She walked to the window, drew back the curtains, willing herself to think about the day ahead. She needed to hit the gym, take a shower, and then give Nico a call to get an update on her visa situation. But first she wanted breakfast. She’d just reached for the phone to place an order with room service when she saw it.
Javier’s postcard.
It sat on her nightstand, a message written in Spanish on the back along with his grandmother’s name and an address in the Bronx. He had addressed it, but he hadn’t put a stamp on it. She ran her fingers over the words he’d written and found herself smiling, her sense of desolation dissipating.
She was an investigative reporter. When she got back to the States, she would use his grandmother’s address to track him down. She would find him.
One way or another, she would find Javier Corbray.
EPILOGUE
Two months later
San Diego, California
Javier stood on his deck with a few of his Team buddies grilling burgers and brats and shooting the shit. They’d just gotten word this morning that they’d be starting a month-long workup tomorrow and deploying in thirty days.
Nate West stepped outside, the look on his face telling Javier his phone call hadn’t gone well. “Well, Rachel’s pissed. She had her heart set on the Virgin Islands.”
Javier gave his buddy a clap on the shoulder. “She needs to get used to this if she’s marrying a military man.”
“That’s what I told her.”
A Marine special operator whose team worked alongside Delta Platoon, West had become Javier’s best friend. Though Javier would never tell his buddy this to his face, he knew West could do much better than Rachel. With his personality and good looks, he could snag any woman he wanted. He didn’t need a spoiled brat for a wife.
A football flew through the air, narrowly missing Javier’s head. “Get a grip on your balls, LeBlanc!”
“Sorry, senior chief!” LeBlanc called. “That was Murphy’s fault.”
“Yeah? Fuck you.” Murphy apparently didn’t agree. “If you’d caught the football, it wouldn’t have nearly taken off senior’s head.”
“How can you be a crack sniper and throw like that?” LeBlanc fired back.
West cracked open a cold beer and handed it to Javier, a worried expression slowly replacing the amused grin his face. “Sometimes I wonder if she’s ready for this. She knew I was a special operator before we got engaged.”
If West was going to bring it up…
“Sounds like you should have a long talk about it, bro. If it’s a problem now, what’s it going to be like five years from now? I know it sounds harsh, but better a broken engagement than a divorce. Take my word for it.” Javier took a drink, looked at the bottle. “Fat Tire?”
“A Colorado microbrew—my favorite.”
The shit wasn’t half-bad.
Javier flipped the burgers one last time. “They’re done, boys.”
If there was one thing the men of Delta Platoon did efficiently besides carrying out their Team missions, it was eating. The burgers and brats were gone in a matter of minutes. The men had just gathered on the deck, waiting for Javier to share what he knew about the workup when Javier saw the clock.
It was time for her broadcast.
He headed indoors, turned on his TV, and dropped onto the sofa, another beer in his hand. He looked over his shoulder, found the guys staring after him. “My favorite news program.”
Ross grinned. “I think he’s got a thing for the Baghdad Babe.”
God, Javier hated that nickname!
He glared at Ross. “I like to keep up with world news and current events.”
Snickers.
Okay, so they weren’t buying that.
On the screen, Laura’s anchor, Gary Chapin, was introducing the topic of the night’s program, his helmet hair looking as stiff as it always did, an image of Laura in the upper right-hand corner of the screen.
Two months had gone by, and still he could remember her scent, her taste, the feel of her skin, the sound of her laughter, the gleam in her eyes. He hadn’t given up on his plan to track down her contact info. Oh, no. He’d just gotten busy.
The guys crowded around him to watch.
And then she was on the screen, looking gorgeous, just like he remembered, her long, pale blond hair held back by a barrette.
“Yeah, she is fine!”
“Hot.”
“Do you think she’s a screamer?”
Their words made Javier’s teeth grind.
¡Pendejos estupidos! Stupid assholes!
She looked into the camera, speaking with confidence, her voice soft but strong as steel as she explained how thousands of women died each year, burned to death by their husbands and in-laws so that their husbands could remarry, winning for themselves another woman’s dowry. Though the dowry system was supposed to be illegal, the law was ignored. And in most cases, these horrible deaths were not investigated.
“That’s fucking sick,” Murphy said.
“Shhh!” Javier didn’t want to listen to Murphy.
He wanted to hear Laura.
“In the past five years, Sabira Mukhari’s organization has documented more than seven thousand five hundred cases of women being burned in ‘stove accidents’ within a two-hundred-mile radius around Islamabad and—”
A nearby door burst open, making Laura jump.
Rat-at-at-at-at-at!
AK fire.
On the TV screen, Laura screamed, dropped to the floor.
“What the fuck?” Javier was on his feet.
Men shouted in English and Arabic, her security team scrambling.
“Cover her! Cover her!”
A man in a black T-shirt threw himself over Laura, shielding her.
From somewhere, an M16 cut loose, and Javier thought one of the attackers was hit. But a man cried out, and the M16 went silent.
“Son of a fucking bitch!” Javier took two strides toward the TV screen, fists clenched, before he realized there was nothing—not a goddamned thing—he could do.
Her security detail was being massacred.
Rat-at-at-at-at-at!
More AK fire.
“Go, Laura!” A man cried out, groaned, blood spraying across the camera lens, women’s screams coming from the background.
Out of view, Laura shouted to the other women in English, then in a language Javier didn’t understand, terror in her voice. “Run! Get out! Go!”
But AK fire and screams told him that not all of them would make it.
Then two men dressed like Taliban or AQ operatives—olive green BDUs, head scarves—grabbed Laura off the floor, their bodies blocking the camera’s view.
¡Madre de dios, no!
“Leave her the fuck alone!” Javier shouted. “Jesus Christ!”
He’d have given anything in the world to be there right now.
“No!” She kicked, screamed, seemed to fight with all her might as they carried her toward the door. “Nooo!”
And then she was gone.
The station shifted back to a stunned Gary Chapin.
Chills slid down Javier’s spine, his gut churning. “Bella!”
Two days after her abduction, an Al-Qaeda splinter group headed by a fucker named Abu Nayef Al-Nassar took credit for abducting Laura—and claimed to have decapitated her.
The news struck Javier with the force of a grenade. He drifted through the day, feeling sick, doing his best to guide the men through the second day of their workup, trying to turn grief into anger.
“Shit like this is why we fight,” he told them with a calm he did not feel.
It was only when he got home that he’d been able to take off his mask, grief tearing him apart, memories haunting him.
Laura. Bella.
She’d been so alive and vibrant, so intelligent, so sensual and beautiful. He remembered kissing and nipping her graceful neck, groaning against her throat—a throat that some son of a bitch had cut. Unabl
e to bear that last thought, he stumbled out of his BDUs and stepped into a hot shower, rage erupting from inside him until he found himself beating on the tile wall with his fist. “No! No! No!”
For the second time in his life, Javier felt tears in his eyes.
“María, madre de Dios, por favor, prométeme que Laura no sufrió.”
Mary, mother of God, please promise me that Laura didn’t suffer.
No answering voice came to reassure him.
He had no idea how long he stayed in the shower, how long he wept for her. He knew only that the water had turned cold. He stepped out, dried off, and looked at his own reflection in the mirror, making himself a promise.
One way or another, he would bring that motherfucker Al-Nassar down.
To read the Prologue to Striking Distance (I-Team #6), which continues Laura and Javier’s story, visit my website (www.pamelaclare.com).
“This sixth I-Team installment sees Clare at her very best, combining scorching desire with a gripping, often painful, exploration of healing and redemption. The plot's mystery and suspense elements are exceptionally well researched and expertly plotted, but the real achievement lies in her beautifully crafted main couple. Her heroine's ordeal is unspeakably painful, but her strength never wavers. The chemistry with her steadfast hero never lacks for sizzle, but the emotional bond they share allows them to go beyond the physical to a profound, unforgettable love.”
— RT Book Reviews, 4.5 stars Top Pick for Striking Distance
“Packed with action and raw, sexual tension, Pamela Clare’s Striking Distance brings readers the edgy suspense, meaty subject matter, and intense emotions fans have come to expect from this talented author.”
—Cindy Gerard, New York Times best-selling author
Colorado author Pamela Clare began her writing career as a columnist and investigative reporter and eventually became the first woman editor-in-chief of two different newspapers. Along the way, she and her team won numerous state and national honors, including the National Journalism Award for Public Service. In 2011, Clare was awarded the Keeper of the Flame Lifetime Achievement Award. A single mother with two sons, she writes historical romance and contemporary romantic suspense at the foot of the beautiful Rocky Mountains. To learn more about her or her books, visit her website. You can also keep up with her on Goodreads, on Facebook, on the Rock*It Reads website, or by joining the private Facebook I-Team group. Search for @Pamela_Clare on Twitter to follow her there.
Books by Pamela Clare
Kenleigh Blakewell Family Trilogy
Sweet Release (Book 1)
Carnal Gift (Book 2)
Ride the Fire (Book 3)
MacKinnon’s Rangers series
Surrender (Book 1)
Untamed (Book 2)
Defiant (Book 3)
Romantic Suspense
The I-Team Series
Extreme Exposure (Book 1)
Heaven Can’t Wait: An I-Team novella (Book 1.5)
Hard Evidence (Book 2)
Unlawful Contact (Book 3)
Naked Edge (Book 4)
Breaking Point (Book 5)
Skin Deep: An I-Team After Hours novella (Book 5.5)
Striking Distance (Book 6)
Table of Contents
FIRST STRIKE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
EPILOGUE
Books by Pamela Clare
Pamela Clare, First Strike
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