J Saint - Collateral Damage

Oh, the rearing of extreme evil-of the serial killer variety-was still discernable. At least in most places, but the rest was a roiling dark cloud of confusion.

For once Roger didn't envy his cousin, Paul Anderson, the sitting President of the United States. Growing up, he had, though. Paul had been the star of every show from top scholar to ace quarterback. He was a legend in their hometown and the impossible example that every male and more subtly every female born in the family after him was expected to match.

Roger's mother, Paul's aunt though only a decade older than him, made no pretenses about it. She expected her sons to follow her nephew's shining path and still did. Roger had towed the line to some degree, but his brothers had rebelled. And depending on one's perspective were either lucky or unlucky enough to be world-wide adrenaline junkies. There wasn't a mountain they hadn't climbed, a wave they hadn't conquered or a cave they hadn't spelunked. Currently, they ran a treasure hunting operation in the Florida Keys and hired themselves out as personal guides in extreme adventures.

Roger just about wished he was there with them, downing an icy beer rather than dealing with the hot items burning him alive at the moment. Jack being one.

What was he going to-? Roger's cell rang and he snatched it up, expecting Jack had come to his senses. Neil Dalton's name flashed on the LED and Roger's heart came to a crashing standstill as a fresh tidal wave of guilt and reality washed over him.

Major Neil Dalton formerly of the 75th Ranger Regiment and one of the best damn men in Delta was dead. His blood was on Roger's hands. And his pregnant widow was on the phone.

"Weston."

The jagged breaths coming across the phone wrenched Roger's heart. Mari's dam of unbelievably tight control over any public display of emotion must have burst. From the moment he'd knocked on her door to tell her Neil wasn't coming back, he'd yet to see her cry, but knew she did. Her red-rimmed eyes were a constant testimony to her grief. He'd told her to call if she needed anything at all. Yet, he was still surprised she'd finally reached out for help.

"I'll be right there," he told her though she hadn't said a word.

"Help me, please. I'm not at home." The desperation in her whisper sent a chill down his spine.

"Where then?" He stood and walked out the door of his house. He'd left the post an hour ago to think at home about all the crap coming down the pipe.

"Food mart. Highway 87. South of airport."

Roger opened his mouth several times then clamped it shut before he could demand to know what in the hell she was doing there. A loud banging vibrated the line followed by the most profane string of derogatory hate that Roger had ever heard and that was saying a lot. Mari cried out, "Please hurry."

"What the hell was that?" Roger demanded, unable to keep his cool any longer. He slid into his car and was pushing past the speed limit in six seconds, determined to make the ten minute drive in five.

"Angry man. Wants to…kill me. I'm locked in the bathroom."

He didn't know what was going on but the frustration of not being able to immediately help had him twisted onto a massive knot of seething rage. "I'm coming. I'll call the police and call you back."

"I've called them."

"Okay. Then talk to me. Do you think he can break down the door? You have to arm yourself and hide if you can." Roger hit Interstate 95, heading toward Highway 87, his speedometer past ninety.

Nothing about his surroundings registered except if it blocked his path. He could hear the man yelling at Mari again but the phone crackled. Then he heard Mari gasp. "I think I hear a siren."

Roger sucked in air, realizing he'd forgotten to breathe. "Good. Tell me what happened."

"I needed food. I didn't want to go any place where…where I'd been with Neil and just drove around then saw this place. I was fine until the Doritos." She exhaled hard. "Then I couldn't finish. I had to leave and I opened the door too fast and hit this man with the door. He went crazy. His friend tried to get him to leave, but he wouldn't. Not until he punished me. He pushed the clerk into a pickle stand. I think the clerk was so upset that he had a heart attack. Then the man came after me…he…he…Allah help me. He tried to make me touch him, but I stabbed him with a piece of glass and ran in here."

It was a miracle the steering wheel didn't crack beneath the force of Roger's grip as he exited onto Highway 87 and floored the gas pedal. His gut and his heart were stuck somewhere in his throat, making it hard to breathe or speak. He forced the question through his clenched teeth. "Did he hurt you? Hurt the baby?"

"No. Please. Not like before. I escaped this time. No shame. Please. They will not send me back, will they?"

Before? Neil had mentioned that Mari had suffered a traumatic experience in Afghanistan, but hadn't revealed what. Dear God. Had she been raped? "Nobody is going to send you anywhere. Don't worry about that. I'll make sure of it."

"But I hurt the man. Won't they make me pay for that?"

"You were defending yourself. Is the man still there?"

"I think he left. The sirens are closer. He said he was going to kill me."

"He won't get near you. I promise. I see the police pulling into the parking lot now. Just hold on."

The police were already out of the car with their Glock 22's drawn when Roger pulled into the parking lot. Glass from the double doors to the food mart lay in a shattered pile on the sidewalk. One officer turned his pistol toward Roger and shouted something. Mari was still on the phone talking so Roger missed what the officer said.

Roger shoved the car into park and held up his hands, showing the officer he was unarmed. He pointed at the phone then rolled down the window. "There's a woman trapped in the bathroom. I have her on the phone. She's the one who called 911."

The officer stepped closer, pistol at the ready, but barrel pointed to the side. "Who are you?"

Delta didn't wear uniforms or regulation haircuts. They did little to set them apart from any regular Joe on the street. He held up his Fort Bragg ID pass.

"Her husband's military commander, Officer Cain." Roger noted the man's name. Though young, the man seemed calm and in control. "There were two men involved and I'm sure the clerk inside needs an ambulance. I'll wait here until you check the place out."

The cop nodded after a hard stare and rejoined his partner, who was plastered against the wall outside of the store. At the same time they rushed through the front door, one dropping low, the other high, then they disappeared inside.

"Stay where you are," Roger told Mari over the phone. "The police are checking the store out now."

"I can't come out," Mari said. "They can't see me. I'm indecent."

"He ripped your clothes?" A dizzying rush of rage sliced through him. What had she been through?

"My hijab. He took it. He tried to choke me with it. It is improper to be seen in public without it."

Roger let his head fall back to the headrest and mentally counted to regain his equilibrium. He was one hundred percent positive that if Mari's attacker walked out the door at that moment, Roger would strangle him with his bare hands, police or no police.

"Are you there, Mr. Weston?"

"Yeah." His voice grated hoarsely. "Call me Roger, so the police know that you know me." He glanced through his car for something she could use and produced a clean towel from his gym bag. He could hear a multitude of sirens growing closer. People were stopping on the street to look.

"The police want me to come out," Mari said. "I can't."

"Hold on. I'll be right there." Roger exited and locked his car then slowly approached the front of the store and called out. The scent of pickles tickled his nose. "Officer Cain. Can you hear me? It's Lt. Col. Weston."