“Jenn Evers?”
She leaned back into the plush cushions and closed her eyes, wondering what product or scheme the telemarketer was going to try selling her on. “I’m not interested.”
“This is Commander Nicholas.”
She suddenly leaned forward. “What is it? Is Andy okay?”
The naval officer on the other end sighed. “Andy is fine. But he wanted to get a message to you before you saw it on the news.”
“Saw what on the news?” She grabbed her remote to exit Netflix and turned to one of the twenty-four-hour news channels. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw a video of an aircraft carrier with the words “Navy doctors scramble to discover cause of mysterious illness aboard USS Ronald Reagan” in a banner at the bottom of the screen.
“What’s going on? Why are you calling me?”
“Andy is sick. We believe it’s some sort of virus, but it’s spreading quickly around the ship, and the captain has ordered a quarantine.”
She heard his words, but they didn’t make sense. She imagined lots of people got sick on deployment. But she didn’t think squadron commanding officers ever called the families to let them know.
And I’m not even Andy’s wife.
“So why are you calling me?”
There was a pause on the other end, long enough that she wondered if he was going to dodge answering the question. “This is a new virus of some kind. Andy was one of the first to get sick on the carrier, so I wanted to let you know that he’s in good hands and…”
The knock at her door diverted her attention away from his vague answer.
Jax knocked a second time before stepping back from the door, wishing he’d been able to reach Punky to bring her along. He didn’t know what it was like being a young and single flight attendant, but he imagined Jenn would be more than a little skeptical at seeing a man outside her door. He heard movement inside and knew Jenn was home but probably reluctant to answer.
Can’t say I blame her, he thought.
“Can I help you?” she called from the other side of the closed door.
Jax held up his credentials. “Miss Evers, my name is Jax Woods from the Central Intelligence Agency. I’m sorry to trouble you, but may I have a few minutes of your time?”
There was a slight pause before the door opened. Jax saw a petite brunette in her early twenties wearing sweatpants and a tank top that she covered protectively with one of her toned arms. “Is this about Andy?”
Jax didn’t recognize the name and pressed on with his rehearsed script. “May I come inside?”
Reluctantly, Jenn opened the door wider and permitted him access to her small apartment. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m hoping you can help me with something.”
She led him into the living room, where she sat on the couch and tucked her legs up under her. The TV was on and tuned to a local station, and Jax noticed her phone sitting on the coffee table in front of her with the screen unlocked. He took it all in without consciously thinking about it and returned his focus to the beautiful flight attendant waiting patiently to understand why someone from the CIA wanted to speak with her.
“I just talked to Andy’s commanding officer,” she offered with a slight tremor in her voice.
“Who’s Andy?” Jax asked.
“My boyfriend? He’s a Navy pilot. I thought that’s why you were here.”
Jax squinted at the strange admission. “I’m actually here to talk about a flight attendant you recently worked with on a flight to Shanghai. Lisa Mitchell?”
Jenn opened her eyes wide. “Is she okay? Did you find her?”
“Lisa is fine,” Jax said, recalling Connor’s description of the operations officer’s condition.
“What happened to her?”
He ignored the question and tried to regain control of the conversation. “Miss Evers, did Lisa use your laptop?”
Jenn leaned away from him and crossed her arms protectively again. “Do I need an attorney?”
“You’re not in any trouble,” he said, trying to reassure her and prevent her from stonewalling him.
“Then why are you asking about my laptop?”
“Did she use it?”
She nodded.
“Good. Can I see it?”
“Why do you need it?” she asked.
Jax sighed, then glanced up at the TV as a reporter began speaking about the quarantine aboard the USS Ronald Reagan. He looked back at Jenn and noticed her eyes filling with tears. “Where is your boyfriend, Miss Evers?”
She stared back at Jax with a blank expression.
“Is Andy in trouble?” he pressed.
“That’s why his skipper called me.” She swallowed as if choking back a sob. “He’s really sick.”
“What’s on your laptop may help him. Will you get it for me?”
At last, she nodded.
52
Punky opened her eyes but could only see the dirt and gravel her face was buried in. She tried lifting her head off the ground, but a wave of nausea overpowered her, and her stomach clenched as she tried to vomit. That was when she knew she was in trouble.
She gently moved each of her limbs as she probed her body for injuries. Her chest was on fire, but the rest of her seemed okay. She tried rolling onto her back and struggled. Using her right arm, she pushed off the ground and onto her side. She looked down and could see a singed and torn shirt where the assassin’s bullets had entered.
“Fuck me,” she moaned as she flopped onto her back.
Looking up into the cloudless sky, she panted to keep the pain from overwhelming her again. She had been hurt before, but nothing quite like this. The memory came flooding back, and her body twitched with each of the three shots that replayed in her mind.
The biker.
Punky turned her head toward the sound of the approaching sirens, hoping Camron had been smart enough to send an ambulance as well. With her right hand clutching her stomach, she used her left to push into a semi-seated position. Supporting herself with a shaking arm, she shrugged out of her jacket and reached back to grasp the collar of her ruined shirt. Tugging on it, she pulled the shirt over her head and collapsed to the ground, exhausted and panting from the effort.
Lying flat on her back again, she pulled her arms free and let the shirt fall to the ground next to her. She took a few more shallow breaths, then reached down and ripped free the Velcro straps that held her body armor in place.
Punky moaned as she lifted her head from the ground and looked down to inspect the damage. Three bright red holes oozing blood were enough confirmation that the body armor hadn’t absorbed all the bullets’ energy. But she would have been dead without it, and she silently thanked Camron that he had insisted she wear it.
Picking up her shirt, she folded it in an eight-inch square with the cleanest fabric exposed on one side. She pressed the clean patch down against her midsection — covering all three holes — and held it there while she waited for another wave of nausea to pass.
Her vision narrowed, and she focused on taking slow and steady breaths while gritting her teeth through the pain. Her movements were short and choppy, aligning with the ebbs and flows of her energy. She knew she had lost blood and would be in real trouble if she didn’t get the bleeding stopped.
But the sirens seemed closer.
She unbuckled her belt and pulled on it to remove it from the loops in her pants, letting her holster fall to the ground next to her.
“Motherfucker!” she moaned in pure agony.
With the belt clear, she placed the buckle on top of the folded shirt and pressed it tightly against her abdomen while she forced herself into a seated position with her other hand. Slumped over, she took two deep breaths in between sharp stabs of pain, then reached back to wrap the belt around her and loop it through the buckle.