J Saint - Collateral Damage

"I hear you."

"Mari won't come out until she has this towel. The bastard took her headscarf. He tried to choke her with it. She's Muslim."

A moment of silence followed. "Don't touch anything. You can bring it here."

Roger crossed the threshold, his eyes quickly adjusting to the lighting. The clean and orderly set up of the food mart was violated by the remnants of violence…and death, he thought as he ran his gaze over the elderly man lying in a bed of glass, pickles and blood. That it could have easily been Mari in the pile as well burned in his gut. He moved to the back of the store and storage room with a grim determination to nail the bastards responsible. He crossed the hazardous sea of nuts on the ground and joined the policemen.

The officers had their guns drawn, and were situated outside the bathroom in defensive stances. They were still in full alert mode. Roger knew Mari wasn't a threat, but they didn't. Roger held up the towel and his hands to assure them he was unarmed. "Let me talk to her and give her this."

Officer Cain nodded. "Go ahead, but tell her to come out with her hands where we can see them. Until we know what went down here, we aren't taking any chances."

"You can't these days," Roger agreed. He moved over to the door. "Mari, it's Roger. I have a head covering for you. You can open the door. It's safe now."

Roger heard a low moan then the clicking of a bolt. The door cracked open and, oh shit, a paper towel wrapped bloody hand stuck out. Several drops of blood plopped onto the floor. His stomach flipped.

"You're hurt! Move back." Screw propriety. Sometimes there were more important things. "I'm coming in." Roger glared at the cops, daring them to argue with him. They lowered their Glocks and nodded.

Roger slid into the bathroom. Mari turned from him with a cry. She faced the wall with her head bowed as if shamed. He plopped the towel on her head, covering the thick mass of wavy, impossibly long hair the color of black lacquer. He was damn certain he should be wrapping her cut hands instead. He moved around to face her and crouched down to look into her haunted amber-gold eyes. "I don't know what you have to do, or how you have to think of me in order for it to be acceptable with your beliefs for me to help you, but whatever it takes, do it or think it because that's what's going to happen. Understand?"

His breath hitched. In the two years he'd known her, Mari had always been covered with only her eyes visible, and all too often her gaze had remained downcast during any short conversation. He'd never actually seen her before. Roger had supposed shyness and her religious upbringing dictated her interactions and he had always made sure he was as kind and as respectful as possible. Now as he looked at her and realized just how secluded and hidden she constantly lived, he found himself really questioning why. God didn't create beauty and bury it in the dirt. Nor did God mean for the human heart and spirit to be hidden from the world. Lights were meant to shine in the darkness. Frightened out of her mind, disheveled, blood smeared on her honey-cream skin, she had to be the most stunning woman he'd ever seen.

"The ambulance is here," Officer Cain called out.

Roger didn't wait for Mari to answer; he swept her into his arms and carried her out to the paramedics. But the way she exhaled and let her head rest against his chest was answer enough.

Atlanta, Georgia

Lauren released the steering wheel, her hands cramping from the intensity of her grip. She had just lived the longest, most agonizing ten minutes of her life, and now that she'd finally made it to Angie's neighborhood, she realized her angst had only begun. Seeing Angie's car in the driveway, parked exactly where it was sixty minutes ago was not a good sign. During the multiple unanswered calls Lauren had made on the drive over, she had desperately prayed that Angie had taken the boys out to eat and had forgotten her cell phone at home.

So finding Angie's car left Lauren facing the increasing possibility that her sons and her best friend were in danger. She'd made a grave mistake. She'd always abdicated the protection of herself and her family to someone else, something else, or the Shepherds. She knew absolutely nothing about self defense. She didn't have a gun, didn't know how to use one, had never even touched one. Not that she would go barreling into Angie's house with a gun drawn like a TV show, but she fully realized 911 wouldn't have done her a damn bit of good against the gunman at her house. 911 only helped if there was the time and the opportunity to call for help, and the police were able to arrive in time to do any good. What were the odds all of those elements would work that smoothly every time?

SheThe front passenger's door opened and she barely stifled the scream rising in her throat as Jack slid into the seat. Her blind grab for the towel bar came up empty. It had fallen between the seat and the console. She made a mental note to get her hands on a better weapon.

"I'm about ninety-five percent sure you weren't followed," he said. "But there's an off chance I didn't spot a tail, so stay alert. The traffic and the short distance didn't work in our favor. Which house?"

"The tan one with the red Camry in the driveway. The car is parked exactly where it was when I left. They should be there. They should be answering the phone."

Jack reached over and touched her hand. His fingers were warm, comforting. The summery day was hot, but she was cold, an icy fear had wrapped her in a chilling grip.

"Hang in there. We'll find your sons and we'll keep them safe." His calm assurance brushed soothingly over her knotted angst.

She blinked back the moisture in her eyes and inhaled. She believed him. She had to.

He scanned the neighborhood. "I'm going to circle around and check out the house from the back. You can't stay here. You're a sitting duck parked in this car, especially if he managed to follow us. Come with me, but when we get close to the house you have to stay hidden until I give the go ahead. Got it?"

"Yeah." She'd crawl through fire to get closer to her sons. She had feared he would leave her behind; insist she stay in the stifling car. The wait would have driven her crazy.

"Bring the dogs with us. If your sons are being held hostage, the dogs might help." He didn't waste any more time. He checked the area again and exited the car.

She clipped on Sasha's and Sam's leashes then, at Jack's direction, she followed his lead, keeping to the shadows. The older neighborhood was lush with sprawling oaks, gleaming hedges and rolling lawns. Sunday afternoon in a populated city came at her, the drone of traffic and lawnmowers, a tinny radio, distant children shouting and laughing, a dog barking. Nothing sinister. Just an apple-pie-and-pass-the-grits normal day in the South, which made her situation even more surreal.

Alarms should be going off.

She should be screaming for help.

The world should be at a standstill instead of marching along as if nothing were wrong.

Even the fragrance of blooming tea roses and honeysuckle warmed by the afternoon sun were too cozy. The scent grated harshly over her nerves.

She stumbled as Sasha and Sam plowed ahead, pulling hard against their leashes. Jack caught her elbow and then reined the Shepherds in with a quiet, firm command that had them moving stealthily at his side. Move over, Dog Whisperer, there was a new Alpha in town.

Luckily there were only hedges to navigate through between this end of the block and Angie's house. Farther down were the fences, likely enclosing swimming pools as required by law.

In less than two minutes, they were one house away from Angie's. Since the boys' birthday party yesterday, the unfolding events had skewed Lauren's perception of time, tilted it sickly on some warped, metaphysical axis in her mind. She wanted everything to happen instantly.