Crossfire. Jodie Bailey

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      ONE

      Andrea Donovan stood at the glass-fronted entrance of her counseling center and watched the last patient of the day trek across the broiling parking lot to his car. The heat of the July Georgia sun blunted the edges of the world, giving the appearance that everything outside lay underwater. Her client eased onto Victory Drive, leaving her car alone in the parking lot save for a pickup truck idling near the gas station that neighbored her building.

      Andrea looked out for a moment longer before she headed back to her office to shut down her computer and collect her files. She still had notes to make for her last patient, but all of her energy seemed to have drained into a pool at her feet. So many hurting people walked through her doors. It drained her, but in a way that made the end of the day seem more satisfying than brutal.

      After gathering a stack of old documents for the shredder, Andrea stepped out to the empty reception desk in the lobby.

      An unfamiliar man blocked her path. Adrenaline rocketed from Andrea’s core and tingled in her fingertips.

      Broad-shouldered, dark-haired and square-jawed, in jeans and a navy button-down shirt, he effectively blocked the small space between the desk and the door. His bulk and the determined expression chiseled on his face radiated menacing vibes that plucked at Andrea’s flight response.

      She took a step back, but the only place to run was to her windowless office. No outlet there. Swallowing hard, she drew herself up to her full five feet and six inches. It had better look more imposing than it felt. “Can I help you?”

      The man’s dark eyes raked over her, sizing her up and dismissing her as less threatening than a June bug. “You’re Donovan? The counselor lady?” His posture said he wasn’t here to ask for help.

      “I am. Is there something I can do for you?” She gripped the papers tighter, wishing for the first time for the rifle she’d carried in combat on active duty six years ago. Not that she’d use it, but the knowledge that it was available would go miles toward making her feel safer in this guy’s presence.

      “I need to talk to you about Wade Cameron. You’re his head doc, right?” His eyes took in the papers in Andrea’s arms, then drifted over her head, scanning her office. “Where’s he at?”

      “He’s certainly not here.” Her mind flipped through her calendar. Army Specialist Wade Cameron hadn’t been to see her in weeks. He’d graduated from weekly counseling sessions to AA meetings and conversations with his sponsor.

      “Sure he’s not.” A cold half smile quirked the man’s mouth in a way that was anything but comforting. “You won’t mind if I take a look around then? Maybe get a peek at your file on him? Seems he might have left a message in there for me.”

      Andrea arched an eyebrow as her fear dissolved into fierce she-wolf protection. Specialist Cameron was one of her success stories, fighting his way out of a vicious cycle of PTSD-fueled alcohol addiction. The way he laughed so easily and carried himself with such dignity reminded her too much of Brendan, making her realize how much she had to make up for. No way was this street thug going to bully her into giving up confidential information on that kid.

      She spaced her feet wider and squared her shoulders. If she got the man talking, maybe it would buy time to work her way around him to the door. “And you are?” From this angle, there was no view of the parking lot, but she desperately hoped someone driving by on Victory Drive would get a clue as to what was happening.

      “You got a nice place here. Still smells a little like fresh paint sometimes, huh? You’ve been open here, what? Six months?” He stepped closer. “Shame if something should happen to this building if you don’t stop what you’re doing.”

      Andrea’s knees weakened. She gripped the edge of the desk. “What’s that supposed to mean? Who are you?” Only God could have gotten those words out of her mouth without them trembling.

      “Just admiring your pretty building. And its...interesting location. Now...” He took one more step toward Andrea as she held her ground. “I am here to find my friend and to get a look at his file.” The man’s voice dropped as his jaw hardened. “If that’s not asking too much of you. If it is, you can step out of the way and let me find it myself. Or I can move you. You can choose.”

      Without taking the time for her mind to process the action, Andrea reached behind her, jammed the lock, and yanked the office door shut as the man lunged. In less than a blink, his body thudded into the heavy wooden door as she sidestepped around him, adrenaline charging through her on electric rails.

      She lunged for the front door and the relative safety of the parking lot. Just as her fingertips made contact with the glass, a corded arm snapped around her waist and jerked her back, lifting her feet from the floor.

      “Very, very bad idea, Doc.” The voice rumbled against her ear and washed cold fear down her spine. “I want the kid. And if you can’t give me the kid, I want his file, because I need what’s in it. And if you can’t give me that, then you can come with me and tell me everything you know. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the easiest way to solve two very big problems.” He yanked her tighter against his chest. “Sound like a good plan to you?”

      No. She struggled against the weight that held her back, clawed at the sleeves of his shirt, kicked at the air. Her mind searched her old army training for a way out. He held her too tight for an elbow to the ribs, too high for a heel to the instep. In a feat of sheer muscle memory, she jerked her head back as hard as she could and connected with the soft tissue of his nose.

      Her attacker roared, and his grip loosened enough for her to break free and drop to the floor. Her knees and hands struggled for grip on the ancient tile.

      His hands clamped around her ankle as her fingertips brushed the door and jerked her away from the only chance she had at freedom. Andrea scratched at the gray tile, clawing for traction, her fingernails catching a rough edge and ripping off. This would not be her end, on the floor of her own lobby. With a silent prayer and the last of her energy, she threw herself onto her back, her ankle twisting in her attacker’s grip, and kicked her free foot straight up.

      The sound of teeth crunching together echoed through the room as her heel connected with the stranger’s chin and drove his head back.

      He staggered back, hands covering his face, teetering as though he might fall.

      Andrea skittered across the floor and half rose in a backward drive for freedom.

      With a howl that should have shaken the windows, the man ripped his hands from his face, blood slinging across the floor, and roared toward СКАЧАТЬ