Christy Barritt - High-Stakes Holiday Reunion

It was dark, void of any light. The air was hazy, evidence of a smoke bomb. And the smell of ammunition hung heavy in the atmosphere.

The sounds, the smells...they all reminded him of another time, another place.

A time and place he was trying to forget.

He rounded the corner and spotted someone crouching beneath the first staircase. Crouching, ready to attack?

He cocked his gun, drawing on all of his training. It was time to get some answers.

“Don’t move,” he commanded. “Or I’ll shoot.”

The figure twirled around, a stick in hand. Wide, familiar eyes met his. Fear stretched across their depths.

His muscles relaxed a moment, but the relief was quickly replaced with agitation. “Ashley? Are you crazy? I told you stay in the garage!”

“Christopher?” Ashley blinked, her stick still hoisted over her shoulder as if she might swing.

He lowered his gun and glared at the woman in front of him. Even in the dark, Christopher could tell that her face was void of any color or life. “Yes, it’s me. It’s a good thing I didn’t shoot you. I heard the glass crunching downstairs and thought the men were back to finish the job.”

“I saw the blood on the stairs. I thought you were...dead. I...”

He raised an eyebrow. “You were coming to defeat the bad guys with a dowel rod?”

She shrugged. “I had to do something. I couldn’t stay up there forever.”

He stepped closer so she would be sure to see the irritation in his gaze. “I told you I’d be back.”

She didn’t look away. She was still as stubborn as ever. “You’ve been gone for hours.”

“Twenty minutes.” He sliced his hand through the air. “Twenty minutes is all.”

She frowned and lowered her stick before jutting out her chin again. “It felt like hours.”

He scowled again and ran a hand over his face as he dragged in a ragged breath. Images of war continued to beat at him. They tried to transport him back in time. He wouldn’t let them. Still, Ashley coming up on him like that could have been ugly. Really ugly. That was the second time he’d pulled a gun on her in less than four hours. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, strain pulling at each of her features. “I’m fine. Are the men gone?”

“Best I can tell. They messed this place up, didn’t they?” His gaze roamed around them. It looked like a massacre, only thankfully, the only casualties were his furniture, belongings and the house itself.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I should have never come.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is just stuff. It can be fixed. Besides, you weren’t the one with the gun.”

Big, luminous eyes looked up to meet his. “Who was? Who were those men?”

He looked away before he got lost in the depths of those baby blues and shook his head. “I have no idea. But they mean serious business.”

“Why’d they leave?”

“That’s what I want to know, also. They didn’t do all of this damage just to send a message. They used a smoke bomb and everything. They came here to kill us. I want to know why they left before finishing the job.”

“And where did the blood come from by the garage?”

“Another great question.” He put his hand on her back. “I know one thing. We’re getting out of here before they decide to come back. I called Eyes and they’re sending some men out. They should be here any minute, but we’re not waiting around.”

“Where are we going?”

“I have an idea.” He led her toward the front door.

She reached back. “My phone. It was in the living room.”

“Forget about it. That’s probably how they traced you here. All those new-fangled phones have built-in GPSs. You’re better off without it.” He grabbed his jacket—surprisingly still intact—from the back of a chair.

“But what if Josh or David try to call?”

“If you’re dead, it will do no good.”

They stepped out of the front door—which had been ripped from its hinges—and onto the front porch. His truck had bullet holes in the window also, but the tires looked fine. “I’m glad you’re wearing a coat. It might be a cold ride.”

He opened the door and, using the thick sleeve of his jacket, he brushed broken glass shards from the seat. Then he ushered Ashley inside, instructing her to be careful. They didn’t have much time. Every minute counted.

He cranked the engine—and the heat—and turned around in the driveway. The cold wind hit his face as he took off down the road. Ashley sat beside him, seat belt strapped across her chest, and her arms wrapped over her. He wished he had a blanket to offer her. Instead, he pulled off his coat and draped it over her.

“You’re going to freeze,” she muttered.

“You’re always cold, even without thirty-degree wind hitting you in the face. I’ll be fine.”

He remembered that about her. He remembered a lot about her. Now wasn’t the time to think about those things. Now he had to think about staying alive.

This was not what he needed right now. No, right now he needed time to enjoy a quieter pace. He needed time to let his soul heal.

But instead, God had brought Ashley Wilson back into his life.

As if that wasn’t more of an emotional storm than he could handle, throw in the fact that someone was trying to kill her and, in effect, him also.

This was not the relaxing, healing time he’d anticipated when he’d come home and taken this new job.

When he’d last spoken to Ashley, she’d been finishing up her degree at a local college. She’d been working two jobs, trying to make ends meet. He’d always said that she was one of the hardest workers he’d ever met. She’d been focused, at the top of her class in academics and determined to do things on her own. Her dad had retired on disability after an injury at work, and money had been tight with her family. She’d even had the opportunity to play volleyball on a partial scholarship for a college down in North Carolina, but she’d turned it down to be close to her mom, dad and brother.

Guilt plagued him about that decision. He knew part of the reason she’d said no to that scholarship was because of him. They’d been planning their future together. She’d wanted to stick close by both for her family and because she felt it was important to give their relationship the time and effort it required.

Was she angry still? He couldn’t blame her if she was. He’d broken her heart.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Ashley muttered.

“It feels surreal to me, too, if it makes you feel better.”

She shook her head. “I just want to wake up and discover this is all a bad dream.”

He wondered if by all she included him? Probably.

His eyes watered from the wind. Thankfully, he didn’t see anyone behind him. A glance at his watch told him it was past midnight now. There wasn’t usually much traffic out on these back roads, especially not at this time of night.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Ashley shivering in the seat beside him. If he’d had another vehicle, he would have driven it. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Wasn’t that how the saying went?

He took back roads, all the way from Isle of Wight where he lived, through the neighboring Suffolk into Chesapeake and finally to Virginia Beach. Nearly an hour after he left, he pulled up to a guardhouse, showed his ID, had his truck searched as standard procedure and pulled through the gates.

“Where are we?” Ashley asked.

“We’re at Iron, Incorporated’s headquarters. You’ll be safe here for the night. I promise.”

* * *

Ashley stared at the huge, lodgelike building in front of her. So this was the prestigious paramilitary contracting firm she’d heard hints about. They were secretive in what they did, but people around town always whispered about them with pride. Rumors had it that they’d guarded ambassadors in the Middle East and developed cutting-edge technology that was soon to be released to help keep soldiers safer. They were said to be the best of the best.