Myla Jackson - Wyatt’s War

Wyatt checked with every guard at every entrance to the hotel, saving the front entrance and the parking lot in the basement for last. As he stepped out the lobby door, he spied Joe and Bacchus surrounded by two very elegant beauties dressed to the hilt in low-slung gowns displaying more flesh than the material they were made of covered.

Joe, dressed in tailored slacks, a black button-down shirt and black necktie, with his short hair and blue eyes, probably appealed to the opposite sex. Add the dog he was obviously attached to and he was a veritable chick magnet.

When Wyatt appeared at Joe’s side, the ladies’ attention shifted to him and the shiny medals on his chest. For a moment he wished he still wore the jeans and T-shirt he’d had on most of the day. These women did not interest him in the least. Normally, he’d flirt and maybe even take a number and one of or both of them to bed.

But his mind was back in the ballroom with a feisty redhead and he couldn’t wait to get back and maybe catch another dance with her. She moved like an angel on wings. Only she was as sexy as the devil.

“Are you here for the convention?” The tall blonde asked while her shorter, brunette friend smiled shyly at him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, then, I’m glad I went to the trouble to come to this little party.” The blonde walked her fingers up his chest to the shiny medals pinned to his jacket. “And what are all these pretty coins for?”

He grabbed her hand before she could put fingerprints all over the shiny medal. “Ma’am, I’m on duty.” Wyatt set her aside, gently but firmly.

“My apologies. My name is Brigitte.” The woman held out her hand as if to shake his.

Reluctantly he took hers and she deposited a keycard in his palm, leaned close and whispered, “Room two-eleven.”

“Ma’am, you don’t want to lose this.” He handed it back to her and stepped back.

When the blonde frowned and opened her mouth to say something, Joe loosened his grip on Bacchus’s lead and the dog pressed his nose to the woman’s crotch.

She squealed and jumped back. “Get that filthy creature away from me!”

“Sorry, ma’am. Bacchus, like some people, forgets his manners on occasion.”

Her cheeks reddened and she sputtered. “Well, I never.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Joe smiled. “I’m sure you never.”

The woman pulled herself up to her full height. “Come on, Meredith.”

The brunette giggled. “I seem to have dropped my lipstick tube. I’ll be with you in a minute, Brigitte.”

When Brigitte had gone into the hotel, Meredith smiled. “Bacchus is a rascal.” She bent to scratch the dog’s ears. “Or is it his master who’s the rascal?” She glanced up, her smile remaining firm, her brows raised in question.

Joe shrugged. “Can’t say. I don’t speak dog.”

Meredith winked. “I think you understand Bacchus better than you let on.” She held out her hand. He took it, tentatively. “Nice to meet you.”

Meredith grinned up at Wyatt and followed the blonde into the hotel.

Joe bent to pat Bacchus head. “He’s a better judge of character than most people.”

Wyatt laughed. “You can say that again.” He glanced at the brunette as she disappeared into the lobby. “You could have had her number by just asking.”

His friend shook his head. “Not sure I’m ready.”

Wyatt understood exactly what Joe was saying. “Do you think we’ll ever be ready again?”

Joe scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I hope so. That one caught my interest enough to think about it. I suppose that’s heading in the right direction.”

An image of Fiona standing naked in the shower flashed in Wyatt’s mind and he pushed it firmly back. “How’s it going out here?”

“So far so good. Only had to turn away one drunk and one salesman.”

Wyatt glanced around. “I thought Preston was going to man the front with you.”

“He only stuck around for the first hour. I haven’t seen him since. Said something about checking out the east entrance.”

“I was just there and didn’t see him.”

Joe touched his radio. “Try him on the box?”

Wyatt nodded. “Twice. No answer.”

Tapping the side of his handheld radio, Joe shook his head. “That’s the one thing we could count on in the army, good radios.”

“These aren’t bad. I tested them thoroughly earlier today, before Fiona issued them to us. They were working fine then and they have fresh batteries.”

“Guess you’ll have to find him without technology.” Joe jerked his head toward the door. “How’s it going inside?”

“So far no major incidents.”

“I caught a glimpse of Fiona.” Joe’s mouth quirked at the corners. “Just tell me you’re not interested and I’ll be all over her like a dog on a bone.”

Wyatt’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed in a glare. “I thought you weren’t ready for a relationship?”

Joe raised his hands. “Just sayin’. She’s a looker, that one.”

Wyatt knew. She looked good in her evening gown with her hair piled high on her head. Fiona looked even better naked, wet and panting in the middle of hot and heavy sex.

His cock twitched and he had to remind himself not to get too stirred up while in uniform. His trousers were tailor-made with no pleats to allow for sudden expansion of parts farther south.

“Would love to be a fly on the wall in there. I hear there are several dignitaries not too proud to pick a fight.”

“You want to take a turn around the ballroom?” Wyatt asked, knowing the answer before he asked the question. Joe had a distinct aversion to formal events. The black slacks, shirt and tie were his only concessions to being strapped into a monkey suit for hours.

“Hell no. That kind of stuff gives me the willies.” Joe nodded toward Wyatt. “You trying to impress Fiona with that chest full of medals?”

Heat rose up Wyatt’s neck. “Not really. It was the closest thing I had to a tuxedo. And I only wear it once a year. Didn’t see spending good money on tuxedo rental.”

Joe shivered. “Can’t see how you wear it. Too confining for me. Reminds me of wearing flack vests in Fallujah. Couldn’t breathe in all that equipment, much less maneuver fast enough to keep from being shot.”

They’d been together in the fight to capture Fallujah, taking one building at a time. The tension had been palpable and they’d all been on their toes. This situation didn’t call for an enemy around every corner, but it had its moments of tension. Though nothing like what they’d experienced in Iraq or Afghanistan. And nothing at all like what he’d endured in Somalia. Yeah, it was good to be back in the States for a while.

Glancing around once more at the relative calm of the activities at the entrance, Wyatt nodded. “I’m going to find Preston, then I’m headed back into the ballroom.”

“Better you than me and Bacchus. Although Bacchus likes the music.” Joe’s lips twisted. “When someone leaves the door open long enough, his tail starts twitching to the beat.”

As if on cue, a guest passed through the entrance and paused. The music from the ballroom drifted out to where they stood and Bacchus’s tail swished back and forth in rhythm.

A brief smile slipped across Wyatt’s face. He was glad his buddy Joe had Bacchus and his dog training business. Without it, he’d have fallen victim to PTSD, alcohol and possibly drug addiction.

For once, Wyatt was really happy to be in San Antonio instead of back in Somalia. And he realized much of his relief was due to his focus on Fiona. He was also glad that the danger here seemed limited to cat fights between delegates, versus hard to find and uproot Somali militants and Al-Qaeda terrorists.

Ducking back through the front door, he headed for the elevator, stepped in and punched the down button for the parking garage, the last place he planned to check anyway. Perhaps Preston was making his rounds and had ended up there.

When Wyatt stepped out of the elevator into the echoing, concrete walls of the parking garage, he was struck first by the lack of a guard on the elevator. His instincts perked and he loosened the button on his jacket to make it easier for him to reach for the gun nestled in the shoulder holster beneath.

There were two sub-levels to the parking garage. As he moved through the bays filled with vehicles, he didn’t spot even one guest. But something strange caught his attention on one of the concrete support pillars in a dark corner of the garage. A flashing red light blinked at him. As he neared it, he noted the creamy white clay-like substance, wrapped in black electrical tape, a mechanical box settled in the middle with wires poking out of it.

Wyatt’s gut clenched. He knew exactly what it was, having worked with it on many operations in Iraq, Afghanistan and Somalia.

C-4 explosives equipped to be remotely detonated.

Not knowing how many of the devices there could be in the building or when whoever had set them planned to detonate, he did the only thing he could think of, and yanked the wires out of the detonator, disabling the unit.

He got on his radio. “Joe, we have a problem.”

“Tell me,” Joe responded.

“C-4 in the parking garage, wired for remote detonation. I think Preston set them.”

“Fuck. I’ll start the evacuation up here. You better get out while you can.”

“Make it quiet. If Preston is still down here, he has a detonator. I don’t want him alerted that we’re on to him.” Wyatt’s jaw hardened. Why hadn’t Preston set off the explosions? The man had issues. Perhaps he could be talked out of destroying the hotel and the people in it. “I’m going to see if I can stop this.”

“Wyatt, this world doesn’t need another hero.”

“Just get them all out. And make sure Fiona is one of those evacuated, will ya?”

“Got it. Once the evacuation is underway, I’ll bring Bacchus down. He’s trained to sniff out C-4.”

“Deal.”

His heart pounding against his ribs, Wyatt raced through the garage, spotting two more of the lumps of clay-like charges, pulling the detonators from those as well. He couldn’t be sure he had them all and in the meantime, he had to get the people out of the building.

A car had just pulled into a parking space and the driver got out, spotting Wyatt coming toward him, he asked, “Is the hotel for the International Trade Convention social?”

Wyatt hurried up to the driver. When he was close enough to whisper, he told him, “Get out of the garage. Now.”

“But we just got here,” the man replied. “Is something wrong?”

Wyatt snorted. He didn’t have time to stop and explain. “There are bombs planted all over this garage. If you want to live, get your date and get the hell out, quietly. The man responsible might still be down here.”

The woman in the passenger seat cried out, jerked the door open and got to her feet.

The man grabbed the woman’s hand and hustled her back out the ramp to the exit, hurrying her along in her high heels.

After disarming the charges he could find, Wyatt circled around the ramp heading into the bottom level of the parking garage. At first it appeared empty.

When he stepped out into the open, a shot rang out, nicking his arm. Wyatt dove behind a vehicle as another bang echoed against the walls.

“You can’t stop this,” a voice called out, one Wyatt recognized as Preston.

“Preston, whatever your issues are, we can get you help.” Wyatt moved to the opposite end of the vehicle and eased around it.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Wyatt dropped to his chest and peered beneath the chassis of the Cadillac he was using for cover. He spotted Preston’s legs moving toward the stairwell. “Try me, Preston. I’m listening.”

“It’s too late. I have to set these off before they evacuate.”

“No, you don’t. These people don’t have to die. There are always solutions. Give yourself a chance.”

“No. I’m done and all those people who’ve pretended to be our friends, the countries who say they’re on our side and then kill us every chance they get, tonight, they’ll know.”

“What will they know, Preston?” Wyatt worked his way around one car, then another.

“The world will know that they all lie. We try to help them and they kill us. They killed every one of the men in my unit. And we were fucking trying to help them.”

“Preston, I’ve been there,” Wyatt called out softly. “I’ve seen my friends die in a battle we seem destined to lose. If we don’t try, if we don’t keep fighting for right, they win.”