The Protector (37 page)

His gaze flicked to the soldiers positioned on the rooftops. When he took his shot, the crowd would scatter, and bullets from those snipers would end his life, whether he managed to kill the girl or not. Hitting a target with a paintball wasn’t the same as hitting one with a bullet. His hands had never trembled playing paintball.

Abruptly, the door on which every eye was fixed flew open. Thunder rumbled in the distance. With an electrical current dancing in the air, the Commander’s daughter stepped out, escorted by men in dark suits.
 
Shahbaz vied for a view of her. He was surprised to discover that, even with her tawny hair in disarray, wearing nothing but a white T-shirt and jeans, she appealed to him.
 

“Miss McClellan would like to make a public announcement,” shouted an agent.

Microphones extended on poles swung into the clearing. An expectant hush fell over the crowd as the woman’s face appeared between her body guards shoulders. They remained in front of her, like human shields, so that only her head was exposed.
 

Shahbaz slipped a moist hand inside his pocket. As his fingers curled around the cool pistol, his attention was drawn to the LCD panel on the camera in front of him, and he stared in wonder. Why, the target’s eyes were the color of pottery glazed in Karachi, a lovely purple-blue!

When she opened her mouth to speak, he found himself straining to hear her words.

“Thank you all for your concern, but I was never in any kind of danger. I want to make it clear that the FBI’s hunt for Isaac Calhoun was misguided. He was chosen by my father to protect me. He is a hero, a friend, and his privacy should be respected. Thank you.”

Shouted questions followed immediately on the heels of her statement.

“No questions.” The dark-skinned agent threw an arm around her, drawing her away from the crowd. Moving as a unit, the agents hustled her toward the immense silver motor coach parked strategically nearby.

Adrenaline fueled Shahbaz’s heart to a gallop. The chance to kill the Commander’s daughter was evaporating like the streams in the Rigistan Desert.

Now, Shahbaz, now!
He
willed
himself to draw his pistol, to aim at the part of her that he could still see and squeeze the trigger. Only, the memory of her eyes kept him spellbound.

And then it was too late. She had disappeared into the motor coach, and the crowd was beginning to disperse.

Distress grappled with relief as Shahbaz stood in one place, jostled by the parting crowd.

The Teacher’s furious face leapt before him. He grabbed Shahbaz’s arm and tugged him in the direction of their car.
“Hurry!
We can’t let them get away.”

Dreading the Teacher’s wrath, but giddy to be still alive, Shahbaz hastened after him.

**

Ike lowered his rifle just as raindrops started pelting the tiles of the rooftop on which he lay. Arriving at the edge of town, he’d climbed to the height of a towering Victorian. Just as he’d hoped, he was able to scrutinize the crowd at Town Hall through his scope while hiding from the soldiers patrolling the nearby rooftops.
 

Within minutes of crawling to the height of the steep roof, he’d seen
Eryn
exit the building. All he could make out was the top of her head. The crowd around her grew hushed, as if listening, but if she spoke at all, the sound of her voice was carried off by the breeze.

With his finger crooked over the trigger, Ike had scanned the crowd incessantly, ready to drop anyone who showed the least hint of aggression.

To his dizzying relief, no one had.

In the next instant,
Eryn
was being escorted toward the FBI’s RV. Jackson stuffed her into the motor coach so quickly that Ike never caught a glimpse of her face. Jealousy vied with gratitude as he acknowledged Jackson’s vigilance. At least someone in the FBI was doing his damn job. But as long as they considered her bait for terrorists, her future remained uncertain.

He couldn’t let that motor coach out of his sight.

Looping his rifle strap over his shoulder, Ike let go and slid on his belly toward the gutter, where he caught himself on the sturdy lattice work below it. Rain soaked through his clothing as he swung down onto a second story balcony. The occupants of the home all appeared to be out.
 
Braving the long leap onto the wet grass, he rolled to break his fall and came up running.

Chris’s Jeep was parked a hundred yards away, hidden out of sight in a deep ditch. Sprinting through the downpour, Ike set his mind on finding and following the RV before it disappeared on him.
  

**

“You weak-minded fool.”

The Teacher’s lecture made Shahbaz burn with resentment as he drove them out of town. The windshield wipers slapped a frenzied tempo, doing little to clear the blurred view of dozens of taillights up ahead, including those of the FBI’s motor coach, which they were following. “Why didn’t you take the shot?” the man raged.

Shahbaz gripped the steering wheel. He could not explain his hesitation. He’d always believed that martyrdom was glorious. But it required more courage than he’d realized. He wanted nothing to do with it now. He was too weak. Until tonight, his target had been a faceless entity, a worthless woman. It had never occurred to him she would be so...pretty.
 

“Don’t forget what happened to
Itzak
,” the Teacher threatened him again.
  

A droplet of rainwater slid inside of Shahbaz’s collar and down his neck. He darted his companion a look, wondering what would happen if he pulled out the pistol now, aimed it at the man’s head, and blew his brains out. This martyring business would be over then, wouldn’t it?

The sound of a switchblade ringing free brought his fantasy up short. The tip of it gouged the soft flesh beneath his jaw. In the next instant, the Teacher was reaching across him, taking the gun from the pocket of his sweat suit. Shahbaz’s bravado went with it.

“I understand your cowardice, son,” hissed the older man, even as he sliced through the first layer of skin. The steering wheel wobbled in Shahbaz’s grip. “You have lived for years among the infidels. You’ve been tainted by their corruption. But for your mortal soul’s sake you must be obedient to Allah, or you will face his chastisement, just as it is written.”

Shahbaz concentrated on not crashing. Sweat bathed his pores.
 

At last, the blade was withdrawn. He heaved a sigh of relief, watching wistfully as the gun went back into the Teacher’s briefcase.
 

“Do not let the motor coach out of your sight,” the man
cautioned,
his voice gentle once more. “We will watch and wait. When the opportunity to kill her arises, you will then ensure your salvation.”

**

The last thing Ike expected was for the FBI’s RV to turn into the Elkton Motel. As it eased off Highway 33, he barreled past it, rainwater spraying off the Jeep’s wide tires. He drove half a mile farther before executing a quick U-turn. But he didn’t go back to the motel. Instead, he turned up the driveway of an adjacent property and extinguished his lights.

The house at the end of the driveway appeared abandoned. He veered off the pavement onto the unkempt lawn, rounded the unattached garage, and bumped his way across a wet field.
   

Back-dropped by trees that kept him camouflaged, he could see the rear of the motel clearly. Between the separated units, he spotted the FBI’s RV, already parked. He stopped where he had the clearest view of it, killed the engine, and lowered his window.

Just then,
Eryn
dashed from the RV into a motel room, her purse over her head. The sight of her filled him with yearning, relief, and a steely determination. The door closed, putting her in the company of two agents, he guessed, as the third one, Jackson, took Winston for a walk in the rain.

Jealousy gnawed at Ike. Winston was
his
dog; he’d spent hours training him.
 

Once they’d paced the perimeter of the motel, the agent put Winston back into the RV. He then knocked on the motel room door. Two agents came out carrying duffel bags and went into the room next door, leaving
Eryn
alone with Jackson.

Ike scowled. Whose idea was this? Why hadn’t they just continued on to Washington, instead of staying one more night in a town that had been put on the map today by the media?

Raindrops spattered the Jeep’s canvas roof as he assessed
Eryn’s
safety. The helicopter had departed a while ago. The armored truck was probably halfway back to Quantico by now. All she had were three armed agents to protect her. At least the rooms had no windows in the rear, and local law enforcement could be summoned in a heartbeat.
  

But Ike didn’t like it. Staying in Elkton wasn’t smart. Stanley wouldn’t like it either. He considered calling the Commander to reassure him. He had to be frantic by now, having seen his daughter on the news, back in FBI
custoody
. But the NSA would be monitoring Ike’s registered cell phone at the FBI’s behest. They would pinpoint his location at once if he used it. Too bad he’d thrown away that prepaid phone in a fit of frustration.
Could’ve used it now.
  

The motel’s neon sign blinked on suddenly, finding colorful reflection in the RV’s steel hull. Picturing
Eryn
alone with the agent whose business card she kept in her purse, Ike wrestled with envy.

He missed her. Her scent still clung to him from their lovemaking. Memories spooled in his mind, feeding the hunger to keep her. He’d known it would be this way.
  

Isolation crept over him. He couldn’t believe he used to enjoy his solitude. Now he just felt cheated.

In an attempt to lighten his spirits, he turned on the radio. The tail end of a news summary had him turning up the volume.

In a brief statement to the press, Miss McClellan confirmed what locals have insisted all along: that the former Navy SEAL wanted for questioning by the FBI had been protecting her. Here is what Miss McClellan had to say about him:

Eryn’s
voice, coming out of the radio, made Ike hold his breath. “
He is a hero, a friend, and his privacy should be respected.
” The words quenched him like a warm summer shower.
  

With the search called off, things are returning to normal here in the Shenandoah Valley. Up next, Mozart’s Piano Concerto, Number 24 in C minor.

As mournful notes filled the Jeep’s interior, Ike shut the radio off, stunned.

He’s a hero, a friend.
He held the words like a treasure, saving them for later comfort, along with her earlier confession.
I love you, Ike.
 

In less than a week,
Eryn
had turned his world inside out. Before he’d met her, he could hardly face himself in the mirror; dreaded the endless, sleepless nights in which his dead teammates demanded to know why he had quit the fight and made their sacrifice meaningless. The weight of his guilt had kept him paralyzed, unable to move forward.
 

But now he was ready to walk that road to redemption.
Eryn’s
essence would light the way.

Moisture stung Ike’s eyes as he peered through the curtain of rain at the motel door, envisioning her inside. Maybe, if he survived the treacherous months to come, he would one day answer her words with a confession of his own.