Saving Emmy by Rayne Lewis

Chapter 2

Nerves made Ember’s body quake uncontrollably.

Breathe. Deep breaths. Deep Breaths. Breathe.

She told her lungs to cooperate but they had other plans. Her legs trembled as she sat in the dank, over-lit office that felt like it was closing in on her. The overhead lights glared harshly on the sharp angles of the room. She was going to be sick. Bile churned in her stomach and she fought it from rising up. Closing her eyes, willing the sickness away, all she saw in the absence was red.

Blood.

Dark, stained crimson blood.

Screwing her eyes tighter, willing the memory away, it only intensified the images. She couldn’t quell them and bile pushed its way up again.

Her eyes shot open and she squinted against the blinding light. Looking down, her fingers wrapped around her phone and her knuckles turned white from the punishing grip. She loosened them to keep it from shattering. Glaring at the screen, she mentally willed it to ring.

“We’ll only be a little longer, then you can make another phone call. I know this is nerve-wracking, but there’s a lot going on here.” Ranger Matthews smiled a tight smile, but all she wanted was her phone to ring. “Just sit tight and we’ll get your statement.”

Just sit tight? Really? Sit tight. How was she supposed to sit tight? A man took one to the chest and was missing half his face, and I’m supposed to “just sit tight?”

A man entered the room wearing a starched white shirt and crimson red tie. The tie made the memories resurface, and Ember felt ill again. The lines of his shirt were crisp, and the harshness of the overhead lights seemed to make the whiteness electrify and glow. With papers in one hand and a coffee in the other, he offered the steamy brew to her.

“It’s station coffee, so I apologize in advance. It’s thick as ink, over-brewed, and will probably eat the plating from a spoon.”

Ember knew the lighthearted joke was for her benefit, to break the tension that hung in the air, but all she could manage was a tight smirk. “Thank you,” she said as he handed her the cup.

“Would you care for cream or sugar?”

She could feel the warmth of the brew beneath the cardboard sleeve. “No...no cream, no sugar.” Taking a sip of the black ink, she held back the grimace that tried to surface. Setting the coffee on the edge of the desk, she glanced down at her phone again. Please, ring! While pleading with the inanimate object, she missed the conversation around her.

“Ms. Hayes?”

Ember looked up and the man repeated his question. “Will your lawyer be joining us? I was told you called him when you arrived.”

Still finding it hard to believe the shitshow she was living, she found her focus vague and hesitated. “Um...yes. Yeah, he should be on his way. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Detective Washburn,” he held out his hand to her. Guessing her follow-up question, he said, “FBI.”

FBI. Oh, shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

A heavy knock came from the office door and all heads swiveled in its direction. Ember shrugged a sigh of relief. It’s Miles. Miles was here.

Miles Harrington entered the already cramped office and Detective Washburn rose along with the Ranger, offering an outstretched hand.

“Detective Washburn, FBI.”

“Ranger Matthews.” Matthews gave a shake and a nod.

“Miles Harrington, pleased to meet you. I’m Ms. Hayes’ lawyer,” he announced after the men exchanged pleasantries.

Miles put his hand on Ember’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, while looking for a place to sit. Washburn retrieved a folding chair from the side of the filing cabinet and offered it to him.

“Thank you,” Miles said as he unbuttoned the top button on his suit coat before sitting, “I understand there was an incident?”

An incident? A parking lot fender bender is an incident. This...this, is a fucking nightmare.Ember couldn’t keep her inner dialog from running. In all her life, she never thought she’d be involved in a shooting investigation on U.S. soil. When she was serving overseas in Iraq, this was a weekly occurrence. But here...at home...in Texas, it never crossed her mind. Which was why she was having trouble processing the scenario. She’d seen the casualties of war. Lost friends who served right beside her. She knew death and had stared it in the eye too many times to count.

Through a sniper's scope, she got an up-close-and-personal viewing every time she squeezed the trigger. One minute the target was there...the next, she was watching them fall lifeless to the ground. Sometimes headless. So, why was this so terrifyingly difficult?

She felt the slow burn of tears threatening to surface. Push. Them. Back. Soldier. She chastised herself.

She wasn’t an emotional girl. Never had been. All the years of training had taught her how to push her emotions aside and focus on what mattered.

End goals.

“...and then we’ll need her statement, and she’ll be free to leave.”

Ember focused her thoughts and came back to herself. How long had she been pulled into her memory? Focus. What was the conversation, and what did I miss?

Miles again put his hand on her shoulder and lightly squeezed. “Do you think you’re able to do that now?”

Do what? She scrambled. Oh, the statement. “Yeah, I can do that.” Her head nodded yes, but her emotions told a different story.

Miles sensed the contradiction.

A vibration hummed beneath her palm. Looking at her phone, she noticed a message had come in while she was lost in her thoughts.

ELIJAH:On my way.

Three words settled her heart.

Wait, what? On his way? On his way where? Here? Is he coming to the station? How does he know I’m here?

Staring at her, Miles lifted her phone from her hand, waiting for her to notice him. She lifted her head and met his warm eyes.

“You don’t have to do this now. They have your earlier statement from Sheriff Richards. We can schedule an appointment to come back once you’re ready and not dealing with shock.”

Shock? Is this shock?She didn’t do shock.

“Ms. Hayes?” Ranger Matthews interjected, “Would you like to reschedule? Detective Washburn and I can come to your residence when you're ready.”

Just as she was going to decline, the office door swung open and the most beautiful sight graced the entryway.

“Red, are you all right?” Eli took three quick strides to her chair and knelt on one knee, balancing himself effortlessly.

Behind him, taking up every inch of the doorframe, was Henry Clark, Elijah’s boss, King. King gave a chin lift of recognition to Ranger Matthews, which Matthews returned with a nod of understanding. Then he did the same to Richards. King turned and pulled the door shut behind him leaving Ember in Slate’s care.

The already cramped office was really closing in on her now, but Ember didn’t care. They could be shoulder-to-shoulder, wall-to-wall, and it wouldn’t matter. Elijah was there. A calm fell over her as Eli grasped her hand, caressing her knuckles with his large, calloused fingers. She focused on his hands. He had a working man’s hands. Large, meaty, gorgeous, calloused hands. For their size, they were surprisingly gentle. How many times had his hands comforted her? Wiped her worry away with a gentle touch? Caressed her after returning from the horrors of the sandbox? Elijah, her rock and refuge. Her friend.

“Red? Come back to me.” Eli’s breath fanned her face, breaking her focus on his hands, and she raised her eyes without raising her head, peering at him through heavy, lidded lashes.

Her facade was cracking along with her voice. Barely above a whisper she spoke, “I want to go home.”

Eli tipped her chin with his fingers, “Okay, Red. I’ll take you home.” From his squatting position, Eli looked to the man beside her.

Miles Harrington hadn’t had a chance to introduce himself but he nodded back, “We’ll have someone come by her place. Call me when she’s ready.”

Looking to his right at Washburn, Eli raised his eyebrows in question. Washburn looked at his watch and answered, “That'll be fine with me. Whenever she’s ready.” He added a smile for reassurance.

Turning his final gaze to the Ranger seated behind the desk, he gave Eli a nod also, then retrieved a business card from his top pocket. Washburn did the same. Taking both cards, he handed them to Eli.

Eli stood in one swift motion and offered a hand to Ember. Tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, she took his hand in hers and quickly stood, scooting the chair with a screech across the linoleum floor. She blankly shook the hands of the men around her then turned to leave. Eli wove his fingers into hers like they had done hundreds of times before. No thought. No plan. Just a gravitational pull to the familiar.

Before they exited the tiny office, Washburn called her name. “Ms. Hayes? I’m going to have to ask you to please stay away from the range. It’s being processed as a crime scene at the moment but should be finished up by this evening.” Ember nodded and rubbed her arm, warding off a chill though it wasn’t cold in the office. She was anxious to exit the room.

“If you need anything from your office call me and either I or one of the other Rangers can escort you to your property. Your employees have been sent home for the day.” He continued, “The firearm has already been taken into evidence and will be processed. The victim, Gabriel Dorian, will be taken to the Medical Examiner’s office, and the shooter, Husani Bazwar, is already in custody, and tomorrow will be awaiting arraignment. We’ll keep you informed of any revelations in the case.”

Ember nodded a second time. With her voice trapped in her throat, she managed, “Thank you, may I go now?”

He nodded. “Yes. Call us when you’re ready and we’ll come by,” Washburn replied. “Mr. Harrington, can you join us then?”

Her lawyer nodded in agreement.

“Thank you,” Ember repeated, her voice timid and not at all like herself. She looked from the three men and then up at Eli.

“Come on, Red, I’ll take care of you.”

And, with that, hand in hand, they exited the office.

* * *

The car ride home was deafeningly silent. The continuous hum of the truck’s engine brought all around solace. Eli looked over at Ember. She had her head pressed up against the window, lost in thought, watching as the mile markers carried her closer to home. The sunlight coming through the window caught the depths of her hair, making it blaze brighter than its normal radiance. He reached over and grasped her delicate hand, lacing his fingers with hers, entwining them with a light squeeze of reassurance. Ember didn’t take her head from the window but returned the squeeze. That one little gesture let Eli know that she knew she wasn’t alone. She was safe. But he could see by the crease in her brow that her mind was reliving and recalculating today’s sequence of events. It was the soldier within her.

With his eyes back to the road he, too, reflected on the moments just hours before.

* * *

Slate was about to dial Ember back, when Arctic came bursting through the doors onto the loading dock, telling him King wanted everyone inside. Slate sensed a hint of fear on his friend’s face and then he got Ember’s text.

RED:“I need you.”

Those three words made his blood run cold. About to call her, Arctic’s next words made him look up.

“Ember’s fine.”

How Arctic knew what Slate was thinking didn’t surprise him. Working together for the last five years at Hellforce, the guys knew each other better than they knew themselves. On missions, they often had to communicate in silence using hand gestures and cues, and each of them knew how to read each other's emotions, so Arctic must have read something Slate didn’t realize he was giving away. He saw his friend’s head nod in reassurance.

“Where is she?” The words were calm, calculated, and Slate’s feet were on the move before he finished the question. He stormed off the loading dock, pushing through the doors Arctic exited moments ago. He was on autopilot. His mind on the mission only.

Get to Ember.

Barreling down the corridor leading to the fitness gym, Slate marched at a fast clip with Arctic fast on his heels. He practically threw himself through the heavy gym doors and into the cage room. He entered his personal cage looking for his truck keys. Not finding them, he patted his pockets, double-tapping his Glock holstered to his left hip, a habit formed during his time on the teams. Pinching the pocket below his holster, he hit paydirt and pulled out his truck FOB. Grabbing his wallet from the pullover he wore during his early morning workout, he headed towards the door.

“SITREP,” Slate barked to his teammate and headed for the hallway leading to the parking lot.

“Slate.” A hand fell hard on his left bicep and shoulder. Slate spun around with such speed and force, Arctic ducked back a few steps in anticipation if Slate threw a punch. “Whoa, buddy,” Arctic raised his hands in a surrender. “Conference room. King’s been contacted. She’s fine. Take it down a few notches. I’m a friendly.” Arctic let out a breathy chuckle to defuse the situation and pointed towards the conference room. “Answers. There.” He sidestepped Slate and headed to the room down the hallway.

Slate steeled himself, inhaling sharply through his nostrils, feeling the calm of emotional armor come over him. Cool. Calm. Collected. He needed to be centered so he could focus on the mission.

And the mission was Red.

* * *

“A fucking homicide!” Slate bellowed through gritted teeth. “At Ember’s range? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Slate kept his composure but shook his head and fisted his hands at his sides.

The minute he stepped into the conference room, spotting King on the landline and seeing the concentrated looks blanketing his brother’s faces, he knew something big was about to blow wide open. Trip told him the information they knew so far while the rest of the guys huddled up around him. Slate let out another expletive. At his outburst, King’s stare met his and Slate saw it in King’s eyes; King was pissed. Taking a few strides farther into the room, he moved swiftly towards his boss, closing the gap between them. King kept his eyes on Slate, relaying to him that he had things under control. King could say more with his eyes than Webster’s dictionary could ever convey. Years of battle had forged King into an iron master of all things chaos.

“Okay, thank you, Tex...I appreciate the heads-up.” King hung up the receiver with a little more force than necessary. “Just spoke to Tex and Ranger Matthews—”

“Where is she? What happened?” Slate cut his boss short but asked in a cool but urgent tone.

“Shooter at her gun range. One dead, one in custody.”

“And Red?”

King continued, ignoring the interruption, “Tex got a heads up from our mutual friend, Beth, who lives here in Texas. She monitors the police radio chatter and knows Ember’s connection to Hellforce. Ember’s at the station with the authorities waiting for her lawyer to show, so she can give a statement. He’s probably on his way for legalities to protect the range...and Ember,” King added when Slate’s nostrils flared.

Slate didn’t voice out loud that he would take care of Ember. He knew to the depths of his soul he’d keep her safe and protected. “Was she there? Did she witness the shooting?” Slate ran his hand across the back of his neck then rubbed his scalp, feeling the dampness of perspiration dance on the ends of his short hair. He wanted to leave now but needed to get as much information as possible before going to her.

“She was on the premises. Security vid’s been turned into authorities already. Premises will be on lockdown, most likely ’til this evening, depending how fast they can wrap things up. Cypher’s gathering the footage with his “voodoo cyber powers,” ’cuz you know how deep you have to dig to get it from the Feds. When he gets it, we can get a better idea of what went down.”

“Tex is gathering all the information he can on the victim and the shooter. We should know things pretty quickly.”

King picked up the phone again and dialed Mary, his assistant and wife, telling her to forward his calls to voicemail and to cancel the rest of the day's appointments and virtual meetings. “We’ll head to the station,” he glanced to the man at his right, “Trip, follow me, I’ll need a lift back here.” He turned to Slate, “I’ll get you in to her,” then he motioned to the door.

The rest of the men stood waiting for instructions. “The rest of you,” King said without breaking stride, “there’s a truck to unload.”

A formidable groan grew from the men, more for show and humorous childish defiance than not wanting to finish the job in the midday Texas heat.

* * *

The memory faded as Eli pulled into Ember’s driveway, turned off the engine, and looked over at her. Her head still leaned against the window and their fingers were still entwined, resting on the center console. Loosening her grip, Slate felt the loss of her immediately as she pulled her hand from his and squeezed her fist a few times, bringing back the lost circulation. She unfastened her seatbelt but didn’t reach to open the door.

The air hung still in the truck as she sat for a moment staring at the dashboard then turned to him, “Thank you for coming to get me, Eli,” she said with a little lift of a smile.

“Always, Red. I’ll always come back to you.” Slate opened his door and jumped down from the truck's height, then made his way to Ember’s side. He opened her door and helped her out. And, without another word, just like always, they made their way to her house, hand in hand.