Marine Force Recon. Elle James

from being mowed down by the gunmen had entered the back of the van.

      Had she been wrong? Was he with the bad guys after all? She glanced at the rucksack, afraid to move in case it would explode.

      Then the white van veered erratically and gunfire sounded from inside.

      “Get up and move!” someone yelled. A hand reached down and dragged Grace to her feet.

      Despite her misgivings, she grabbed the rucksack and ran, stumbling away from the commotion.

      Police cars and SUVs converged on the street, blocking the other white van. The one her guy was in drove up on a sidewalk.

      People scattered.

      The van swerved back out onto the road and crashed into a delivery truck, bringing it to a stop.

      A police car arrived beside Grace and officers leaped out. One pulled his weapon and aimed at the white van, while the other waved his arms. “Move back. The show’s not over.”

      Herded like cattle, Grace and the others caught in the attack were urged to run until they were a full two blocks away from the scene.

      The crowd thinned enough that Grace was finally able to stop and turn around.

      She waited with the rucksack clutched to her chest, the weight of the bag making her arms ache.

      “Lady, move along,” a police officer advised. “You don’t want to get hit by stray bullets.”

      Beyond the police officers now blocking the sidewalk and street, Grace could see the white vans had been stopped. The men inside the one farthest away dropped to the ground, hands high in the air.

      The other was still for what seemed like a very long time before the door slid open and Mr. Rucksack stepped out and dropped to the ground on his knees. Shortly afterward, the gray-haired woman stepped out with her hands up.

      That was him, her rucksack guy. Grace recognized his faded gray sweat jacket and short dark hair.

      Grace took a step forward.

      A police officer blocked her path. “Sorry, ma’am, I can’t let you go in there.”

      “But, that man...”

      The officer shook his head. “You’ll have to stay back.”

      The SWAT team secured her guy’s hands behind his back and led him to a waiting squad car. A moment later, it sped away.

      Grace stared down at the rucksack. Now what was she supposed to do with it?

      She found a bench and sat. Holding the bag between her feet, Grace waited for most of the people passing by to clear the area before she opened the bag. Then she drew in a deep breath and unzipped one of the sections. She told herself that if it exploded, she wouldn’t know what happened. It would kill her instantly. Still, she couldn’t help closing her eyes. When nothing happened, she opened them and searched through the interior of one compartment after another. Inside, she found a pair of worn jeans, a couple of T-shirts, several pairs of boxer shorts and a shaving kit. No plastic explosives, sticks of dynamite or detonators were hiding inside the bag.

      She pulled out an envelope filled with photographs of men in marine uniforms, fully outfitted with weapons, helmets, rifles and ammunition. They stood in what appeared to be a camp in the desert.

      The man who’d entrusted his rucksack with her was military or prior-military. No wonder he’d taken on the attackers like he knew what he was doing.

      Her heart squeezed hard in her chest. And the police had treated him like one of the terrorists who’d gunned down innocent men and women.

      Grace found a cell phone in a side pouch and touched the power button. Nothing happened. The screen wasn’t cracked, but the battery might be dead. On the outside of the bag, embroidered on a strip of camouflage, was the name O’Neill in bold green letters.

      Grace would call the local police station and see what she could find out about the mysterious Mr. O’Neill. For now, all she could do was head home. She’d have to call and reschedule her interview when she wasn’t bruised and dirty from having lain on the ground, crushed beneath a man who’d proven to be a hero.

      Slipping one of the rucksack’s straps over her shoulder, she headed for the metro station and caught the train out of the city to Alexandria where she shared an apartment with her roommate from college. Once on the train, she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and searched through the recent calls for the one she’d taken to schedule the interview.

      Once she found it, she dialed, lifted the device to her ear and covered her other ear.

      “Halverson Enterprises, Margaret speaking,” a woman’s voice came on the line.

      “This is Grace Lawrence. I was supposed to interview with Mrs. Halverson today.”

      “Oh, yes. I was just about to call and advise you Mrs. Halverson will not be available today. She has been regrettably detained.”

      “Oh,” Grace said. “Okay.”

      “I’ve been asked to reschedule your interview for tomorrow morning at 8:30 a.m. Mrs. Halverson will see you then.”

      “Thank you. I look forward to meeting her.”

      “Wait,” Margaret laughed. “You called me. Was there something I could help you with?”

      “Oh, thank you but... I was just calling to confirm the interview,” Grace said. Margaret didn’t need to know Grace had called to say she couldn’t make her scheduled appointment.

      Grace ended the call and released a sigh. At least she hadn’t blown her chances by being a no-show.

      By the time Grace stepped off the train at her stop, the shock of the day had set in. Her knees shook as she walked the few blocks to her apartment complex, and she fumbled with her keys before she could open the front door.

      Once inside, she set the rucksack on the floor, kicked off her heels, collapsed on the couch in the living room and dug her cell phone out of her purse.

      A text message displayed across the screen.

      Leaving work on time tonight. What’s for supper?

      The message was from early that morning. Grace had just noticed it. She snorted out a laugh, the sound catching on a sob. What a day. Her roommate, Riley Lansing, wouldn’t believe what had happened to her. Grace would have to wait until Riley arrived at the apartment before she could tell her about it.

      In the meantime, Grace needed to find out where O’Neill was and arrange to get his rucksack back to him.

      She spent the next hour calling police stations, trying to locate the man, but with no luck. After hitting one brick wall after the other, she set her cell phone aside and wandered into the kitchen, looking for something to eat.

      A glance at the clock on the stove made her frown.

      Riley had said she’d be leaving work on time, which would have been over an hour ago.

      Grace abandoned the refrigerator and retrieved her cell phone from the coffee table in the living room. She texted Riley.

      Did you stop at the store?

      She waited for Riley’s response. When it didn’t come, she tried again.

      Hello? I thought you’d be home by now.

      Grace shrugged and headed for the kitchen again. Perhaps Riley had stopped at a store with lousy reception, or her cell phone was buried at the bottom of her purse, or she’d turned off the sound. Riley wasn’t one to say she’d be home on time and then take a lot longer, without calling.

      A bad feeling washed over Grace. She tried to shrug it off as residual nerves from the earlier attack in DC. But the longer she waited for Riley, the more worried she became.

      Since Grace had moved in, she and Riley were the other’s