She pulled into the Fashion Valley Mall’s parking garage on Friars Road and realized she couldn’t remember her drive down here. Weird. She had tons on her mind, but having no memory of the thirty minute trip frightened her a little. Had she run any red lights? She hoped not. At least no one had honked at her, she would’ve remembered that. This wasn’t New York. Honking your horn around here was practically an act of war.
Nicole looked at the dashboard clock: 7:47 am. Perfect. She’d have time for Starbucks before Nordstrom opened. Got to have it.
USMC Gunnery Sergeant Christopher “Big Kid” Kiddrich slid out of his Jeep Cherokee and stretched. Just under six feet tall, he looked like an aging surfer because he was an aging surfer. Cropped blond hair. Blue eyes. Broad shoulders. Not quite buff, but definitely not flabby. He worked at Miramar as an MP. He liked his job and had his sights on the San Diego PD after retiring. Who said forty was too old to become a street cop?
He also looked forward to the Nordstrom shoe sale, but for a completely different reason. Simply put, he loved looking at women-not in a perverted or stalking way-he just liked them. All of them. Short or tall, big or thin, he just liked watching them. The way they walked. The way they dressed. The way they cocked their heads when considering a purchase. Their interaction with each other. Everything. Nothing boiled his blood more than the idea of a woman being abused. Women were to be cherished, not mistreated.
He’d just locked his Cherokee and started toward the pedestrian bridge linking the parking structure to Nordstrom when a stunning beauty drove by. More than stunning. Gorgeous. Nice wheels too. He slowed his pace as she pulled into a parking stall. Incredible. She looked like Angelina Jolie. It couldn’t be her, but the similarities were striking. Mesmerized, he watched her slide out and use her remote to lock her SUV. It chirped once in confirmation.
He turned his head toward the roar of an engine and frowned-the dumb-ass. This was a friggin’ parking garage.
A white van sped by, its passenger-side mirror missed his arm by inches. What a jerk.
The van screeched to a stop behind the woman’s Escalade. Two Hispanic men in dark clothes jumped out the rear doors and rushed toward her. Before she had time to react, the bigger of the two grabbed her.
Without conscious thought, Big Kid sprinted toward them.
The smaller man pulled a handgun from his under his Windbreaker.
Big Kid dived for cover between two parked cars just as the gun boomed.
The bullet skipped off the concrete and plowed into his left shoulder. Shit!
Throughout the structure, car alarms blared from the handgun’s concussion. The woman’s screaming and electronic howls echoed eerie desperation.
Big Kid ignored the fire in his shoulder and lifted his head just enough to peer through the parked car’s windows. The bigger man clamped his hand over her mouth and dragged her toward the rear of the van.
The gunman hadn’t advanced.
He watched in admiration as she drove the back of her head into her assailant’s nose and stomped down on his foot.
She jerked free and bolted toward him.
The gunman cursed in Spanish and took off in pursuit.
Big Kid needed to time his move precisely. With a wrecked shoulder, he couldn’t do much, but at least he could help her escape. The problem was staying alive, and he didn’t like his odds. If he only had his Beretta. He could end this with two quick head shots. Big Kid had many faults, but cowardice wasn’t one of them. He’d never be able to live with himself if he didn’t help this woman, even if it cost him his life.
Steady. Steady.
Now!
He swept his foot and tripped the gunman.
Arms whirling, the gunman went down. He managed to land on his elbows, but his momentum drove his face into the concrete.
Big Kid had the satisfaction of seeing the gunman’s nose explode. The pistol clattered away. He gained his feet and lunged for the weapon. He was inches from reaching it when multiple gunshots deafened him. Two hard blows struck his rib cage. Despite being shot twice more, he grabbed the gun and pivot toward the van.
A fourth bullet nailed him squarely in the stomach.
Determined to stay in the fight, he brought the handgun up and took aim at the shooter. He squeezed off a shot, but missed. The report hammered his eardrums.
Like something out of hell, a harbinger of death materialized through the smoke and dust. His eyes grew as a red laser beam swept onto the middle of his torso…
And stopped.
His legs quit as the fifth bullet ripped through his large intestine and shattered his spinal column. Paralyzed, he fell forward like an expertly cut tree. His jaw struck the concrete with a sickening crack. Barely conscious, he watched in fury as the gunman ran past him and grabbed the woman.
The van’s tires squealed as the driver backed up.
Right on top of him.
His body contorted into an impossible position when his chest caught on the differential. Crushed beneath the van, he saw the woman’s legs and feet leave the ground as her assailant threw her into the van. He sensed their combined weight added to the vehicle, heard the doors close, and steeled himself for the agony of being dragged.
The van accelerated and Big Kid’s body bent and broke again. He tried to scream, but couldn’t draw any air into his lungs. Fifty yards further the van hit a speed bump and freed him from the differential. Broken and dying, he tried to call for help. Nothing came out.
The last thing decorated Enduring Freedom veteran Kiddrich thought as his life ended was, I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.
Chapter 7
Nathan watched General Hawthorne’s C-20G, more commonly known as a Gulfstream IV, taxi up to the transient parking area in front of the jet center. He knew Harv was thinking the same thing, what a beautiful ship. Thorny had arrived a little early. Nathan’s watch indicated 1147 hours. A minute or two passed before the passenger stairs unfolded from the fuselage. A sharp-looking aide stepped out, surveyed his surroundings, and nodded toward the interior. Thorny ducked slightly as he exited the aircraft. The aide offered him a crisp salute, which was promptly returned.
It felt good to see his former commander again, even under the circumstances. Thorny’s no-nonsense expression hadn’t changed over the years. He still looked as though the weight of the world remained planted on his shoulders. Nathan had never known the man to back away from a fight. Thorny, nearly eight inches shorter, seemed taller than his actual height. At sixty-two, he didn’t look a day over fifty, except for his hair color, but at least he still had it. His aide looked equally crisp and professional, just thirty years his junior. They were both dressed in summer attire-desert Marine pattern-Thorny’s preferred appearance. Were it not for the four black stars on his rank patch, he could easily pass for a sergeant major, not the Marine Corps’ top dog. Thorny entered through the automatic sliding glass doors, and out of habit they both saluted.
Their former commander extended his hand. “You’re civilians now. Get your damned hands down.”
Nathan suppressed a smile. “Aye, aye sir.”
“Damn, it’s good to see you two.”