Beneath The Surface. Meredith Fletcher

frustrated, fighting to remain calm, Allison Gracelyn sat in the ergonomic chair at her desk and watched the action playing out on the three computer monitors in front of her. This was one of those times when it was hard to remember that she was in a position to help.

      Allison hadn’t slept in thirty-seven hours. A scrunchie held her brunette hair back. Her brown eyes burned with the effort of watching the computer screens. She was slim and athletic despite years spent in front of a computer. She was disciplined enough to keep her physical health as sharp as her mental faculties.

      She’d learned that at Athena Academy all those years ago and maintained the practice. She wore yesterday’s business suit, but the jacket lay on the couch at the back of the office where she sometimes caught naps on ops that ran long.

      All three monitor feeds came from street cams she’d “borrowed.” One monitor showed Shannon hiding in the doorway. Another showed Drago from behind. The third showed Rafe Santorini desperately weaving through traffic.

      “Left at the next block,” Allison directed.

      “You’ve still got her?”

      “I do.”

      On the screen, Rafe made the turn. He was going too fast to make the turn cleanly. The tires broke traction and the vehicle drifted a few feet.

      “I thought I heard gunshots,” Rafe said.

      “You did. She’s all right. I have her on-screen. But you need to hurry.” Allison cursed herself for that. Rafe knew he had to hurry. Her frenzy was unprofessional.

      But you put them both in harm’s way, didn’t you? Allison had to acknowledge the guilt and shelve it for later. You knew going in that Drago was going to kill Shannon.

      Allison had intercepted the e-mail when Drago had received it yesterday. There had been plenty of time to warn Shannon Connor.

      But you chose not to do that, didn’t you?

      Even right now, as she watched the tragedy that was about to unfold, Allison didn’t know if Shannon was about to become a victim because of the residual animosity that remained from all those years ago at Athena Academy or because Allison had been too confident.

      Allison tapped the keyboard, dropping the camera as Rafe headed out of view. She picked him up with the next. Even though she couldn’t see his features on the other side of the darkened windshield, she knew he had his mad face on.

      Get there, Allison said silently.

      “Ahead. On the left.”

      Rafe recognized the metallic tightness of panic hovering in Allison’s voice. Unaccustomed as it was, her tension put him a little on edge. He breathed out and raked the street with his gaze.

      “Do you see her?” Allison asked.

      With all the neon lights, pedestrians and cars on the street, Rafe had a hard time spotting Drago and Shannon Connor. It got a little easier when he noticed the cars and pedestrians gave the left side of the street wide berth.

      “Got Drago,” he said.

      Drago jogged toward a doorway.

      “Where’s Shannon?”

      “She’s in the shop doorway. It’s recessed.”

      Rafe knew he didn’t have time to get out of the car to intercept the man. Besides that, with the way his knee was hurting, he wasn’t sure how much mobility he’d have. It already felt as if it was swelling.

      Instead he switched off the headlights and aimed the car at Drago. He hoped that Shannon didn’t step out of the doorway at the wrong time.

      Even driving far too fast for street conditions, Rafe barely arrived in time. Drago had reached the doorway and was raising the pistol. He was so intent on his prey that he didn’t hear the car bearing down on him.

      Rafe hit the horn. The strident noise rang out and drew Drago’s attention. At that moment Rafe switched the lights back on. He hoped they would stun Drago and present a warning to Shannon to stay put.

      Drago knew he couldn’t run, but he was a predator. He didn’t give up. He turned the pistol in the direction of the car and fired. Two shots tore through the windshield. One of them ripped the passenger seat headrest into a flurry of padding that filled the car’s interior.

      Rafe stayed on track. He put the car in close to the wall. His side mirror disappeared in an explosion of twisted metal and shattered glass. Then the whole side of the car turned into a stream of rushing sparks that bounced off the window and trailed behind him.

      At the last minute Drago tried to break and run. He didn’t even get turned before the car struck him.

      The air bag exploded into Rafe’s face at the same time. The gunshot of propellant setting off temporarily deafened him. His face stung from the impact and he was blinded.

      Shut it down, shut it down, he told himself. He put his foot over the brake and shoved. The antilock braking system kept the tires from locking up as he slewed around. He hit another object and felt certain from the weight and mass involved that it was a car. He remembered there’d been a line of them.

      There was a sickening moment of not knowing what was going on, then the car came to a stop. The smoky haze left by the air bag deploying burned his nose and mouth, then his lungs. The gunpowder taste was all too familiar.

      His face and chest felt as though he’d gone rounds with a heavyweight. He had no doubt that bruising would show in a few days.

      “Are you there?” Allison asked.

      “Yeah.” Rafe reached into his jeans and took out a small lock-back knife. A quick flick of his thumb deployed the blade. He pierced the air bag and it deflated in a rush. By the time he got out of the car, he had his pistol in hand.

      Drawn from her hiding place, Shannon watched the maniac driver force the door of his vehicle open. It screeched as it yawned wide.

      At first Shannon had thought her salvation had been luck. In this part of Washington, D.C., there were plenty of bars. It would have been easy to believe a drunken driver had come along fortuitously.

      Not that Shannon’s luck ever really ran that way. She wasn’t the lucky one in any group. She’d had to work for everything she’d gotten. Whatever luck she’d had had gone away while she was at Athena Academy.

      Then, when she recognized the man stepping out of the car as the man from Drago’s bar, she knew her luck was running true to form. She held her position even though every nerve in her screamed, Run!

      The man limped a little, but he moved quickly and efficiently. He kept the pistol in his hand close to his side as he surveyed the street.

      Several curious pedestrians hovered along the sidewalk. Three young men hurried over to Vincent Drago’s body lying a hundred feet from where the car had hit him.

      “Get away from him,” the man ordered.

      “He’s hurt,” one of the onlookers yelled back.

      The man lifted the pistol as he stepped into the headlights of his car. “Get away from him. Now!”

      “Dude, that guy’s got a gun,” one of the other pedestrians said. He grabbed his friend’s arm and pulled him back.

      Go, Shannon told herself. Get out of here while you can. But she couldn’t move. The story hadn’t finished. Her reporter’s instincts and curiosity refused to let her budge.

      The man walked to Drago and pointed the pistol at the prone man. For a moment Shannon thought the stranger was going to shoot Drago on top of hitting him with the car. She couldn’t help wondering what the man had against Drago.

      Then the man knelt and quickly ran his free hand through Drago’s clothing. He took out a wallet and a PDA, a few papers and anything else he could find. He removed his beanie and tucked everything he’d collected