Final Surrender (15 page)

Angela was glad it was dark in the limo. She knew how short-lived their little reunion was going to be, but didn’t bring it up.

She didn’t want to be Mark’s sister tonight. Not any longer.

“Well, Ron’s been my driver for three years now. Whenever I’m in the city and I’ve got events I have to attend, he’s always the one I call. He’s the best, aren’t you, Ron?”

“Only for you, Ms. Meyers,” Ron added as he wove expertly in and out of taxicabs galore.

She really did like Ron. He was older, about her father’s age, quiet and never pried into her business, and he was always polite and courteous to her. She never felt the need to fill silences. She could just think or plan while in the car. She felt safe while he drove and that meant a lot.

Angela prompted Ron, “How’s Joe doing? Still running you ragged?”

“Just fine. He told me to tell you hello, and that his wife loved the dress you sent her last Christmas.”

“Great, I knew she’d look beautiful in it. Joe is Ron’s business partner and best friend,” she added as an aside to Clay. “Joe does all the scheduling and Ron does most of the driving. They have several other drivers as well now. How many on last count?”

“Fourteen including myself, actually. Your word of mouth has gained us a huge number of clients.”

“Glad I could help out a little. Good drivers are hard to find in this city. I’m happy you were available for me tonight. It wouldn’t be the same if someone else drove me.”

“Who or what is this function for tonight?” Clay cut in, looking…jealous. No, that couldn’t be right.

“It’s a fundraiser for one of the local Relay for Life events here in New York. It raises money for cancer awareness and research. They’re having a dinner and live auction where celebrities,” she made the motion of quotation marks with her fingers, since she couldn’t honestly put herself in that category, “donate items to help raise money, and we take pictures with survivors and pose for the camera.”

She shrugged and added, “With how hectic everything can get, it’s nice to give back a little bit when I can. Puts the world into perspective, when things get…scary.”

Staring at Clay sitting across from her was hard. Only when they passed the streetlights could she see his face, and he was always trained right on her. Never saying a word while she spoke.

She leaned against the cool leather of the seat, facing forward.

“How many people are they expecting?” he finally asked after a few moments of silence.

“Several hundred,” she answered without looking at him again. “And there is the start of them now,” she added while pointing out the windshield toward the right side of the street.

Clay forced his eyes away from her long enough to look where she gestured.

Lines of people were outside the hotel, screaming and jumping up and down as each limo pulled up.

Once their limo was at the front of the line, Ron instructed, “Just call whenever you’re ready to go home. I’ll be within ten minutes’ drive time of you. Mr. Waters, here’s my card in case you need it for later.”

Clay pocketed the card while Angela said, “Okay, Ron, we shouldn’t be too long. I’ve had a rough couple days.” Someone came around and opened Clay’s door. Clay turned to Angela as she whispered, “Showtime,” and he stepped outside.

There were people everywhere. He held his hand out for Angela and she reached for it reflexively as she stepped from the limo. Her touch was electric. They had always had a connection, but it still surprised him when a current of desire raced down his back as she looked up at him. He pulled to stand, presenting her to the crowd. Flashbulbs went off all around them and reporters clamored for a moment of her time. Clay fell into an easy step behind her, staying close but fading into the background where he preferred to be.

One of the event coordinators interrupted her between interviews and took the dress she brought for the auction. They thanked her profusely, and still it seemed she never really took her attention away from the interview.

She was gracious and poised as she held herself away, but not impersonal.

There were quite a few other people giving interviews as well, but Angela was the one everyone watched.

She was a rock star. At least the equivalent, Clay thought, being
the
sought-after designer, and in New York City no less.

Photographers seemed to converge behind her, cutting Clay off from following her. The barricade was about fifty feet back from the entry doors that stood propped open at the top of a flight of stairs, and where Clay now found himself trying to wade through the crowd to get back to her.

Angela turned to face her admirers as she reached the apex of the stairs when her purse slipped from her fingers and fell back to the bottom.

Clay smiled a bit at her clumsiness, still trying to excuse himself through the throng of people clamoring for a glimpse of her, and he watched Angela descend two of the steps as flashbulbs went off everywhere around her.

“Angela” he yelled. As if in slow motion, she was blown off the steps and landed in a crumpled pile at the base of the staircase. She was unconscious as soon as her head struck the sidewalk, her mouth still open in a silent cry.

She never knew what hit her.

Clay heard her head crack on the concrete when she hit. He had never truly known fear until that moment.

The silence after the explosion was something out of a horror movie. Everyone froze for just a second and Clay was the only one moving, pushing and shoving other people out of the way, even before the dust settled.

People were screaming, he heard others take their cell phones out to call 9-1-1 and all he could think was,
Dear God, please let her be alive, please let her be alive…
He stumbled over debris several times and fell, cutting his hands before he finally dropped to his knees beside her.

She lay half on her side, half on her back facing him. Her dress was torn, and she lay lifeless in front of him.

Panic rose inside him as he yelled for someone to get an ambulance.

“Angela! Angela can you hear me?” he kept shouting, but no response came.

He knew he shouldn’t move her if she had a head injury, or worse… Fear gripped his insides as he brushed hair off her cheek. Her scraped and bloodied face would haunt him. He hands shook as he felt for a pulse at her throat, smearing his own blood on her neck.

He exhaled loudly as her pulse, strong and somewhat steady, reached his fingertips. He took off his suit jacket and covered her as best he could as sirens screamed in the distance.

What was he thinking? He’d acted like a rookie agent, so distracted by the photographers that he broke his number one rule.

Do not let anyone between you and your client.

Period.

If she was badly hurt, it would be his fault and he knew it. Questions kept popping up in his head.

Where did the bomb come from?

How was it detonated?

Was it meant for Angela, or was it just coincidence?

He looked around and people were milling about in shock.

Photographers sat on the concrete, staring at their broken cameras.

Other guests stood nearby, shaking, trying to figure out what to do. Several spoke on cell phones, covering their open ears so they could hear over the melee surrounding them.

Security for the event got the crowd calmed down and Clay never moved from Angela’s side.

He gently took her hand in his and held it. “Stay with me, Angie, stay with me,” he repeated over and over.

Police cruisers and an ambulance skidded to a halt in front of the hotel, when Angela finally squeezed his hand.

“Angela, can you hear me?” he asked again when he saw her eyes flicker as she tried to open them.

She moaned, trying to roll over onto her back. “Don’t move. There’s been an explosion,” he added through gritted teeth.

How in the hell had he let this happen?

Chapter Fifteen

Her eyes remained unfocused for a few seconds before she looked up Clay hovered above her.

The loudest sirens she’d ever heard split the air around them, along with red-and-blue spinning lights. She was pretty sure it was a police car, but it could all be in her head for how bad it hurt.

“Clay?” she croaked. Oh, it hurt to talk. Her head felt like someone had beaten her with a hammer. She hurt everywhere. “What…happened? An explosion.” she managed while trying to sit up, before almost blacking out again.

She had the worst headache of her life and she was nauseous, dizzy.

Clay caught her shoulders and softly held her close. Maybe she just ate something bad, but why would the police care if she got a hold of some bad chicken? Surely she hadn’t heard Clay correctly.

Angela closed her eyes, pretty sure she saw two Clays, and one was more than enough for her to deal with.

“There was a bomb…it blew you off the steps,” Clay said. “If you hadn’t dropped your purse? If you hadn’t turned and started back down when you did…” He sounded so sad. She wanted to pet him, soothe him, but her arms weren’t cooperating, and her head…

The stairs, I was talking to the press, getting ready to go into the dinner…

“Did you say bomb?”

“Yes, baby, and the paramedics are coming, okay? Just sit tight and we’ll get you to the hospital. Where do you hurt?”

She thought for a minute, everything went fuzzy again and then she came back to. Things were a bit clearer on round two. Her one side felt like she’d been drug down 5th Avenue behind a cab. Clay’s fingertips traced her brow, her nose, her lips. It felt nice. Then she realized his hands were shaking. He wiped off tears. Hers or his she didn’t know.

“It ruined my dress,” she accused and winced again at the pain that was now one big ache from head to toe. “Oh, and I bet my shoes are messed up, too. she added with a sigh as she moved her feet and only felt one shoe.

Clay chuckled nervously as he looked down at her. “At least you still have your sense of humor.”

“Who’s trying to be funny?” she replied, trying to smile through the pain. She didn’t want him to worry. “I loved those shoes. A friend of mine made them for me.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you,” he admitted as two paramedics swiftly picked their way over to them.

“I’m glad you weren’t there,” she said while looking at him. Seeing him clearly for the first time, she noticed a look of confusion on his face.

Angela reached up and touched the scar on his cheek.

“I don’t want anyone to be hurt because of me. I can accept someone coming after me, but if you were hurt because of me? That…that I couldn’t deal with.”

He was stunned that, with how much head trauma she’d sustained, she was already lucid and put two and two together as well as he had, that she’d been the target.

They were interrupted mid conversation.

“Sir, can you tell us what happened?” two paramedics asked as they knelt beside them to assess Angela’s condition.

After a moment of regaining his head, Clay gave them a full accounting of who she was and that it seemed she took the brunt of the attack, though it could have been much worse.

They stabilized her with a neck brace and backboard then strapped her onto the gurney in mere minutes.

The police had lots of questions, but the paramedics said it was going to have to wait until after she was taken to the ER.

She was almost guaranteed a concussion and who knew what else.

Reaching for Clay, she asked him to get her purse before they took her away.

He jogged back over to the steps, retrieved it and brought it back to her.

“Will you come with me to the hospital?” she asked shyly.

“Yes, I’ll be right behind you. I need to talk to the police, and since they want to talk to you after you’ve been seen, I’ll have them give me a ride over there.”

“Okay,” she answered as the paramedics pulled her away from him and loaded her into the ambulance.

Clay hated to hear the disappointment in her voice and it pulled at his insides. The paramedic closed the doors behind her and he could still see her clutching his suit jacket.

The second EMT stopped by his side, “We’ll be taking her to the Lenox Hill Hospital. It’s on 64th between 3rd and 4th Avenues. Can you contact her family? She’s still in and out of consciousness, even as we were loading her, so they should be called as soon as possible.”

He didn’t say a word. Couldn’t speak. What the EMT didn’t say is they didn’t know what other injuries they would find when they arrived at the hospital. He nodded his head, and then watched them take her away.

Minutes later, Clay climbed the steps to where the police detectives were now staring at the jumbled metal that used to be the front doors to the Plaza. The awning wasn’t even recognizable.

He pulled apart his tie and unbuttoned the top button on his dress shirt. The detectives both turned at his approach and one of them tried ushering him back down the steps.

“This is a police matter, if you could step behind the barricade, an officer will be around to talk to you as quickly as possible.”

Clay shook his hands off, practically yelling, “My name is Clay Waters and I am the head of security for Angela Meyers, who I think was the target of the attack.”

The detective finally looked at Clay and a broad grin changed his face.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Waters, I wondered what happened to you a few years ago when I heard you left the Marines.”

Clay looked at the man standing in front of him. Same height and short black hair and a hint of recognition crossed his face.

“Wyatt? James Wyatt?”

The detective clapped him on the back. “Hell, yeah!”

James had been one of the men in his unit, that fateful day, quite a few years ago.

They shook hands and stared for a minute, each remembering the last time they had been together.

“It’s been a while,” they both said in unison.

Clay chuckled. “What in the world brought you here? You always said you were going to be a military man ’til the day you died.”

James shrugged. “I truly believed that until the day I looked death in the face and lived. It just wasn’t in me after that and I have you to thank for giving my sorry ass another opportunity.”

Clay ignored the praise, soberly replying, “You would have done the same for any of us.”

James looked like he wanted to say more, but they had more pressing matters at the moment.

“You were the detail for Ms. Meyers?”

“Yes, as of yesterday.” Clay glared and continued, “She had some issues with harassing phone calls and creepy letters last year. She was attacked several times then and again around a week ago. She had a phone call tonight before we left to come here. They didn’t outwardly threaten her with a bomb, but she just happened to be the only one standing there when it went off. I don’t believe in coincidences,” he added.

James shook his head back and forth.

“We were part of the investigation last year and we all found it extremely convenient,” he raised an eyebrow, “that everything just stopped on its own, especially when the threats were escalating for months and then all of a sudden…nothing. Then they start up again, with no trigger? At least not one we know about?”

“Exactly,” was all Clay needed to say as James turned around and led him back to where the other detective stood.

“Clay Waters, this is Terry Sadler.”

They shook hands and James continued, “Terry’s been my partner for almost three years now and Clay was my Staff Sergeant back in the Marines. We went through hell and back, and I owe him nothing short of my life. He also happens to be the head of security for Ms. Meyers.”

Terry seemed skeptical of the intrusion, until Detective Wyatt explained.

“Good to meet you, Waters.”

“So what do you guys think? I’d really like to hear your theories before I have to go see Angela in the hospital and explain how she got blown ten feet in the air on my first assignment for her.”

He looked down at his once-white dress shirt, which was now stained in blood, and immediately Terry and James dove back into the conversation they were having, and Clay filled them in on the specific threat earlier that evening.

“Timing like that doesn’t just happen. It could have killed Angela if fate hadn’t stepped in at the last minute,” Clay told them.

Terry interjected, “Couldn’t it have just been a coincidence though? Couldn’t it have just been set on a timer?”

Clay shook his head as he looked at pieces of the bomb they had already collected from the area. “No, I’d bet my life on the fact that the person who detonated it was probably here in the crowd, watching. We should get the video footage from the hotel, even though it won’t help much with how many people were here, and on cell phones talking or taking pictures.”

“I agree they probably set it off with a cell phone. It’s the most common detonator and anyone with access to Google can find out how to wire it up. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s why the timing sucked.”

Clay seethed, his nostrils flaring, “Would you prefer them to keep practicing so they get it right?” he snapped back.

Detective Wyatt opened his mouth, but went still. Clay thought maybe he hadn’t heard him and was about to say it again when James said, “Clay, you just gave me an idea.”

“What idea?” he grumbled.

“Practice.”

“If you think for a minute I’m going to sit around while this nut job—”

“No, no. I think they’re definitely novices at this and they are trying to make a point. Send a message, especially while there are photographers all around. You know this will be all over the papers tomorrow, and she wasn’t hurt that bad. Dammit! Stop giving me the death ray glare and listen. If that bomb would have been any bigger, she would have been taken out of here in a body bag, not a gurney.” He took a breath while glancing across the street where flashbulbs were still going off left and right. “But I don’t think this is their first attempt at trying to hurt Ms. Meyers with violent means.”

Terry looked at James with a skeptical look. “Wyatt, what are you thinking? She’s never been blown up before, nor has she ever told us about a bomb threat.”

“Not that she knew of,” James added under his breath.

A suspicious look crossed Terry’s face as he said, “We couldn’t prove anything then.”

“Yes, but now we can compare this blast wreckage to the components recovered at the airport.”

“What components at what airport? And what would that have to do with this?” Clay asked, not having a clue what was going on. He hadn’t heard anything about a bomb from Angela or Mark, but he would certainly be discussing it with her if she knew more info and hadn’t trusted him with it.

“Last year, there was an incident at JFK International Airport. There was a bomb threat and two of the terminals had to be shut down for hours. An anonymous caller with an electronic voice tipped us off. Sound familiar?”

“The bomb squad got to it and moved it before it went off. The same squad is here now checking to make sure no other bombs are set to go off. Precautionary, though they don’t think there are any more.” Terry finished.

“I’ll bet each of you donuts for a month, if we look up the initial tests on those components, they will be the same, or very similar, to what we have tonight,” James challenged.

“But I still don’t see why you think that has anything to do with this?” Clay was about to argue when he noticed the questioning look James was giving Terry.

He could tell James was asking silently for permission to say something. Terry nodded and then went off to talk to some of the other cops still trying to secure the scene.

James turned around and looked at Clay, “Are you ready to go to the hospital? We can
talk
on the way,” he added at the end.

Clay ran a hand through his hair. “As I’ll ever be.”

He climbed in the passenger side of James’s vehicle while James got in and pulled away from the curb in less than a minute.

“What was all that about?” Clay asked when they were fully ensconced in traffic.

James took a deep breath and glanced over at him. “I’m going to share something with you that must be held in the strictest of confidence. Only one civilian that we know of knows this detail, outside of the detectives of the NYPD and the FBI and Homeland Security.”

“You can trust me, you already know that. I want to know what’s going on so I can try to help catch this fucker as quickly as possible.”

James was weaving through downtown traffic, trying to get to the off ramp for the hospital. Concentrating or stalling for time, Clay didn’t know which. “The reason I think this bombing is related to the one at the airport is because the packaging on both bombs were identical. The first was addressed to A-MEYERS.”

Clay sat perfectly still, staring out the window, trying to calm his seriously frayed nerves. He had this unending need to punch something and clenched his hand into a fist.

The scrapes he had gotten earlier and had forgotten about broke open. Blood ran into his palm between his fingers.

“Did Angela know that?”

“No, and you can understand why we kept it from her, can’t you? She wasn’t even at the airport when we found it. Turns out she had to catch an earlier flight that morning. We thought we finally had the person that was tormenting her, but they’re smart. They use completely generic packaging material and labeling. No fingerprints, no fibers, no saliva, no sweat, no tears, no nada,” he added with disgust.

“That’s when it all stopped,” James continued as they pulled up to the hospital parking garage. “All the phone calls, the letters and newspaper clippings just disappeared like she moved and left no forwarding address. We were shocked. Normally these people are just obsessed fans or stalkers, and they escalate until they do something really stupid and get caught, or the victim knew who it was from the beginning and they can get a restraining order in place. If the threats are bad enough, they can be arrested for it as well. But in Angela’s case none of these things happened. In her case…we’re no closer to finding the stalker and we have no idea why he stopped before.”