Weather the Storm (Security Specialists International #3) (3 page)

“I’m coming for you, bitch.”

Elana looked around for anything she could use as a weapon. There was nothing. And she wasn’t sure she could shove another section of shelving at him. She’d lost that element of surprise.

She couldn’t win a battle against a man with a gun, but Harry could. She needed Harry or at least the threat of Harry here…now. She brought the walkie-talkie to her lips and flipped off silent mode, a loud squawk filled the air and Harry’s voice shouted, “Elana! Elana! Answer me. What the fuck is happening? Are you still on four? The cameras are all fucked up! What the…”

The Boss fired a few more shots in her direction, and she dove for the floor and belly-crawled back toward Libby, back toward the Boss and his gun. Was she stupid? Smart people ran away from gunshots.

“Those were shots. Elana talk to me.” Harry sounded exactly like the D.C. cop he used to be. “I’m almost there. I need a situation report. Campus police are less than a minute away.”

“Fucking cunt.” The sound of pounding feet running away from her and then the explosive clang of the main stairwell door had Elana sighing with relief. He was gone.

“Elana!” Harry yelled. “Answer me, dammit.”

“I’m fine. The man missed me. He hurt Libby.” She took a breath and continued, “Bad guy is going down the main stairs. He has a gun.”

“Roger that. Hold on. EMTs are coming.”

Elana sat up and spotted Harry coming down the central aisle of the fourth floor from the direction of the back stairs. He had been making rounds when the emergency signal had gone out, or he would’ve come up the main stairwell from the third floor. He spotted her and made to head her way.

“I’m fine,” she shouted. “Get him.”

Harry nodded and entered the main stairwell, leading with his gun.

Elana prayed he’d catch the Boss—prayed he’d stay safe. Then she turned. Libby hadn’t moved. She lay curled into a protective position, a lax hand on her stomach.

Dropping to her knees, Elana checked for breathing and couldn’t feel Libby’s breath. She checked for a pulse at the woman’s neck and found none.
Ohmygod, ohmygod
.

There were red marks on Libby’s neck, right over her carotid. “Sweet Jesus.” The bastard had cut off her blood supply.

Elana’s job was to get Libby’s blood pumping, which meant getting her heart started. She began compression-only-CPR. As taught, she mentally hummed the Bee Gees’ song “Stayin’ Alive” to set the proper rhythm for the compressions. Thank God, the university had all personnel stay current on basic life-saving techniques.

Where were the paramedics?

Patience, Ellie. Harry called them. Less time has passed than you think.

As Elana hunched over her unconscious friend, Libby’s distended abdomen moved. The baby was kicking.
Thank you, Jesus.

The sound of running feet approached. Instinctively, Elana covered the injured woman with her body. No one else would hurt this woman and her unborn child tonight if she could help it.

“Elana! Paramedics and police are on their way.” Betsy’s words were breathy as she ran to Elana’s side.

“God, tell them to hurry. I’m not sure this is helping.” She began the rhythmic compressions once again. “He cut off the blood supply to her brain. She needs real medical care, not me.”

Betsy looked at Libby and then at her, then dropped to her knees. “She’s not breathing?”

“No.” Elana continued with her CPR, in increasing despair. Libby’s skin was pale and tinged blue-gray. She wasn’t getting any oxygen. Elana was losing her…or had been fighting a losing battle all along. “Take over the compressions.”

Betsy nodded and began the pumping motion.

Elana angled Libby’s head back for mouth to mouth. “We’ll go old school CPR. Coordinate with me.” She began puffing breaths into Libby’s mouth. Then stopped and let Betsy do chest compressions.

Anger speared through Elana, giving her the strength to keep on breathing for Libby until help came. The Boss would pay. She knew what he looked like. Libby would get the justice Elana never had.

Even though she was lightheaded and in danger of crashing from a post-adrenaline high, Elana kept puffing breaths into Libby’s slack mouth. Silently she urged the woman’s heart to beat. Betsy continued to time the compressions, tears streaming down her face.

But it was obvious they were losing the race against time.

God, where were the blessed paramedics?

Then she heard—“Get out of the way, ma’am. We’ve got her.”

Strong but gentle hands moved her to the side and another set placed an oxygen mask over Libby’s nose and mouth almost before Elana was out of the way. Betsy moved to her side and helped her to stand; they stood, holding onto each other, as the paramedics worked.

The grim faces and soft curses of the medical team told her Libby wasn’t responding. But the paramedics didn’t give up. They shocked her heart. And, finally, after what seemed like hours, they managed to get a heart rate. With Libby stabilized for the moment, the men readied her for transport.

“Are you taking her to Georgetown?” Elana asked the paramedic nearest her. It was the closest ER, but that didn’t mean it was where they’d take Libby.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. Georgetown was the best. Libby and her baby might have a chance. She’d go there after she made her statement to the authorities.

A uniformed D.C. police officer approached them. “Ladies, we need to ask some questions.”

“Yes…uh, yes…” She turned toward the middle-aged black patrol officer. His face faded in and out and all of a sudden her legs felt like limp noodles. “May we sit down somewhere? I need to get something to drink. I’m sort of dizzy…”

Betsy held onto her on one side and the officer grabbed her other arm. “Are you hurt?” he asked. “Campus Security reported there were shots fired.”

“No. Just a reaction to all the stress, I think…” She looked at Betsy. “How long were we helping Libby?”

“Ten minutes or so. Seemed like forever.”

The officer said, “Traffic held emergency response up. Game just let out.” He paused as if he were aware the excuse sounded lame in the grand scheme of things. “Uh, where should we go?”

Betsy took charge. “Employee lounge on three behind the main desk.”

The three walked to the elevator. As they got on, Elana asked, “Did Harry manage to stop the man?”

The police officer’s expression turned to stone.

Elana’s heart began racing again, and she reminded herself to breathe. “Is Harry okay?” The patrol officer looked fierce, and his eyes filled with anger. “Oh my God, did he…”

“The security guard…Harry…is dead. He was shot in the library garage.”

Betsy gasped. Elana moaned and braced a hand on the side of the elevator. Her stomach churned with guilt. She swallowed hard and prayed she wouldn’t throw up. “I should’ve told him to be careful. I was worried about getting to Libby.”

“Ma’am, you told Harry enough. We heard what you told him over the line he’d opened to us. He knew the bastard had a gun and had hurt the lady. He was fully aware—we all were—of what he was heading into.” The officer took her arm and supported her as the door opened onto three. “Let’s get you something to drink with some sugar in it. You’re in shock. You’ll need to be alert in order to tell the homicide detective what happened. You’re the only person who can describe the killer.”

“I thought you…no, it’s murder now, so of course Homicide would…I’ll do whatever I can to help. I did see the killer. Very clearly.” His face would populate her nightmares right next to Demidas’s.

He squeezed her arm gently. “We’ll get him, ma’am. We lucked out this time, we have an eye witness. It’s always easier to solve crimes with a witness.”

Not always. She had firsthand experience on that topic.

Saturday, December 3rd, 7:00 A.M. (MST), Sanctuary, Idaho

Keely Walsh-Maddox lay on her right side, gasping, as Ren, her husband of almost a year, made love to her from behind. As his cock thrust in and out of her pussy in a steady rhythm, his talented hand alternated from gently rubbing her once-again flat stomach to manipulating her engorged clitoris. He’d already given her two orgasms and was going for a morning sex record of three when a rousing chorus of Nickelback’s song, “S.E.X.,” sounded from her cell phone.

“Don’t answer.” Ren nipped her shoulder and then licked it. “Riley’s still asleep, and I’m not done with you yet. Whoever’s calling can wait.”

His low and rumbling voice set her insides to quivering. Hell, the man even sounded sexy.

She tilted her head back, against his shoulder. “Kiss me and make me come already. Not that I’m not enjoying the orgasm marathon, but our son will wake up soon and want to be fed. And so do I. All this sex has made me hungry.”

“Damn, you should’ve told me. I love morning blow jobs.” He nuzzled her ear. His hips maintained the steady rhythm which had driven the previous climaxes.

“Not that kind of hungry, you sex maniac.”

“But I’m
your
sex maniac,” he whispered against her ear as he pressed a firm thumb on her clit and changed his thrusting pattern to deep, hard, and fast.

“Yes, oh God, yes…you…oh God, that’s so frick-fracking good.” Keely held his hand to her clit and thrust her hips to meet his forceful movements. Then the sensations, all time, all reality coalesced into a personal singularity, and she screamed with the strongest climax of the morning.

Ren grunted and growled as his cock erupted, sending her into multiple aftershocks. He held her close and murmured “love you, love you” into her neck as he massaged her stomach and sheltered her trembling body close to his strength.

Someone banged on the front door of their home, totally destroying the intimate mood. The noise also had awakened their almost six-month-old son.

“Goddammit! World War III had better have started or someone will get his ass handed to him for waking the baby up. Plus I love the afterglow cuddling. Now it’s all spoiled.” Ren kissed her sweaty forehead, rubbed her tummy one more time, and then got off the bed. He pulled on some sweatpants and stalked out of the bedroom to answer the door.

With Riley’s cries increasing in volume, Keely threw the bedclothes off her naked body and shrugged on her big fluffy robe with pink bunnies on it, a present from one of her five older brothers. Ren hated it, because it wasn’t sexy. But then he liked her naked. She smiled. She liked him naked, too.

She entered the small nursery, picked up her son and gave him a kiss on his cute little nose. He stopped crying instantly, his arms waving in excitement. She wrinkled her nose. “Woo-wee, let’s get a clean diaper on you, little man. Then momma will feed you.”

Riley’s big blue eyes fixed on her face, his little rosebud of a mouth pursed in anticipation of his breakfast.

“Keely, you’d better get out here. Something came up on the trapping program you set up.” Ren’s urgent tones had her finishing Riley’s much-needed diaper change quickly. She offered a breast to Riley and walked into the great room, nursing her son. Multi-tasking was more important than ever now that she had a baby.

Ren’s tense gaze met hers and he swept a gentle finger over the top of the breast Riley suckled. “Lucky guy. I had more plans for that breast.”

She mouthed “sex maniac,” and he smirked.

Her brother, Tweeter, and Ren’s brother, Trey, sat on the distressed leather couch; they stared with a mixture of awe and embarrassment at her partially exposed breast and the baby feeding noisily.

“God, Sprite…I think I’m gonna go blind.” Her brother placed a hand over his eyes in a dramatic fashion.

“Idiot.” Trey slapped him up side of the head, but his face was solemn and not amused. Her brother-in-law hadn’t been happy since Dr. Fiona Teague, an SSI operative’s sister, had left the Sanctuary compound back in June after delivering Riley under dire conditions. Trey’s monthly visits to her new home in New Mexico had yet to produce the relationship he desired. Keely’s heart hurt for him.

“So, my communications trap finally got us a lead?” She sat on the loveseat. Ren settled in next to her, his arm around her shoulders, cuddling her and their son. His body posture was tense…protective. What the heck had happened? Had the traitor finally come back on the radar after lying low for months?

“A report went to the FBI and Homeland Security from the D.C. police about a homicide at Georgetown University.” Tweeter handed Ren some papers. She read the sheets as he did.

Keely looked at her brother. “A local homicide? What does that have to do with my SSI search program?”

Since the traitor seemed to have a hard-on for Ren, her, and SSI in general, she’d worried that the traitor would continue to sabotage their government contracts or send more assassins. In retaliation, she’d devised a trapping program using National Security Agency resources to search for couplings of words and phrases pertaining to SSI.

“Keep reading, Sprite,” Tweeter suggested.

She continued to scan the printout and gasped. “Are the D.C. cops trying to get this Elana Cruz killed?” Scowling, she looked at the men. “She’s a frick-fracking sitting duck for the traitor and his mercenary.”

“Assholes.” Ren growled and pulled her more tightly against his body. Riley let go of her nipple with an audible pop and turned his head to look at his daddy. Ren tilted Keely’s face to his. “No one is taking any of us out, especially not you or our child. I’ll kill anybody who tries.”

Gently she guided Riley to her other breast. Once he was happily sucking away, she turned her head to look at her husband. He was scared and that was unacceptable. She hurried to reassure him. “I know that, sto-o-o-pid. I feel safe on Sanctuary. But the Georgetown research librarian is dead…unless we do something. Nowhere do I see protective custody for Elana mentioned in that report.”

“The Feebies and Homeland Security are way behind the curve on this one,” Tweeter said. “Two minutes after we obtained the report, we received a request from the Defense Intelligence Agency to protect Ms. Cruz. She’s the only person who can positively identify the traitor in DIA.”