Gone at Zero Hundred 00:00 (2 page)

Ace shrugged. “I wanted to protect
you.”

I motioned toward the thugs in front
of me. “Then what’s this, my coming out party?”

“You’re angry,” Ace said, as if he
was having a casual conversation with me in the comfort of my home.

“Angry? Why would I be angry? My
whole life’s been a fake… a fraud … a major lie…”

Ace and I locked eyes.

Scheming…

Plotting…

“So who’s the scumbag?” I said
pointing toward Slava.

“A terrorist. Who. Just. Won’t. Die…”

Then, with lightning speed and skill,
before Slava and the mercs knew what was happening, Ace clasped his hands
together in front of his body. I leapt up with my left foot and catapulted over
Slava, matrix style and scissor kicked the other mercs upside the head. They
went down.

At the same time, Ace dropped down on
his hands and swung his leg around, knocking Slava’s feet out from underneath
him. He landed on his ass.

We both stood in a martial arts
defensive posture ready to square off with them, when they sprang to their
feet.

“Atta girl Syd…”

“SYDNEY MARIE McSwain!”

My blue eyes snapped open, and I was suddenly
wide-awake, hearing the sound of my mother’s voice yelling my name. My full
name, which meant she had been yelling at me for some time. I looked around.
Yep, I was in bed, in my own room, at home in Sutter Beach, California. Slava
and the mercs, they were just a dream. The law enforcement scanner I use as an
alarm clock roared to life, in case I needed further proof that it was time to
wake up. I bolted upright and caught a look at myself in the mirror.

“Yikes.” I’ve never been obsessed
with how I look, but my long hair was a rat’s nest. I didn’t look forward to
getting a brush through that.

“Open the door,” my mother yelled.

“Hang on. Jeez.” I reached for a
remote on my nightstand, and pushed a button. ‘Storm Trooper Alert’ echoed from
my computer.

I know. Don’t laugh.

I installed the device when I was
twelve-years-old so my mom couldn’t traipse in whenever she wanted to, and
without me knowing it. Now that I was eighteen I had pretty much outgrown the
thing, but I never got around to removing it, mostly because it still irritated
her. What teenager didn’t thrive on annoying their parents, or in my case,
parent?

The door swung open and my drop-dead
gorgeous parental unit, Anna McSwain, marched through the door. Who can compete
with those looks? I know I can’t, so I don’t bother.

She was dressed in her usual garb:
white blouse tucked into a fitted black skirt, with a gun belt attached at her
hip and knee-high, black leather boots, looking as perfect as a porcelain doll.
A wireless earpiece was attached to her ear, and she was talking to someone on
her cell phone. She could have been a model at five-feet-nine and legs that
went on for miles, but instead, she was
a licensed investigator. She handled some
high-profile cases for the residents of Sutter Beach, the coastal city where we
live.

“The storm trooper says move your buns.”

I rolled out of bed, stepped into a pair of
tattered Levi’s and threw on the pink and white t-shirt that I had on the night
before. “Good morning to you, too,” I said.

She ignored my sarcasm, which she usually does.

I pulled my hair back into a pony-tail. High
school was done for me. All I had to do today was attend a quick prep meeting
in the gymnasium; then my senior class would do a quick practice run for the
graduation ceremony. A shower and my unruly hair could wait until then. I
stepped into a pair of cowboy boots.

“Is Sutter P.D. ready to roll?” My mom said to
whoever was on the other end of the phone. “Okay, on my way.” She disconnected
from the call, and glanced at the attire I chose to wear for the day. “How
anyone believes you’re my daughter is beyond me,” she said, and she shook her
head to show her displeasure.

I shrugged. My mom and I were worlds apart on our
dress codes. She shopped at Donna Karen for sophisticated skirts and blouses,
and claimed I owned stock in tattered
Levi’s
, as if there was something
wrong with that.

I smirked. “Just tell them my dad is Hell’s
Angels. I take after his side of the family.”

“Fitting...”

“I wouldn’t know, since we never met.”

The topic of my dad was a sore subject between
us, and one I liked to bring up…a lot. You see, I have no idea who he is. But I
wanted to, desperately. I knew he was in the military when they met, and
possibly still was, but that was all I knew. It seemed to be top secret
information, which was why I always dreamt about a fictional dad - Ace Carter
being the fictional vision in my head.

My mom handed me a large envelope. “Do me a favor
and put this in the safe. It’s for a case I’m working on.”

She followed me over to the closet. I opened the
doors, and pushed the hangers to the side. A SentrySafe was built into the
wall. If you’re wondering why there was a safe in the closet, we live in an old
firehouse. It was the first working firehouse for Sutter Beach, but was put up
for auction when the town built a new one next to city hall. I guess the
volunteer firefighters needed a place to hide their stuff when they went out on
calls. My mom got the firehouse cheap - real cheap, and we’ve been renovating
it ever since.

I snatched the Victorinox Swiss Army Knife out of
my backpack, and proceeded to pick the lock - a hobby I picked up from watching
her. The knife was an antique and as old as the hills, but it had every tool
you could think of, scissors, nail file, saw blade … well, I could go on and
on. Let’s just say I never left home without it - but don’t tell the school
resource officer who would have recommended immediate suspension if he had
caught me bringing a weapon into school.

Always the perfectionist, my mom stood by my side
and observed, ready to correct me if I made a mistake.

I waited for the sound of the click; then pulled
the door open and gave her one of my sarcastic smiles. Ha! I placed the
envelope inside, then closed the door and turned the dial.

“Why is it we don’t speak of my dad, again?” I
continued.

My mom shook her head. “Syd, we’ve been through
this, more times than I care to remember.”

“Yeah, and every time you give me the same
bullshit,” I countered. “You get a letter every month from some secret
location. I know it’s from my father, yet you keep his identity from me.”

Ignoring my outburst, she kissed me on the
forehead and headed out of the room - tuning me out, once again. “And watch the
language.”

“Sometimes, life sucks,” I said.

“Sometimes, it does,” she responded.

I DROPPED the knife into my backpack;
then snagged my truck keys off the desk and marched after her. “We never
finished the discussion about the graduation bash, either. Can I go?”

My mom opened a bureau in her room,
retrieved a .38 Smith & Wesson from a locked box of investigation
paraphernalia; then slipped it into the holster at her hip, and headed back out
with me right on her heels. Her bedroom walls were covered with photographs of
the two of us when I was younger. Not too many, lately.

“We’ll talk about that later,” she
said. “I have to meet Carter. Sutter P.D. is serving a warrant based on
evidence I obtained.”

Yep, you guessed it. The Ace Carter I
fantasized as my dad is real. He’s a Detective with the Sutter Beach Police
Department. He and my mom had been working together a lot, lately. She did the
initial investigation; then he swooped on in when there were legal issues, or
an arrest was warranted. Like today, I guess. I’m not sure why he showed up in
my dreams as my dad. Maybe because he’s always been pretty cool to me.

I trailed her into the kitchen. She
opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water, and an apple. “You
always say we’ll talk later, but later never comes. There’s always another
case, or another company that needs your services.”

Then, I slid down the fire pole and
met up with her in the office of McSwain Investigations, which my mom set up in
the firehouse garage.

“I’m an investigator, Syd. That’s what
I do. We have bills. Two vehicles that won’t run on their own, they need gas.
Then there’s electricity, phones, the food, the clothes we put on our backs -
even though you could probably find yours at the local Goodwill.”

“Ha, ha, ha…”

She grabbed a stack of manila folders
off the desk, opened the garage door and walked toward her vehicle. “College
classes will start in September, so you’ll need books and supplies. It all
costs money. Somebody is responsible for all of that.”

“I don’t need to take the classes. I
was a lousy student in high school. I’ll be a lousy student in college. I could
work with you full time, instead of two days a week, and help with the bills.
It’s not like I don’t know how. You just won’t let me. You don’t let me do
anything I want to do.”

Anna paused at the door of her leased
Chevy Tahoe, and glanced back at me. “This isn’t the life I would want for you,
Syd. The world can be a dark place, with some very bad people. You just don’t
know it, yet. I want you to get an education so you have choices.”

“You can’t protect me forever.”

“I wouldn’t be doing my job if I
didn’t at least try, now would I?” she said, clearly irritated with me. “Why
are you always so relentless?”

I squealed in frustration like I
always do, when I know I’m not winning the argument.

Then, she finally let out a heavy
sigh. “Okay,” she said with resignation. “Tell me about the graduation party.
Who’s throwing it? Who are you going with? And who is supervising?”

“A.J. Barnett is throwing the party.
I told you last week. And I’ll be with Jaden and Cody.” I put my hands on my
hip, and stared at her. “Anna, I’m eighteen-years-old. I shouldn’t have to ask
permission to go to a party, anyway.”

“One, A.J. Barnett is
twenty-eight-years-old, and suffering from his time in Iraq. He shouldn’t be
hanging out with high school kids. Two, as long as you’re under my roof you’ll
abide by my rules. Three, Cody is too much of a flirt himself. He needs his own
supervision. So, I prefer you didn’t go.”

“That was four…”

“What?”

“Four. It was four reasons. A.J’s
twenty-eight. He shouldn’t be hanging out…”

“You’re always such a smart ass, too.
No wonder you had so much trouble with your teachers.”

“I must take after my father,” I said
in a flippant manner. “You know, the man I never met.”

She stepped into the vehicle and
rolled down the window as she cranked over the engine. “And don’t call me,
Anna. You may be graduating tonight, but I will always be your mom.”

“Y’know, as late as you get home
every night, I could just sneak off and go. You wouldn’t even know.” I felt
guilty the minute I said it, but I couldn’t help myself.

She leveled me with a look. “You’ve
been sneaking off since you were five-years-old. Trust me, I’ll know…”

I threw my hands up in the air.
“Sometimes, life sucks!” I yelled as she pulled out of the driveway.

She leaned out of the car window.
“Sometimes it does!” She responded right back at me, and she sped off down the
road.

SUTTER BEACH, California, where I was born and raised,
had a small town feel, but it was surrounded by big-city-style destinations and
the Pacific Ocean. A Navy facility and training base sat at the harbor playing
host to the recently restored battleship and submarine museums that floated
nearby. As you drove out of the firehouse garage, you wound up on Sailor’s Way,
which would take you over a two-mile-long stretch of sandy-white beaches, the
seedy section of the harbor, and then streets lined with old-town antique shops
and cafés. During the day Sutter Beach was a charming beach locale and popular
tourist destination. When the sun went down, it was like walking into Gotham
City, and the crazy miscreants came out. I’m not sure why, but the criminal
element seemed to be attracted to waterfront locations.

I drove my lemon-yellow pickup down the palm-tree
lined streets, and headed toward Sutter Beach Café. I had an hour to find a
parking space, stand in line to get my usual chocolate mint Frappe and schmooze
with my friends; then get to school in time for the practice session. Class of
2012 would say its final farewell to Sutter Beach High later that night.