Page 39 of ELITE Justice
His gaze scanned her body. She wasn’t wearing anything but a T-shirt and thank Christ, panties. “How did you see the graffiti?”
She sucked on the ice for a few seconds before answering. “I heard noises outside, so I grabbed my gun and ran downstairs. I didn’t see anyone but when I turned to head back up to my apartment, it was written in red spray paint. I ran back up to call the police.” She glanced down at her T-shirt. “And I was going to change into some clothes. That’s when I smelled the smoke and heard the alarms go off. At that point, I needed fire trucks more than police.”
“Sweetheart, you got them both.” Jonathan kissed her on the forehead.
As though it just dawned on her, she grabbed his forearm with her good hand. “Am I going to need police protection? Do you think he can get to me here?”
Jonathan smiled. “Then who better to be with than a trained professional in personal protection? Besides, Guardian has ten offices scattered across the country. Now that you’re mine, we can move.”
“That might be a good idea,” she suggested.
“And we’ll need to change your name,” he continued.
“Do I get to pick it?” She brightened at that idea then shoveled another teaspoon of ice chips into her mouth.
“No. I do.” He bent and kissed her temple so as not to disturb the oxygen mask. “How about Gwendolyn O’Neil?” he whispered in her ear.
“I like the sound of that.”
So did he.
EPILOGUE
The following evening,Gwen stood in front of the charred remains of the diner and home that had been hers for a short few months. Jonathan came up beside her and slid his hand into hers, interlacing their fingers.
She wanted to cry. Again. Her aunt and uncle had entrusted their life’s savings to her, and she’d caused it to burn to the ground. Luis was out of a job and a home. She’d spent hours on the phone with other restaurants getting her employees new jobs, most with better pay than she’d been able to afford.
The real kicker was the headline in both the Dallas and Fort Worth newspapers:Up In Smoke Goes Up in Smoke. A picture of her over the fireman’s shoulder as he carried her down the ladder was on the front page of the local section above the fold. At least she wasn’t flashing her lady bits. Not a word, though, about the brave Guardian men who’d stopped a terrorist attack on the American Airlines towers.
Another black and gray SUV pulled into the side lot next to its twin. Alex, Griffin, and Quin sauntered over.
“We were on our way out, and I wanted to say how sorry I am about your restaurant, the building, everything.” Alex looked beyond tired.
“Thank you,” Gwen managed to get out before she started coughing again. The doctors had told her that may happen for several days, maybe even weeks.
“It doesn’t look like you’re going to buy me a drink at this establishment.” Somehow, she had missed the very tall man with short black hair approach the group.
A broad smile crossed Jonathan’s face. “Arch. You son of a bitch.” Jonathan embraced the taller man with a one-arm, back-pounding bro hug. “You have time for that drink?”
“No, I need to get on the road, but I couldn’t leave Dallas without at least saying hello and reminding you that I have a two-bedroom apartment in Houston.”
As though he just realized other people were standing around watching the two of them, Jonathan turned to Gwen. “Sweetheart, I want to introduce you to an old friend, Archer Stillman. Arch, I’d like you to meet Gwen Shaw.” After a brief handshake, he introduced Alex, Griffin, and Quin. “Arch and I met at Quantico. He was going through the FBI Academy, and I was back on base for some additional training.”
Alex was suddenly interested. “You’re FBI? I ran the tactical operation here on the ground for USSOCOM.”
Arch’s eyebrows raised then he glanced at Jonathan. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were right in the middle of everything.”
Jonathan gave Gwen a hug as he pulled her closer to him. “You have no idea just how close.”
“Word has it you destroyed the local cell,” Alex claimed.
“We finally captured the Dallas cell leader, Aqil Faris. He actually gave himself that Arabic name of Intelligent Knight. I guess he thought of himself as a knight of the Islamic State.” Arch chuckled. “By the way, his real name was Tyrone Jackson. That’s what took us so long to find him.”
Griffin shook his head. “We heard he was one of the subcontractors for the drywall in the towers, and placed over two hundred pounds of explosives inside the walls attached to throwaway phones.”
Arch nodded. “Your intel is correct.”
“Why did he do it?” Gwen asked.
