Page 31 of Power Surge

“I was going with pollen.”

Movement in front of the windshield snatches my attention. My heart stops before kick-starting again at a rapid pace. Sarah, Tank’s frightful wife, now stands at the hood of the SUV with a coiled rope dangling from her left hand. Not taking my focus off her, I nudge Tank with my elbow. “What the fuck were you two planning to do to me?”

A loud, rumbling laugh belts from his chest when he sees what I'm seeing. “That woman.”

“Is violent as hell?”

“Perfection.” I swear he lets out a love-filled sigh. Shaking his head, he flicks a look to my side. “She’ll be disappointed that she doesn't need to follow through with whatever crazy-ass plan she concocted to make you open up.”

I flinch as Sarah narrows her eyes and rests both hands on her hips. “Get out of the car, Man Child,” she yells through the windshield.

I’m armed and outweigh the woman, but somehow, I’m still a bit terrified. “Protect me,” I beg.

“You're on your own, man.” The car door slams shut behind him. I watch as he strides to his wife and engulfs her in a bear hug. A hint of a smile breaks through her tough exterior. An exterior she has to wear on a daily basis commanding several hundred marines.

Grumbling to myself about how unfair my life has turned out to be, I climb out of the SUV. “What exactly were you planning to do to me?”

Sarah sighs and leans against Tank's wide chest. “Tie you to a chair and come up with creative ways to make you talk.” She rests her head back on Tank's shoulder as she gazes up at him. “But it seems all my planning will go to waste.” The loving concern behind her wide eyes as they meet mine is crystal clear. “Seems you two started the conversation without my help, which is good.”

“So I don't end up tortured to talk through my feelings?”

“Because you have bigger issues to deal with,” she says, watching my reaction.

“What's going on?” Tank demands, shifting into full protective mode. Gripping her shoulder, he steps back, putting a foot between them. This is another reason why I’m terrified of Sarah. If you as much as look at her the wrong way, not only do you have to deal with her, who’s a badass in her own right, but protective papa bear will rip off your arms and legs after she’s through with you.

They’re perfect for each other.

“It's all over the news. Saudi Arabia, our ally, is taking live fire as we speak. Sources over there are begging for a response from the US, for any kind of help. Which means your girl’s under fire, Man Child.”

“What?” I snap, my own protective instinct kicking in knowing Randi is not only in the middle of this shit storm but is dealing with it alone.

A million thoughts and questions flash through my mind. Taking a quick stride forward, I grip Tank’s arm. “Call Pierce, tell him to get to the White House and we'll meet him there.”

“It’ll be a war zone. No way will they let us through the front gate.”

A sharp tug on his bicep puts us nose to nose. “Then we'll break it the fuck down. She needs me, Davis. I'm not letting her go through this alone.”

Chapter Nine

Randi

Chaos mounts behind me as I stare out wide windows onto the back lawn. Reporters line the fence, the lenses of their cameras reflecting in the afternoon light. Through the shouting behind me, a particularly loud voice booms above the others, demanding attention, but no one heeds his words.

What the hell am I supposed to do?

I'msonot prepared for this. Call me naïve, but I assumed I had… I don’t know, more time, maybe, before the preverbal shit hit the fan, all stemming from the fool who was in this role prior. Sure, there have been a few attacks between the volatile countries, but we were handling it. Sam and Todd were working on it. Doing a decent job at it, I thought. Not great but holding down the fort while I figured out how to stop everything from here.

“Quiet,” I say loud enough to be heard over the other voices. Turning from the window, I take in my advisors and commanders from each military branch. Six weathered faces focus on me, their skin wrinkled with the massive amount of stress that comes with being the president’s military advisors.

Todd, the weaselly secretary of state I don’t trust as far as I can throw him, leans forward from his position on the couch, tension radiating off him in waves as he wipes his palms up and down the length of his thighs. Blake paces the back of the room along with the defense secretary, both mumbling to themselves. A few other advisors are scattered around the room, their worry palpable.

“General Carpenter, I want your insight first,” I say to the man with more service bars and medals than I knew even existed secured to the front of his army green uniform. “You have the floor.”

The intimidating man rises from the ornate stuffed winged-back chair. Hands clasped in front of his hips, he widens his stance and centers his heavy focus on me.

“I’ve read the initial reports coming out of Saudi Arabia. Several small attacks have erupted along the borders. No one has claimed responsibility, but the pressure is mounting, and it seems more attacks are expected. The king is asking for our assistance in defending their borders and protecting their civilians from the continuous attack. It’s not a well-organized army, more like several small cells attacking in sequence.”

“Do we know who ordered the attacks, or do they seem like random acts of violence?” I ask. My gut clenches with trepidation. Small attacks like these have sprouted up all through the Middle East, causing unrest between our allies and enemies. The turmoil is bubbling over, threatening to send that part of the world into war, attacking anyone they assume is behind the attacks.

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