Page 11 of Off the Grid
She closed her eyes and held them like that for a moment as she took a breath. “Give me your phone.”
He did.
She typed in the password, handed it back, then resumed her spot at the table, hesitating for a second. He didn’t say anything, so she turned around to pull her raw profiteroles and cream from the fridge. The dough was cool but no longer frozen. She’d pop them into the oven as soon as the preheat was done. McKenzie squeezed the edge of the piping bag she’d filled yesterday night, forcing a dollop of cream onto her finger to taste. The consistency was nice, thick yet smooth. The chocolate and hazelnut came through nicely.
So far, so good.
When she turned back around, Agent Alvarez was out cold. The back of his head leaned against the wall, tilting to the side. His legs were outstretched and his ankles crossed. One hand held his cell phone flat against his chest, while the other had dropped from his lap to dangle over the floor, lifeless.
My knight in shining armor.
A smile came unbidden to her lips, and McKenzie shook her head ruefully. She didn’t look away, even though she knew she should. The cut angles of his face were softer in sleep. His lips weren’t pursed, but plump and slightly opened. His chest rose and fell with deep, peaceful breaths. Her walls lowered, just an inch, as she watched him sleep so soundly, seemingly exhausted by her, or maybe by this city—it had a way of eating people alive.
Just as she was on the verge of finding him somewhat endearing, an offensive snarl erupted from his lips, like a dying lion roaring in its sleep.
What the hell?
McKenzie flinched back. The sound came again, a gravelly engine sputtering and rasping as it hung on for dear life.
You have got to be kidding me. That’s not a snore. That’s—that’s a crime against humanity. My humanity.
The agent didn’t seem to care. He snored again, louder this time.
Oh, for the love of God, McKenzie silently growled as she marched across the room and grabbed her bag. She stuffed her earbuds in, then turned her music on. Another snore pierced the air, muffled this time, but there. She slid the volume up to ten and returned to the prep table.No more, and I meanno more, distractions.
- 5 -
Leo
Leo woke with a start, hand going to the gun at his waist before he remembered where he was—in a kitchen, in New York, no longer stuck in the deserts that haunted his dreams. He took a deep breath and called on the techniques he’d learned to cope. The first step was using logic to calm the panic in his mind.
You’re not in the Middle East anymore.
You’re in the USA.
You’re safe.
His heartbeat slowed. His pulse returned to normal. When the ache in his chest subsided, he focused on the next step—confrontation. He needed to remember the traumatic moment and expose his fear in order to counter its power over him. At least, that was what the self-help books said.
We were infiltrating a suspected terrorist hideout, Leo recalled, forcing the memory to the forefront of his thoughts so he could face it head-on, wide awake and ready this time.Bullets flew everywhere. I was at the rear providing cover with my M16A4. We were slowly gaining ground.Through his night-vision goggles, the world had been nothing but shadows and chartreuse light. Until suddenly, everything flashed the most brilliant white, so bright it blinded. He was thrown back with the blast.I couldn’t see. My leg was on fire. There was so much screaming.When he came to, the house was engulfed in flames and half the team was down. The walls groaned, caving in on themselves. He ignored the pain in his calf and scrambled across the floor to check for survivors. The first three bodies he came upon had no pulses. The fourth one did. It was faint but there, and that was all he needed.I hefted him over my shoulders and ran. I went back in and saved as many as I could. I did everything I could. I didn’t leave anyone behind. Then I got out. I left. I came home.
The scars hidden beneath Leo’s pant leg itched with the memory, but he pushed the feeling down. Rubbing a palm over his face, he wiped the sleep and the nightmares away. He blinked a few times to clear the visions, then scanned the kitchen, dragging his mind forcefully back into the present.
His eyes bulged.
The quiet, industrial kitchen he’d fallen asleep in now bustled with activity. The once-empty prep table in the center of the room was covered in desserts. Three more chefs worked the stovetops, oblivious to his presence. Two waitresses chatted quietly in the corner, not so oblivious, if their quick peeks in his direction and embarrassed smiles were any indication. McKenzie worked in the center of the storm, a white bud in each ear blocking out the rest of the world. Her focus was unbreakable. Every movement was calculated and precise. The look in her eyes was fierce. She was a machine as she drizzled a caramel-like sauce over what looked like a stack of doughnut holes piled two feet tall, though Leo couldn’t imagine that was right.
How long was I out?
He glanced down at his wrist—it was almost noon, so about four hours.
Wow…way to go, dumbass.
He sighed and shook his head, disappointed in himself. Contrary to what the woman in front of him believed, Leo had come to New York to protect her, and passing out hadn’t been a part of the plan. Apparently, the complete lack of sleep the night before and the free wine in the business-class lounge had proven too strong a combination to ignore. Leo didn’t even remember falling asleep. He’d pulled out his phone to text Nate and—bam!—he was out like he’d hit a frigging wall.
Crap—Nate! I really am dropping the ball today.
He never sent Nate an update. For all his partner knew, McKenzie was kidnapped and Leo was dead on the side of the street. The thought made him wake faster than anything else possibly could. Leo sat up straight, hand going to his pocket, but it was empty.
