her idiot brother.

Jack gritted his teeth. He couldn’t make it right, but he could do damage control. Which was what he needed to do. Right now. Jack was in possession of valuable, time-sensitive intel. And he knew a SEAL commander in the area who was more than eager to get his hands on it.

Charlotte slid her arms around Jack’s waist and gazed up at him.

“I need to go,” he said.

She tipped her head to the side. “It’s four in the morning.”

“I have to be somewhere in exactly three hours. And I have to fly.”

Something flashed in her eyes. Confusion? Hurt? But then it was replaced by a cool determination. She tipped her chin up, exposing her neck to him in that thin white blouse. It was dry now, but it had been wet before, out on the dinghy, and he wondered if she had any idea how much he’d wanted to peel it off of her. How much he still wanted to.

Her hips shifted, and he stared down at her. She knew. She knew exactly what she did to him.

“Don’t go,” she whispered.

He had to go. He needed to go.

“Charlotte--”

She went up on tiptoes and kissed him, just below his ear. It was a soft, timid kiss, and it sent a powerful jolt of lust straight through him.

Then she pressed her mouth to his, and it was all over. What little willpower he’d had vanished. He pulled her against him, sweeping his tongue inside her mouth and trying to devour her in one greedy bite. She tried to devour him right back. She was hot and ready and he could practically taste the energy humming through her system, because it was humming through his, too. And he knew what this was. This was about danger, and life-or-death situations, and all the things she’d felt tonight that she wasn’t used to feeling. Jack had trained himself to deal with his body’s response to danger, but Charlotte was utterly untrained. She just surrendered to it, gave into the urge, and no matter what logic his brain threw at him, Jack’s body was right in sync with hers--amazingly, perfectly in sync. He molded her against him, and she moaned into his mouth, and he knew that there was no way he was putting the brakes on. He’d fly like a bat out of hell if he had to, but he wasn’t going anywhere this minute besides Charlotte’s bed.

He slid a hand between them and tried to undo her buttons, but his fingers were too big for the little holes. She took over the job, and soon her shirt was on the floor of the balcony, followed by her bra. Jack didn’t even give himself time to look. He just scooped her off her feet and carried her through the doorway, then laid her down on the bed. She propped up on her elbows and watched him as he got rid of his shoes and T-shirt. Then he kneeled beside her, and she rolled into him, laughing, as he filled his hand with one of those plump white breasts he’d been fantasizing about all day. He took her in his mouth, and her body arched.

“Jack.”

She said his name in that soft Southern accent that reminded him of home and heat and places he hadn’t been in a long, long time. He nuzzled her breasts. With his free hand, went to work on her shorts. She went to work on his, too, and pretty soon they were skin to skin, and he felt her bare legs wrapping around him and pulling him closer.

She said his name again and nipped his ear, and he nearly went off.

“Wait.” He grabbed his shorts, fumbled for a condom, and barely managed to get it on before she pulled him again, and he sank into her sweet heat.

She was heaven. She gazed up at him and moved with him, urging him on with her sighs and her hips as he supported his weight above her and battled for control. He didn’t have it. He didn’t have nearly the control he needed to take on this woman-- this warm, lush woman who’d turned herself over to him completely.

He kissed her again, loving her taste, her scent, the way she moved beneath him. She trusted him. He felt it in her clasping hands. He saw it in her smoky eyes as she let herself get lost in the pleasure he was giving her. She whispered in his ear, over and over, and time spun out as he tried to give her what she wanted, tried not to stop, tried not to let it end, even though it was a losing battle. She wrapped her arms around him and said his name. And finally he felt her coming apart, and his world became a blinding flash of pleasure.

For an endless moment, he just lay there, too wasted to move. But he knew he must be crushing her, so he rolled over on his back and pulled her with him.

She didn’t say anything. She just nestled her head against his chest and sighed deeply.

Jack closed his eyes, and several minutes ticked by as their heart rates came down from the stratosphere. Her breathing slowed, and he wondered if she’d fallen asleep.

“You’re still with them, aren’t you?”

He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. “With who?”

“The SEALs. You never really left.”

She propped up on an elbow and watched him. “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.”

He glanced at her with a questioning look, and she rolled her eyes.

“Come on, Jack. The night vision binoculars? The phone call? The urgent meeting you have to race off for?”

He sighed. “I’m not a SEAL anymore.”

She searched his face. “But you want to be. And you’re helping them. You’re going to help someone bust up that terrorist cell.”

He looked at her for a moment, then reached over and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Why do I keep underestimating you?”

“People do it all the time.” She smiled slightly, and then looked down at his chest. She traced a little pattern with her fingernail. “I’m sorry I got you into this. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He cupped his hand over hers. “I’m glad you got me into this.” He remembered the way he’d felt staring down at that map, seeing his country’s embassy circled in red. Something had shifted inside him. He’d had a purpose before, all those years as a SEAL. He hadn’t had a purpose that mattered in a very long time, and he wanted to go back. Charlotte had given him that. As long as he lived, he’d be indebted to her for it. Maybe someday he’d even find a way to repay her.

She rested her head against his chest, and he pulled her closer. He felt her shoulders tense. She was fighting tears, and he didn’t know if it was for his benefit or hers, but held onto her and let her win the fight.

The room was washed with the gray light of dawn when she woke up and realized he’d gone. She sat up and looked around. On Jack’s pillow was a paper airplane. She picked it up and saw the note written on it: If you ever need me, just call. –J. Beneath the words was a phone number. It was a U.S. number. Los Angeles, if she wasn’t mistaken. She remembered his Dodgers cap. Maybe he still had some ties to home after all, ties that might bring him back someday. She shrugged into her robe and tucked the note safely inside the pocket.

She crossed the room and slid open the door to the balcony. Birds trilled from the trees below. She gazed out at the sleepy marina, where the tourist boats still bobbed placidly beside the dock. Her gaze followed a silver Cessna as it taxied across the harbor and picked up speed. Charlotte’s breath caught as it shot up into the air. It receded toward the west, then made a wide arc and circled back.

She lifted her hand to the sky and smiled as it neared her. The right wing tipped up. Her heart filled. She whispered good-bye and watched him soar away.

###

About the author:

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Laura Griffin started her career in journalism before venturing into the world of romantic suspense. Her books have won numerous awards, including a 2010 RITA Award (Whisper of Warning) and a 2010 Daphne du Maurier Award (Untraceable). Her debut novel One Last Breath won the Booksellers Best Award for romantic suspense. Laura currently lives in Austin, where she is working on the next book in her popular Tracers series. Visit her web site at http://www.lauragriffin.com

Connect online:

Twitter: http://twitter.com/Laura_Griff

Facebook: http://facebook.com/LauraGriffinAuthor

Excerpt from Laura Griffin's new novel, Snapped

Parking on campus was a bitch and so was Sophie. Or at least, she was in a bitchy mood at the moment. She was hot, hungry, and doomed to spend the better part of her lunch hour waiting in line at the registrar’s office.

But then she spotted it--a gleaming, perfect, gorgeously empty parking space not fifty feet in front of her. The green flag indicating time still left on the parking meter was the cherry on top of her lunchtime sundae.

“Thank you,” she sighed, as she rolled past the spot, shifted into reverse and flipped her turn indicator. She started to ease back when an old-model VW zipped up behind her.

“Hey!” Sophie pounded her horn as the Bug driver whipped into her spot while pretending not to see her.

“Unbelievable!” Sophie jabbed at the window button and leaned over to yell at him. “Yo, Fahrvergnugen! That’s my spot!”

She might as well have been invisible.

A horn blared behind her and she glanced around. Now she was holding up traffic. She shifted into drive and muttered curses as she scoured the busy streets for another scrap of real estate large enough to accommodate her Tahoe. Of course, there wasn’t one. She glanced at her watch. Damn it, she was going to be late getting back to work, and she’d long since used up her tardy passes. With a final curse, she pulled into an overpriced parking garage three blocks downhill from her destination. After squeezing into a spot, she jumped out and dashed for the exit, pressing numbers on her cell phone as she went.

“Mia? Hey, it’s me.” She stepped onto the sidewalk and blinked up at the blindingly bright sunlight.

“What’s up, Soph? I’ve got my hands full.”

“Shoot, forget it then.” Sophie caught a heel on the pavement as her crappy luck continued.

“What?”

“I’m at the university,” Sophie said. “I was going to ask you to cover the phones for a few minutes if I’m not back by one.”

“I’ll get down there if I can, but--”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get Diane to cover it.” Diane was the assistant evidence clerk at the Delphi Center where Sophie worked, but she wasn’t exactly known for her cheery disposition. “She owes me a favor anyway. We’re still on for margaritas with Kelsey, right? Six o’clock?”

“El Patio,” Mia confirmed. “See you there.”

Sophie dropped the phone in her bag and continued uphill. The sun blazed down. Her blouse grew damp. Her tortured feet reminded her of the folly of buying Victoria’s Secret sandals on clearance and expecting them to fit. After waiting for a break in traffic, she darted across the street and felt the heat coming up off the asphalt in waves. Jeez, it was hot. Thank goodness she was signing up for a night course.

At last, she reached the grassy quadrangle and enjoyed a few patches of shade as she neared the registrar’s office. Students streamed up and down the sidewalks, talking with friends and reading text messages. Sophie gazed wistfully at their cut-off shorts and tank tops. Once upon a time she, too, had lived in grunge wear. She didn’t miss the clothes so much as that time in her life when she’d had nothing more to do than go to keg parties on weekends and cut class to hang out with her boyfriend. Now both those pursuits seemed worse than trivial--they seemed wasteful. How could a few short years make such a difference in her outlook?

She marveled at the irony--here she was plunking down her hard-earned money to attend a class she would have happily ditched just a few years ago. The perfect revenge for her I-told-you-so parents. Only they’d never get the chance to say that because she had no intention of telling them she was back in school. This was her private mission, and if she failed to accomplish it, no one would ever have to know she’d tried.

Sophie navigated the busy sidewalks, longing for a pair of Birkenstocks instead of heels. She glanced again at her watch and knew, without a doubt, she was going to be late.

Crack.

She halted in her tracks.

People shrieked behind her, and she whirled around. Her gaze landed on someone sprawled across the sidewalk. A man. Sophie stared in shock at the jacket, the tie, and the bloody pulp that should have been his head.

Crack.

Someone’s shooting! The words screamed through her brain as she scanned her surroundings. She was in an open field. She was a target.

More shrieks as she bolted for the trees. A staccato of bullets. Clumps of grass burst up at her and she fell back, landing hard on her butt. Before her eyes, a woman collapsed to the ground, clutching her throat. A child in pigtails howled. Crab-walking backward, Sophie glanced around frantically. What was happening? Where was it coming from? Screams echoed around her as people ducked and dove for cover.

I’m a target.

She rolled to her knees and lunged for the nearest solid object--a cement block at the base of a statue. She crouched behind it, gasping for breath, every nerve in her body zinging with terror.

Where is he?

More gunfire. More screaming. Sophie cupped her hands over her head and tried to make herself small.

Jonah Macon stared at the dilapidated house where absolutely nothing had happened for the past seven hours. He hated surveillance work, and not just the boredom of it. His six-foot-four-inch frame wasn’t designed to be crammed into the back of a van for days on end.

“If I drink another cup of this coffee, my piss is gonna turn black.”

Jonah shot Sean Byrne a look of disgust but didn’t respond.

“Nice image,” Jonah’s partner quipped, tossing his Styrofoam cup into an empty Krispy Kreme box. Ric Santos had volunteered to bring breakfast this morning, and the doughnut shop was just around the corner from his girlfriend’s place.

So now here they all were--bored, caffeinated, and jacked-up on sugar that needed to be burned off. Jonah leaned back in his seat and popped his knuckles as he stared at the video monitor.

“Seriously, how late can he sleep?” Sean asked. “I’m about to bust in there and drag his skinny ass out here myself.”

“Movement at the door,” Jonah said, and everyone snapped to attention.

A man stepped onto the porch, finally breaking the monotony. Jonah’s team had been in the van since before dawn, waiting for their subject to kiss his girlfriend goodbye and lead them to the crib where they were ninety-nine percent sure their murder suspect was holed up. Sure enough, they watched on the screen as their subject got some goodbye tongue action before tromping down the rickety front porch steps.

“Think he’s stepping out for a paper?” Sean asked sarcastically.

“I’m not sure he can read.” Ric eased out of the bucket seat in back and slid behind the wheel while Jonah reached for his radio to give the guys in the car down the block a head’s up.

The phone at Jonah’s hip buzzed. Then Ric’s phone buzzed. Then a snippet of rap music emanated from Sean’s pocket.

Everyone exchanged a grim looks as they took out their phones. Jonah answered first.

“Macon.”

“Get to campus, ASAP! Where’s the SWAT van?”

“Perkin has it,” Jonah told his lieutenant. “He’s up in Austin at a training op--”

“Someone’s shooting people all over the quad! Get over there and suit up. Grab everyone you can.”

Jonah braced himself against the side of the van as Ric peeled away from the curb. From the look on his partner’s face, Jonah knew he was getting similar instructions.

“What’s your setup?” Lieutenant Reynolds demanded.

Jonah was already leaning over the backseat to do a quick inventory of the cargo space. “Two shotguns, a rifle, and a couple of flash bangs.” His pulse started to pound. “How many shooters?”

“We don’t know.”

“What kind of weapon?”

“We don’t know that either. We don’t know shit! All I got is a bunch of hysterical 911 calls, someone’s gunning down people on the lawn. Some kid just got shot off his bike. ETA?”

Jonah glanced through the tinted windows as a blur of storefronts raced past. “Two minutes, tops.”

“Okay, then you’re it, Macon. I’m fifteen minutes out. You guys got any Kevlar?”

“Three vests and a flak jacket.”

“Take all of it. And call me when you get there.”

Crack.

Another burst of cement on the nearby sidewalk. Sophie huddled tighter and looked back at the howling little girl.

“Get down!” Sophie shouted.

From the pavement, an arm reached up and tugged weakly at the girl’s shorts. The arm was attached to a hugely pregnant woman who was lying in an ever-expanding pool of her own blood.

Dear Lord. Someone had to get them out of here, but there was no one. The campus that had been crawling with students just moments ago was now a ghost town. Sophie darted her gaze around. Where was the shooter? Had he entered a building? Sophie eased up slowly and peered around the base of the bronze statue.

Crack.

An agonized scream behind her. Sophie recoiled. She peeked beneath her quivering elbow and saw a man hunched at the base of a flagpole, clutching his ankle with a bloody hand.

Sophie’s gaze was drawn behind her, where a corpse was now baking on the sidewalk. At the edge of the grass, another man lay sprawled across the ground, a backpack beside him. A student. Sophie’s heart jack-hammered against her rib cage as she watched the flies already buzzing around him.

This can’t be happening.

The crying intensified. Sophie glanced again at the child, who was hunched over her mother, sobbing uncontrollably. She had to be only two, maybe three years old. The woman twisted onto her side, probably trying to shield the girl with her body. They were behind a large oak tree, thank goodness. But if the child moved too much--

Crack.

Glass shattered on a building nearby.

Crack. Crack. Crack. One by one, the second-story windows exploded, and she thought of those shooting games at carnivals where the targets were little yellow ducks.

Sirens grew louder as Sophie scoured the rooflines for any sort of movement or muzzle flash. She went from building to building all around the quadrangle, searching the red tile roofs and the highest row of windows.

Her gaze came to rest on the white limestone monolith that sat atop the hill, overlooking the entire campus like a giant Sphinx.

And suddenly she knew. The gunman was on top of the library.

And from there he could see everything.

Copyright 2011 Laura Griffin